Holy shit.
A little noise escapes my mouth, which is still hanging open in shock.
“Mar. Is everything okay?” Heather asks.
“Wha…? Uh, yeah! Yeah, sorry.” I exit out of the page and put my laptop to the side. “I just got distracted by something. Listen, I should probably start cracking on all of this research. I want to show up on Monday and at least be able to half convince everyone that I know what I’m talking about.”
“Sure thing,” she says. “I have to start on dinner anyway. Congrats again!”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t forget to call mom and dad,” she adds. “And come visit soon!”
“Done and done.”
We say our goodbyes, I tell her to give April a kiss for me, and we hang up. The moment the call ends, I grab my laptop again and balance it back on my lap, then start sifting through even more team photos, looking for one player and one player only.
Noah Blake.
He’s even more handsome than I remembered, and seeing his face again sends me right back to our time together in the elevator—even though I couldn’t see him for most of it. My heart starts to flutter, my palms begin to sweat, and I can practically feel him pressing his leg between mine. No wonder it felt so damn thick and hard. He’s spent god only knows how many hours on skates, using muscles I’ve probably never used in my life.
He really is built like an athlete, and now that I know that’s what he is, it makes perfect sense.
I close my eyes for a second and take a deep breath, then I snap myself out of my memories and go back to researching. This time, I type just Noah’s name into the search bar, leaving the rest of the team out of it, and my eyebrows shoot up to my hairline as the results pop up.
A lot of them are from what seem like gossip sites, and I scroll through a few, reading the headlines.
Noah Blake Seen Leaving a Bar with Two Ladies!
Hockey Heartthrob Caught on Camera with New Mystery Woman!
Group of Puck Bunnies Throw Their Bras on the Ice at Denver Aces Game.
When I click on the last headline, I find out that several women all wrote different love letters to Noah on the inside pads of their bras—and also included their phone numbers in case he wanted to call any of them—before tossing their bras onto the ice after a game.
I click back to the list of news articles, and the fourth headline I see simply asks the question, Will Noah Blake Ever Settle Down?
Next to that headline is a collage made up of various paparazzi shots showing Noah with a seemingly endless lineup of young, attractive women in skimpy outfits.
I blink, staring at the computer screen with my mind racing. This is the last thing I expected to see.
He’s a playboy.
From the look of it, Noah has had no shortage of women throwing themselves at him, and he probably sleeps with a different fan every single night. Here I was thinking that we had a connection, that our shared moment in the elevator meant something—but clearly, that’s not the case.
I grimace, almost biting my fingernail before remembering that I just touched up my nail polish.
God, I’m such an idiot.
He probably thought I knew who he was, probably wasn’t even surprised when I threw myself at him like some slutty hockey groupie. But that’s not who I am. What happened in the elevator today is so out of character for me, brought on by an intense experience and the heightened emotions of being trapped in a small space with another person. It was unexpected and… special.
At least, I thought it was.
But now I realize it was probably just another Thursday afternoon in the life of Noah Blake, captain of the Denver Aces and all-around ladies’ man. There was nothing special about it. Nothing special about me, not in his eyes.
There’s at least one silver lining to all of this. Despite my best efforts, I didn’t see Noah coming out of the building after I was evacuated. My cheeks burn with embarrassment at the thought, and I’m suddenly very grateful for the chaos I found myself in outside.
What would’ve happened if we’d run into each other out there? He would’ve seen me standing there with a hopeful expression, ready to hand over my number and ask him to go get coffee sometime. All the while, I’d have had no idea that I was just another conquest for him. Just another notch in his belt.
Scowling at his photo, resenting him a little for making me feel like this, I resolve to not let what happened between us affect my work.
This job is a huge opportunity for me, and I’m not going to let some rich playboy ruin it. I’ll keep things professional and treat him just like the rest of the players on the team. I’ll act as if nothing happened, and hopefully he’ll have the good sense to do the same.
Besides, I think to myself as I close my laptop and head to the kitchen to rustle up some dinner. Hardly anything really happened between us anyway.
The rest of the weekend is consumed by research. I spend all my time learning everything I can about hockey—with a little help from Derek—and watching tapes of the Denver Aces games from the last few seasons.
I also study their social media pages, and stalk each of the players on their personal accounts, taking copious notes. Meanwhile, I work on establishing a plan for how I’m going to put this team on the map.
They don’t have the worst social media presence as far as NHL teams go. Some of the other teams don’t even have updated Facebook or Instagram pages. But still, there’s a lot of work to be done, and I get the sense that the owners and team managers don’t always understand how important social media is when it comes to building hype and establishing a fan base.
I make a few finishing touches to my plan on Sunday night, and when I lay my head down on the pillow to go to sleep, my stomach flutters with a mix of excitement and nerves.
