Page 18 of Pucked Together

"Word of advice, woman to woman?" she says.

"Of course. Please." Any advice she has, I'm all ears.

"Don't get involved with any of the players. It's not against policy or anything. It just tends to make things...complicated. Take it from someone who learned the hard way."

I nod, wondering what her story might be. But I'm not even close to feeling like I can ask.

"The team captain is your brother. I'm sure you'll be fine," she waves away any worries.

"Thanks so much for the opportunity, Ms. Lopez. I won't let you down."

"Please, call me Rina. And don't thank me. Your work speaks for itself. See you tomorrow. 10 am."

With that, she walks me to the door and waves me off. As soon as the door closes behind me, I turn and do a happy dance.

I just got hired. I'm the interim Heatwave team photographer.

I need someone to pinch me because this does not feel real. I have to be dreaming. I do another dance and completely miss the giant at the end of the hall leaning on the wall and watching me.

My hand shoots up to my heart from the fright. "Oh my—jeez, Balinger!"

He shakes his head and crosses his arms. "Do I want to know?" His gravelly voice sends instant shivers through me.

"How long have you been watching me, Goalie-zilla?"

"Long enough." He pushes off the wall and walks over to me.

I gulp as he gets closer. He leans over to look at the paper in my hands with my job title listed above it.

"Team Photographer?"

"Yes, why do you sound so surprised?"

"I don't know, I took you for more of a yoga instructor type," he motions towards my pants.

"Hardy-har, Balinger. No, I'm actually really good with motion photography."

He stands there, just looking at me.

"What?" I finally say.

"So you work here now?"

"Yes, well, temporarily, but yes."

He groans, sidestepping me, and starts walking down the hall.

I turn to him, totally annoyed. "What is your problem? I know you don't like me, but you can at least be civil with me."

He stops and walks back toward me, stopping just inches from my face.

"I don't have a problem, Sparky. In fact, I'm so ecstatic that you're here. Just over the fucking moon," he throws his arms up in the air.

"You're being sarcastic," I deadpan.

"Get used to it. Us hockey players are a sarcastic bunch."

"No, I know hockey players, " I step up to him and stretch onto my toes to meet him close. "My brother is one. I've dated one. I photograph them. It's you. You have an attitude problem, Goalie-zilla."