But between Madison's weird warning about not hooking up with the players, and Todd leaving me stranded outside the arena late at night, I wasn't in much of a mood to celebrate my new job.
It also didn't help that Todd left me stranded on a night when the clouds above opened up and spat bullets of ice cold rain. The rain fell fast and hard, and each pellet pierced at the skin like a bee-sting. I wasn't dressed to deal with this. When I'd left for the audition, the weather wasmuchwarmer—and all I'd worn was a thin hoodie over my sports bra and dance shorts. I'd really regretted that fashion choice now.
Note to self: the weather in Denver can change in a hurry.
I stayed close to the arena, out of the sleet, fumbling with a city transit map and trying to figure out if there was, at the very least, a closer bus station—so I wouldn't have to walk quite so far in the freezing rain.
That's when I heard someone push through the arena doors behind me. Leather soles clicked on the concrete. The easy gait of a confident man strolled past me. An electric energy followed him—like the same storm clouds that had rolled overhead and blanketed the sky—and made the tiny tingly hairs on my neck stand straight up.
The sound of those shoes stopped just a few feet ahead of me. His magnetic presence lingered as he stopped, turned, and leered at me. But I didn't dare look up from my transit map. Call it rude, but Madison's warning had scared me witless. God knows—if that was a player, and he talked to me? And someonesawus talking? I could lose my job before I even started day one.
I pretended to study my map, hoping that mystery man would sense my panicked vibes—don't talk to me, don't talk to me!—and move along.
But, of course, he wouldn't. He took two steps closer to me instead.
“You lost?” he asked, his voice deep and smooth and right to the point.
I glanced up from my map—and what I saw made my heart pause in an instant. I'll say this: the handsome young man standing before me possessed the imposing height (6'2? 6'3?) and broad-shouldered build required of a professional athlete. Wearing a stylish trench coat over his well-tailored and obviously expensive midnight blue suit, he dressed like a young millionaire, too.
Gulp. This guy has 'hockey player' written all over him.
“No, not lost,” I answered shakily, and my paranoid eyes swept our surroundings for witnesses. “Thanks though.”
He ran a titan-sized hand through his unruly locks, and swept back his sandy-brown curls.
My eyes narrowed at him: the strong jawline, the square chin, the cheekbones—was he starting to look familiar?Was he the captain?Without all his hockey gear on, and without that giant 'C' stitched on the front of his jersey, I couldn't be sure.
But he shrugged. “Okay.” And then he turned and walked off.
I breathed a sigh of relief when he continued on—the sound of his footsteps growing more distant as he disappeared into the parking garage.Whew.
Another call to Todd went unanswered. More fumbling with my stupid map, which had been soaked by the rain, and was beginning to tear and fall apart.
Minutes later, bright white headlights rounded the corner of the parking garage. The car was heading towards me. The snarling, exotic-sounding engine powered down into a low, relaxed hum as the driver slowed alongside me—and came to a smooth stop.
Oh boy. Here we go again.
Inside, through darkly-tinted windows, all I could see was the orange ember of a cigarette. He smoked? Maybe he wasn't an athlete after all.
The passenger window slid half-way down. I bent my knees to take a peek in, even though I already knew it was him.Yup—it was him, alright, and now his dark and manly features were lit by the blue glow of the car's instrument panel.
“Yousureyou're not lost?” he asked.
“I promise I'm not lost. I'm—” I stammered. “I'm waiting for my ride to pick me up. I think.”
He chuckled. “You think?”
“Well—he was supposed to answer his phone—but …”
He tilted his head at me. “Weren't you one of the ice girl try-outs?”
I paused before admitting, “Yeah.”
“Did you get the job?”
“… Yeah.”
“Cool. Congrats.” He held up a parking permit that read, in big letters,STAFF. “Guess we're co-workers, then. It's a good organization to work for. You want a ride home?”
