Page 7 of Behind the Net

I fold my arms over my chest, feeling a mix of relief and confusion. The apartment looks nice. It feels like a home. I was dreading unpacking, but now it’s almost done.

I don’t even mind that the dog is on the furniture.

Her singing stops and she glances over her shoulder. “Oh, hi.” She gasps and looks at her phone on the counter before her eyes dart to mine. “Sorry. I didn’t realize what time it was.” She dusts her hands off and walks to the door. “How was practice?” she asks while pulling her sneakers on.

The sweet, curious way she asks makes my chest feel funny. Warm and liquid. I don’t like it. I have the weird urge to tell her how nervous I am about this season.

“Fine,” I say instead, and her eyes widen at my sharp tone. Fuck. See? This is why this isn’t going to work. I care too much about what she thinks.

“Daisy and I went for a two-hour walk around Stanley Park, and then I spent most of the evening training her to do tricks.”

My eyebrows pull together. “Daisy?”

She shrugs, smiling over at the dog on the couch. “She needs a name.” She picks her bag up. “I took her out an hour ago, so you don’t need to.”

I try to say something likethanks,but it’s just a low noise of acknowledgment in my throat.

She smooths a delicate hand over her ponytail, blinks twice, and gives me that bright smile from before, the one I thought about during my entire practice.

Her cheeks are going pink and she looks embarrassed. “I’ll get out of your hair.” She loops the strap of her bag over her shoulder and gives me another quick, shy smile. “I’ll be here tomorrow morning after you leave for practice. Good night, Jamie.”

My gaze drops to her pretty lips, and I’m tongue-tied. She probably thinks I’ve been hit in the head with the puck too many times.

She leaves and I stand there, staring at the door.

Maybe I don’t have to—

I crush the thought, like slapping a mosquito off my arm. Pippa has to go. I know from my mom and from the one relationship I attempted in my first year in the NHL that if there are too many balls in the air, I’m going to drop one. I always do.

The second she leaves, I pull my phone out and call Ward.

“Streicher,” he answers.

“Coach.” I rake my hand through my hair. “I need a new assistant.”

CHAPTER4

PIPPA

“You’re letting me go?”I repeat into my phone the next morning, blinking at nothing. I’m at Hazel’s front door, putting my shoes on to leave for Jamie’s place. My mind reels, and my forehead wrinkles in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

The woman in the team’s office sighs. “Don’t take it personally. These guys can be so particular.”

My stomach sinks. Fired after one day. This isn’t going to look good when I apply for the marketing job with the team.

I really thought I killed it yesterday. I unpacked most of his things, and Daisy was nice and tired by the time he got home. It was actually fun, walking her and playing music in the apartment while she followed me around.

Panic starts to bleed through my thoughts. Shit. I need moneynow. I need to move out of Hazel’s tiny studio. I can’t go back to the Hot Dog Hut—I gag at just the memory of the creepy way the owner looked at me. Not to mention the way I smelled after my shifts.

Fired. My parents are going to flip out. After wasting my life following Zach around on tour for two years, they desperately want me to have a career in marketing—what I went to school for. They’re obsessed with me having a stable, consistent job. A desk job. Something with benefits. Somethingnotin the music industry. They worked really hard to pay for my education. My parents aren’t rich or anything, and they sacrificed a lot for me and Hazel to have what they didn’t.

I want them to be proud of me.

I thank the woman, hang up, and stare at the floor. Reality hits me, and my shoulders sink. This sucks.

Beside me, the door opens and slams into me. I scramble to move out of the way, but trip over one of my moving boxes, landing flat on my ass.

“Sorry!” Hazel’s eyes are wide as she helps me up. “Are you okay?”

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