Page 3 of Offside

Karis is about to say something more when Nate interjects his own commentary.

“You’ll find the terms and the salary offer more than fair for a player at this point in your career.” His tone is condescending and downright rude. Ever since Nate took the position of GM two years ago, he’s made my life miserable. There’s never been any love lost between us, probably at least in part because I slept with his ex-wife, Alexis, while they were going through their divorce.

The sex was good but maybe not worth the trouble it brought me with Nate in the long run. Or maybe we’re just two assholes who don’t get along.

I consider the terms of what potentially could be my last NHL contract. It’s actually a better offer in the short-term, since my previous contract was for three years totaling $8 million.

My chest unravels like skate laces, loosening the tension that’s been there for months.

Beggars can’t be choosers. A one-year extension is about as good as it gets for a guy in my position at this point in my career.

I’m just happy to have another year on the ice locked down with no move required. I can remain with the team here in Vancouver, hopefully get us to another Cup run, and see where I go from here. Maybe squeak out another year or two before I hang up my skates with pride.

After that, it’s up in the air. I have no plans after retirement and no idea what I want to do. It pains me to think I may have to walk away from the sport that I’ve loved since I was five years old.

Until that day comes, I just need to keep my focus on the ice.

And not on the ice queen who now owns the organization.

2

Karis

I let out a pent-up breath the minute the meeting concludes and exit the room, feeling the sweat that dotted my skin the last thirty minutes drip down my spine and pool at the edge of my waistband.

My God, it was hot in that room, and so thick with tension that you could slice it with a knife.

Or maybe it was just me trying to keep emotions reined in while speaking to the man I want to despise. Instead, I made a business decision to keep him on my team, which meant wearing my poker face and keeping cool under the weight of seeing him again, a scenario I never thought would happen.

It’s not like I’m uncomfortable facing difficult conversations, a very necessary skill in my career. I’ve done a damn good job of it considering how often I deal with men who think I’m not capable of being at the same table as them. I never let them see me flustered and can keep my composure even during the most challenging situations.

It’s likely why I’ve been labeled an ice queen. I get it. Woman who are tough in business are always labeled and given ridiculously harsh nicknames with the intention of knocking us down a peg.

Do I enjoy being called a name that refers to an icy personality? Absolutely not. It’s not who I am. I care deeply for people, especially those close to me. But, because of my profession, I use the label and the persona to my advantage to avoid being stepped on.

I’m out of breath from the sprint down to my office, having sped by my administrative assistant, Christine, so fast that I almost miss the funny look she gives me. I normally stop and chitchat, asking her about how her son is doing and how his hockey practice is going. But right now, I need a moment to collect my thoughts and calm down the chaotic whirl in my head that was caused by the only one-night stand I’ve ever had.

Ballas fucking Keeney.

I could barely breathe in there, suffocated from his presence and the images it conjured up of the two of us together months ago. Had it only been about sex, I could’ve played it cool with Ballas. We had a night of consensual pleasure with no strings attached. We hooked up and went on our merry way. I was never supposed to run into him again.

But that’s not how things ended with Ballas. It involved a hell of a lot more than that, making today’s meeting and the decision to keep him on the team a hundred percent more difficult. It’s the reason I regarded him with such judgey contempt.

It all came flooding back the moment I saw him again. My intense hatred grew to inferno proportions and threatened to overwhelm me as I went up against a giant asshole who had once offered me comfort and support during my darkest hour, and just as quickly left me dangling alone from the precipice.

I close the door behind me, slumping against it with a thump and berate myself for becoming so agitated in his presence and losing my control.

Don’t let him get to you.

Why is it that the one guy I had a one-night fling with happens to be a player on my team?

A knock on my door startles me from my thoughts. I jump upright, gathering the folders and iPad in my hand in a tight grip, and swing around to open it.

Christine stands at the threshold with a cheery smile. She holds out my refillable coffee cup and a new bag of Skittles the size of her head that she must have purchased at Costco, and I practically salivate. The two addictions in my life that bring me joy.

“You rushed past me so quick, I didn’t get a chance to give these to you.” Christine breezes into the office and heads straight toward my desk. She places the coffee on a coaster, then tears open the bag containing my sweet addiction and pours half of it into the crystal candy dish next to my laptop.

Christine tilts her head and eyes me curiously. Her signature silver hoop earrings dangle at her neck and graze the top of her shoulder when she looks back at me.

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