Page 22 of My Lucky Charm

And I didn’t even do anything yet.

In reality, I’m in a conference room. Which also sucks.

Come to think of it, I don’t know what would’ve happened if my dad really had been called into the principal’s office. I suppose the one upside to this trade is that it puts more distance between me and my father.

The more miles, the better.

Eloise seems irritated with me. I don’t blame her. I showed up at her family dinner, responded to questions in grunts and mumbles, then left like I was being chased.

Thinking about how I acted just makes me feel more stupid. It’s like I know the right thing to do, and then I turn around and do exactly the opposite.

Stupid pride.

And now she’s looking at me, not believing my answer to her “Why did you come to dinner in the first place” question.

She shouldn’t. I’m lying.

I’m not sure why I took Dallas up on his offer in the first place. Maybe after our win Saturday, I felt some sort of strange debt to the guy.

He’s so sure I belong here.

Nobody’s ever really gone to bat for me like that. Mostly people just stay out of my way. Another reason Eloise is interesting. She almost seems to want to get under my skin.

Doesn’t matter. The point is, I’m not off to a great start here.

We might’ve won the game Saturday, but it wasn’t because of me. I could practically hear my father shouting from the sidelines, that unmistakable whistle when he wanted my attention.

The memory of his face makes me shudder.

I give Eloise a cursory glance. I recognized her the second she opened that door. New Year’s Eve.

Never thought I’d see her again, but here she is—the woman I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since I walked out of that bar.

Which is why I absolutely cannot have her working as my assistant—not if I’m going to have any chance of staying focused.

What were they thinking?

What am I thinking?

Crap. I’m still thinking about her. People are sitting here, talking, and I’m not even listening to whatever they’re saying.

Because it wasn’t just a kiss. It was . . . a connection. And I don’t have those.

She seems highly unimpressed by my name, my stats, or the fact that I play hockey at all.

And that only makes her more attractive.

I learned a couple of things about Eloise sitting at that dinner. She loves her family. And she loves to talk. She never sat still. She was in the kitchen, in the living room, back at the table over and over again. And she uses her hands when she talks. A shoulder squeeze. A hug. A hand on an arm.

And now, they’ve stuck her with me.

Great.

“Here’s a list of engagements over the next couple of months.” Coach Turnrose slides a small stack of papers over to Eloise.

“Can I see that?” I ask. Because no unnecessary going out is one of my rules.

Her big, blue eyes jump to mine. “I think it’s my job to keep your calendar.”

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