Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 88895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Quickly crossing the room is followed by sitting in the chair.
Folding my hands in my lap.
Pressing my tongue to the inside of my cheek to maintain my silence as much as my composure.
I’ve been traded before.
I know what to expect.
I know what to say.
I even know the call I’m gonna get from my agent and when.
However, knowing all those things doesn’t make it any easier.
For an untracked amount of time, all Hennington does is stare.
Whether she’s reading my soul or casting a curse on me to last a thousand games is anyone’s guess.
Either way?
She is still one of the most attractive, most terrifying snipes I’ve ever crossed.
Coach abruptly bursts into the room on a loud muttering, “Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Our trade had issues and then it didn’t and then it did and now, we’re good again or at least I think we’re good again.” His hands roll around one another to emphasize the commotion. “We fucking should be. And this close to deadline I know you need us to be. So, I’m gonna say we are.” He stops his frame on the side of her desk and firmly folds his arms across his chest. “I’m gonna believe that we are.”
“I’m gonna believe that shit too because I cannot handle one more fucking headache, Blanc. For four days…four…fucking…days…I’ve been in more meetings with legal and public relations than when I took over the fucking team, on top of having to renegotiate that deal for some college kid that hasn’t even graduated yet and magically find cap space needed to for all three playoff runs to have their necessary trades.” She gives her long hair a frustrated ruffle. “One more problem with this team, and I’m just gonna set the barn on fire. Call it an accident.”
He struggles not to smirk. “Arson, boss.”
“Not if they can’t prove it.”
“They can.”
“But we don’t know that they would.”
Seeing the mirthful twinkle in her expression convinces me now is probably the best time to hear the news.
Rip off the bandage.
Thank them for my time in Dalvegan and ask when I can expect a ring from my new GM.
“Alright,” clearing my throat gathers both sets of eyes, “where exactly am I going?”
Hennington leans back in her seat and gives her Dalvegan green cropped suit jacket a tiny tug. “You tell me.”
“Pardon?”
“Where exactly is this shit with you and Hoss going?”
Confusion crinkles my forehead.
“Was it wheeling that went on for too long and you two needed an excuse to stop but couldn’t come up with one or are you secretly in love with her like Khurana who quit after she knocked out one of his teeth in the parking lot of the new LMC?”
“She knocked out one of his teeth?!”
“I was actually planning on firing him,” the owner continues onward as if I hadn’t interjected, “but him quitting saves me so much paperwork, so he’s got some of my gratiskies for that.”
“Why were you going to fire him?”
“Fraternization really isn’t an issue for me like it is the league.”
Hope threatens to light up my entire complexion.
“It’s the lying and the deceit and not being able to fucking trust the people we need to trust that’s the problem.”
Culpability shoves me back down into the chair.
“And Khurana hit the hat trick in his efforts to bag Hoss. He lied about you. To the boys. The dancers. To the press. To the department. He misspoke about directives in an attempt to keep Hoss with him rather than you. And then the three seconds to go gino to top it all off is the fact he conspired with Hoss’s twinskie to trap you both and expose what wasn’t their business to expose, ultimately embarrassing this team publicly and at the worst fucking moment costing me clout I could’ve used for trade negotiations.”
Why does it not surprise me that those two were working together to try to split us up?
“This organization couldn’t trust him,” she casually leans back in her chair and tosses one leg over the other, “and now I need to know if it can trust you.”
An audible gulp can be heard around the room.
“I need to know,” Hennington pauses to motion a pointed finger between her and Blanc, “we need to fucking know if we can trust you.”
“You can,” I quietly proclaim to both.
“Can we?” Coach promptly counters with a skeptical head tilt. “Because the last two games were an embarrassment, Frosky.”
“I admit, I didn’t play my best-”
“I don’t a give shit that you didn’t play your best,” he effortlessly bites. “No one always plays their best. No one is always one hundred percent on top of their game, aye?” His body inches a little closer. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t bother showing up on the days that you aren’t.”
Befuddlement bounces my lower jaw in a wordless nature.
“You weren’t there for the boys when they needed you and it was felt.”