Derek looks at Gabe. His face splits with a grin, and his eyes have that confident sparkle that used to drive me nuts when I wound up playing opposite him in practices. “Just be yourself, man. You got this.”
A knock comes from behind me. When I turn around, Sophie gives me a wary look, then shifts her attention to Gabe and Derek. She smiles at them, so I’m guessing she feels put out by my reluctance to go willingly into her lair of journalistic exploitation. Or she’s still feeling salty about me not telling her I’m a hockey player.
But that’s her reality. Not mine. So why does it still bother me?
“I hope I’m not interrupting.” Even though she makes a statement, she lifts her brows in question.
Gabe rises to his feet. “We were just finishing up. What can we help you with?”
She steps inside, past the doorframe. “I wanted to thank you for the office you set up for me. It’s perfect for doing the interviews.”
He sits on the edge of his desk. “No problem. Let us know if you need anything else.”
She appears thoughtful for a moment. “I’d like to start scheduling individual interviews with the guys, but I don’t want to interfere with their schedules. What time would work best?”
Gabe and Derek glance at each other in silent communication and nod in agreement. Gabe swings his attention back to Sophie. “How about after practice when they’re done cleaning up?”
“That’ll work, but I would like to get some photos of them in uniform, sans sweat and stink, of course.” She finishes her statement with a soft giggle that spikes my pulse.
I’m also captivated by how her eyes become more almond-shaped when she laughs, which she does a lot.
“Let’s schedule a day before practice starts,” Derek interjects.
Gabe nods in agreement.
Sophie does as well. “I can take those shots quickly.”
I, however, am getting agitated at the idea. I’m not convinced she’ll find a way to keep my face less visible. Like I told her, I have my reasons for that, and they have nothing to do with my reticence to be in the limelight.
Her broad smile firmly in place, Sophie does a little bounce and puts her hands together in gratitude. She’s like a bubbly imp. “Thank you. I’ll get with the guys to schedule the interviews.”
Gabe gestures at me. “Start with Luke since he’s our captain. I’d like to think his take on the team and where we’re headed will help youwith the rest.”
I can read between the lines. I know what Gabe’s doing—he’s reinforcing my position as captain as much for my benefit as the team’s. And I’m doing my best not to spiral down and walk out.
Sophie’s smile slips when she meets my gaze. “Sure. Sounds good.”
Her expression says she’s thinking the same thing I am. The idea of my interview guiding her with the rest of the guys will be as helpful as a hurricane watering a flower garden.
For the first time, I’m in total agreement.
Stepping into Sophie’s temporary office is disconcerting, to say the least. She’s obviously given this project a lot of thought in creating a space that’s inviting and comfortable, not only for her but for her interviewees.
Which I am now one of. I shift on the quilted gray bench seat situated opposite a small window that lets in enough light to keep the place from feeling like a cave. A large planter filled with something leafy and green sits to my right. I reach out and touch a leaf, fully expecting it to be artificial, but the surface is soft and yielding.
On the wall behind me hangs a banner with the Sun Kings’ blazing sun and crown logo. Not sure where she found that, but I’m kind of impressed to be honest. This feels way more professional than I expected.
To the left of the window sits a desk butted up against the wall. Sophie drags the chair out and spins it around to face me. Her hair is loose today and cascades over her shoulders like a waterfall of silk. Sunlight from the window reflects across her bangs as she sits down. My fingers twitch of their own accord with a desire to touch her hair, to find out if it feels as satiny as it looks.
She crosses her legs, bringing my attention to the hot pink toenail polish peeking out from her sandals. The first day Gabe introduced her to the team, she had on a top almost the same shade. And considering the rose pink accent pillow propped against the opposite side of the bench seat, I’m going to make a guess that pink is her favorite color.
A pang shoots through my chest as I stare at that pillow and realize the tufts of fabric are supposed to resemble roses. A wash of memories unfurl in my mind of the last rose bush I surprised my mother with for her birthday a week before the accident—her smile of pure delight at the color and scent of the blooms, how she stood by directing me where to dig the hole in her rose bed, and her warm embrace afterward to thank me for her beautiful gift.
After all this time, you’d think the pain of her loss would diminish more. In some ways, it has. I don’t feel like I have a bone-sucking cave in my chest anymore. More like a dull ache that I’ve grown accustomed to and almost don’t notice at times.
Almost…
“You okay, Luke?”
