Playing to Win(5)

"Let me tell you a little something about the business of hockey, Mr.  Maguire. For the last five years, our merchandising and ticket sales  have consistently ranked in the bottom third of the league's teams.  Since we made the play-offs, we've seen a fifteen percent jump in  merchandise revenue and we've almost sold out tonight's game. That's  after one post-season game. We need to ride this wave, and the Women's  Hockey Network is helping us do that. That clip of you walking away from  her the other night has half a million likes. I'm not exactly sure what  that means, but it's good."

Luke nodded. Shut his mouth. Braced for impact.

"I trust I don't need to tell you how eager we are to see results in the postseason?"

"No, sir."

"Excellent. Now, what were you saying about concerns?"

A headshake was the best Luke could muster. "Nothing, sir. Nothing at all."

"That's what I thought. I'm looking forward to watching your interview  footage from this morning. After all, a captain sets the tone for his  team, and I know I picked the right man to keep these boys on track. And  put a couple of pucks in the net, while you're at it. Understood?"

"Perfectly."

Ten minutes of fuming and a chicken and pasta lunch later, Luke was  back in front of the doors emblazoned with the stylized cresting wave of  the team's logo. The doors burst open just as he reached for them, but  instead of revealing his sexy, skirt-suited nemesis, he came  face-to-face with the rookie.

"Dude, you up next?"

"Yeah." He glanced over the kid's shoulder, but the doors swooped shut  before he could catch even a glimpse of teal. "Yeah, I'm up next."

"Cool. Word of advice? If you stand close enough during the part where  she's on-screen with you, you can see all the way down her shirt."

When his tip failed to elicit any reaction from Luke, Sillinger's cocky  grin faded. "Look, Cap, I want to apologize for what I said after the  game the other day. Cubs explained why you're so tense and everything."

The kid glanced away as he said it, so he missed Luke's look of  surprise at the mention of Eric Jacobs, or Cubs, as everyone on the team  referred to him. "Exactly what did he tell you?"

"Oh, you know. All the pressure you're under from the higher-ups. And  dealing with the media. And about your shot being off and stuff."

Luke exhaled. He should have known Jacobs would have picked up on all  of Luke's behind-the-scenes crap. The guy was eerily intuitive-it was  what made him so great out there on the ice.

"Um, you ever consider that maybe your shot's off because, um..." The  kid leaned conspiratorially close and murmured, "I'm just sayin', maybe  it would help if you changed the oil."

Luke stared blankly at the right-winger. He didn't like where this  conversation was going, mostly because he'd been thinking about it a lot  since he'd watched that damn video last night. Holly Evans was  beautiful, and she'd made him think about something other than hockey  for the first time in a long while. And she could certainly get him  riled up. Not to mention she didn't give a damn about hockey. All things  he found way too appealing at this very moment.

"Sometimes things get rusty when the pipe's not clean, you understand? I  mean, how long's it been, man? In my experience, a good lube job can  really help work out the kinks. And lucky for you, right through that  door is a smoking-hot woman who told the entire internet that she  considers you a certified Grade-A cut of beef. Plus, when I made my  move, she told me she's looking for a guy with more maturity. That's  your in, dude! She totally wants someone old. You should hit that."                       
       
           


       

Luke was pretty sure he'd never felt more ancient than he did having  this particular conversation and he was only twenty-six. "Thanks for the  advice, rookie."

"Hey, no problem, Cap. I got your back." Brett glanced at the door to  the interview room. "You need a wingman in there, or you good?"

"I think I got it," Luke assured him.

Their conversation was interrupted by the infamous "Charge" anthem, a  staple of sporting events everywhere. The rookie yanked his phone out of  his back pocket. He glanced at the screen and grinned like he was on  the cover of Hockey Digest. "Yes! It's the car dealership. You are not  even going to believe the sweet ride I just bought!"

He was bouncing up and down like a Chihuahua that was about to pee on  the floor. "The guys won't be able to give me a hard time about my  wheels anymore. I gotta take this, Cap. Good luck in there."

Luke waited until Brett disappeared around the corner before he stepped  inside for his mandated face-off with Holly Evans, intrepid reporter.

* * *

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME, Jay? You took Salt Lake City over Vancouver in the  first round? That's ridiculous. No wonder you always lose your hockey  pool. I mean honestly. I expected better of you. Vancouver clearly has  the edge and-Luke!" Holly bolted off the interview stool.

She hadn't been expecting him.

Like the rest of the team, he was wearing the navy T-shirt that  mimicked his jersey, with the cresting wave on the front and his last  name and number on the back. His T-shirt even had a white C on the  front.

But unlike the rest of the team, the sight of Luke in his T-shirt and  jeans did funny things to her hormones. Seriously, is it hot in here?

"I thought you were...not coming back...ever. How long have you been there?"

"Not long," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets as he sauntered  farther into the room. His cocked eyebrow and smug half grin said  otherwise. Holly worried that her attempt to appear innocent was failing  miserably, because her thoughts were anything but G-rated.

"What are you guys talking about?"

"You know," she said, so brightly that she could have sworn he squinted a little. "This and that."

Luke nodded, glancing over at Jay, who avoided meeting his gaze. "Sounded like hockey talk to me."

"What? No."

"Yes," he countered, matching her wide-eyed tone. "It really did. I'm a  bit of an expert on the subject. Salt Lake City, Vancouver, first  round. Definite hockey talk."

Luke had already nailed the fact that she was using this job to angle  for a promotion. If she confirmed it by dropping the shtick, he could  have her fired before she even got started. The best way to reassure him  that she was harmless was to be harmless.

Holly's laugh was both forced and slightly manic as she shooed his  words away with the dainty flick of her hand. "Oh, that. I was just  telling Jay about...uh-" Think, Holly. Think! "-the numerology class I  took." She nodded, warming to the story. "Yeah, really interesting  stuff. I was explaining how it can help you make decisions about  important things. Like which handbag to buy. Or in Jay's case, he's  doing some hockey thing with his friends and I was showing him how he  could use it to pick teams."

"Cool. I'd love to see how it works." He raised an eyebrow to punctuate  the challenge, and she couldn't quite hold back her frown. But she'd  come this far. Might as well go all-in.

Holly could almost swear she saw something like respect in his blue eyes as she lifted her chin and squared her shoulders.

"Uh, yeah. I just added up the letters in Vancouver-A is one, B is two  and so on, your typical cipher-and then you take whatever the sum is,  add those numbers together if it's more than a single digit and you have  it. And in this case, it was equal to nine. Jay's birthday is September  ninth, so obviously Vancouver is the luckier team for him."

Luke smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "So it has nothing to  do with the fact that Vancouver is a team with enough depth and  experience that it's pretty much a foregone conclusion that they'll  knock Salt Lake out of the first round?"                       
       
           


       

Holly shrugged. "What can I say? The numbers don't lie."

"Sorry to interrupt...whatever this is, but I gotta use the can," Jay  announced. "Down the hall and to the left?" he confirmed, and Luke  nodded. The members of the Portland Storm were so superstitious that she  and Jay had been asked to trek all the way to the building's public  washrooms because no one but the team was allowed in the dressing-room  bathroom on game day.

The two of them watched Jay leave, and she used the silence to regroup.  She felt much more formidable when her adversary's baby blues swung  back in her direction.

Until he said, "What is your game?"

"Game?"

His laugh was derisive, but kind of sexy for all that. "You're not  fooling anyone. I know something's up with you and I intend to figure  out what it is."