My alarm goes off early on Monday morning, and I hop into the shower quickly, then blow-dry my blonde hair, opting to leave a few gentle waves rather than drying it straight. Then I throw on some simple makeup and head back into my bedroom to decide what to wear.
I start out with a simple black skirt and a purple blouse, but end up hating that combination. I swap the skirt out for nice slacks, but then the shirt isn’t working for me. Next, I throw on a dark red cashmere sweater my mom bought me for Christmas last year, and the outfit is finally starting to come together. I remember what Sarah told me about it being cold near the ice, so I grab my heavier coat and put on a thicker pair of socks underneath my high-heeled boots. I take one last moment to look at my reflection in the mirror, smoothing down the front of my sweater and touching up my lipstick.
For a second, I wonder whether Noah will find me attractive in this outfit, but I quickly squash that thought.
“No,” I say to myself sternly, pointing a finger at my own reflection. “It doesn’t matter what he thinks. You look fucking great, Margo. And you’re going to rock this job, no matter what.”
With that, I push my shoulders back in an attempt to banish any remaining nerves, paint a confident smile across my face, and walk out the door.
Fifteen minutes later, I’ve found a parking spot and am headed into the arena, where I spot Mr. Gallagher right away. He’s standing with his back to me, staring up at a screen that’s lit up with the Denver Aces logo. I come up beside him and cough softly to announce my presence. He turns when he notices me and sticks his hand out for a shake. His chestnut brown hair has a few strands of silver at the temples, and his hazel eyes crinkle at the corners a bit when he smiles.
“Miss Lucas!” he says enthusiastically. “You’re here right on time. I like that.”
I smile. “Call me Margo, please.”
“Margo it is.” He nods as he lets go of my hand. “Now, I have a lot to show you, and I’m sure you have plenty of questions, but before we get into all of that, I was wondering if you’d like to go meet the team. They haven’t started practice yet, so now is the perfect time to catch them all. They’re in the locker room, if you’d like to say a quick hello.”
I’m a little taken aback by the suggestion, if only because I thought I would have a bit more time before coming face to face with Noah. That said, it’s not as if I’m going to let Mr. Gallagher know that I’m wary of meeting any member of the team, so I grin and say, “Absolutely. I would love to say a quick hello to the team.”
He claps his hands together and motions for me to follow him. “Wonderful! Come with me.”
As we leave the main part of the arena and walk down a hallway that leads to a separate part of the complex, I try to imagine what the arena must look like on game day. It’s probably alive with noise and lights, with hordes of people running to grab snacks in between periods and cursing themselves for missing even a moment of the action when they need to use the restroom.
A little thrill runs through me. I can’t wait to actually get a chance to sit down and watch the Denver Aces play in real time. Based on what I saw from the tapes of their old games, they’re a force to be reckoned with, and now I’m going to be a part of all that.
When we reach a door at the end of the hall, Mr. Gallagher uses a key card to open it, leading me into the employees only area. He points out the equipment room, the player lounge, and the coaches’ offices before leading me to the locker room. He knocks before entering.
“Everyone decent?” he calls out.
“Depends on what you mean by decent,” says a man on the other side of the door. “We’ve all got pants on, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Mr. Gallagher smiles at me. “That’s Reese. He likes to joke around, but he’s one of our best players.”
I nod. Reese Sutton. Left winger and assistant captain.
This is all stuff I memorized during my research, and rattling off these facts in my head makes me feel better as Mr. Gallagher opens the door and leads me in. The locker room smells like a mixture of deodorant and sweat, and the players are all standing around chatting. Some of them are fully dressed, while others only have pants on and no shirts. Nobody seems to be in a big hurry to get on the ice, which tells me they usually have a little down time before practice.
Great. This is something I can do a post about.
Once I get to know the players more, I hope they’ll trust me enough to let me come in before practice and take pictures or record some video footage of them laughing and hanging out. I can do one of those ‘they’re just like us’ pieces that talks about how these hockey players may be rich and famous, but at the end of the day, they’re just a bunch of normal guys. Fans love that kind of stuff.
“Gentlemen,” Mr. Gallagher says as he walks me a little farther into the room. “I’ve brought the newest member of the Denver Aces marketing team here with me to meet you all. She’ll be stepping into the position of our new social media manager.”
A couple of the men wave, and a towering man I recognize as the goalie—Grant Parker—gives me a polite nod before turning back to face his locker and scrutinizing whatever he was watching on his phone before I arrived.
“Nice to meet you. Welcome to the Aces,” says a familiar voice from behind me.
My pulse quickens a little as I turn to meet Noah’s gaze. His eyes widen, and the faint hope I’ve been clinging to that maybe he wouldn’t recognize me or remember me fades away.
Nope. He definitely remembers.
