A new city and a new Bristol.
Braxton lowered three drinks onto the table—a bottle of beer for himself, a margarita for Dakota, and a whiskey neat for me. Bringing the lowball glass to my lips, I threw the drink straight down my throat without blinking or coughing, before raising my hand and signaling to a passing waitress that I needed another.
Yeah, this girl’s daddy had taught her how to shoot whiskey; it was more than needed tonight.
Music blared over strategically placed speakers, accompanied by the vocal stylings of the intoxicated man on stage. His buddies were cheeringhim on from a table near the back, and I couldn’t help but laugh at the spectacle.
Okay, maybe I could see how this would be a fun way for the players to unwind after a game.
“You know who would love this place?” Dakota said before answering her own question. “Hannah.”
Hannah Berg—formerly Moreau—was the daughter of Ace Moreau, the Connecticut Comets’ head coach and former three-time league champion. She was also married to Cal Berg, star defenseman for the Comets before his retirement. Now, he did on-air analysis for their in-house network. I guess that made him my colleague. Maybe? I wasn’t sure how it worked between broadcast journalism and print.
For over a decade, Hannah had been the anthem singer for the Comets. That girl couldsing. To further that point, she recently began recording music in the offseason—since she also worked for the team as their travel coordinator, accompanying them on the road—and was getting interest from high-level execs in the industry. She not only had the voice; she had the look of a pop star, and was arguably the most stunning woman I’d had the pleasure of meeting in real life. I knew she would be a smashing success if she actively pursued a career in music.
“We should bring them here when they come to town next. You two could do a duet!”
Dakota’s suggestion had me violently shaking my head. “Nope. Never gonna happen. She’s so good that I’m too self-conscious to sing in the shower anymore. No way am I performing with her in the room.”
Smirking, she teased, “You say that now, but I know you. After enough whiskeys, you’ll be dancing on top of tables, not caring what anyone thinks.”
Braxton chimed in, “Dancing on tables would be tame compared to some of the drunken acts we’ve seen Bristol perform.”
My eyes bulged, and I protested, “Hey!”
He held his hands up. “It’s true.”
Frowning, I grumbled, “Yeah, well, there’s a new Bristol in town. A responsible, career Bristol.” Unfortunately, that was the moment the waitress returned with my second whiskey of the night in less than half an hour. Dakota and Braxton tried and failed to hold back their laughter, and I rolled my eyes, lifting the glass and allowing the amber liquor to scorch a path down my throat. “Okay, starting tomorrow.”
Tomorrow, the first day of training camp for the Speed, was designated as media day. It would be my first time gaining access to the players and staff, and I could admit I was nervous. This job was a big deal, and I wanted to show that I was more than a token female on a sports staff.
My best friend’s blue eyes twinkled at my mention of what was coming the following day. “Aw, it’s like I’m sending my kids off to their first day of school.” She reached up and pinched Braxton’s cheek as if he were a child. “I’m gonna miss you guys when you head out on the road.”
Braxton wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close to his side and kissing the top of her head. Seriously, those two were disgustingly sweet together. “Don’t lie, Firefly. You’ll be writing up a storm and won’t even notice we’re gone.”
A grin curved on her lips, and she raised a single hand. “Guilty. Maybe I can have Hannah put a bug in the commissioner’s ear about extending road trips so that Eastern Conference teams play the entire West Coast in one trip and vice versa. Cut down on the CO2 emissions with all the back and forth. She has him on speed dial, right?”
“Do you hear this girl?” Braxton said to me in disbelief. “Talking about the league commissioner? My, how far she’s come.”
“You’d never believe that, two years ago, she didn’t even know what a slap shot was,” I agreed.
Dakota’s previous aversion to all things sports had been personal. Not only was she watching Nix use me, but her dad was a football player who had cheated on her mom before leaving them broke. She assumed all athletes were womanizing assholes and wanted nothing to do with them or the games they played.
But the rise of hockey romance changed all that.
I’d practically begged her to dip her toes into one of the fastest-growing subgenres in her field, and she agreed, unable to deny how high the demand was. There was only one problem: by shutting out sports for most of her life, she knew nothing about them.
Now, you’d never know that she hadn’t grown up like I had, attending as many games as possible.
Dakota nudged Braxton with an elbow while shooting me a playful wink. “Well, I can’t be hanging in the family box with the other WAGs and not know what’s going on.” WAGs was an acronym for the wives and girlfriends of players.
“Eh.” I held my hand parallel to the table, wavering it a bit. “Plenty of significant others don’t know about the game.”
“Usually, only the new ones,” she countered. “And they’re eager to learn.”
Eyeing her carefully, I asked, “The Speed ladies treating you right?”
Dakota had kept her circle small over the years. Before Braxton stepped into her life, I was her only friend—she was a verified bookworm. I knew how catty women could be, so wanted to ensure she wasn’t being bullied.
