“—put even more pressure on Chen,” I finish, nodding as I say it and feeling the strange rush of collaboration with Luca. “Chen will see that a younger player has been moved up, and it wasn’t him. It’ll push him to play even better.”
“That’s what I think—do you? You don’t think it will de-motivate him?”
I tap my pen on the table. “Not with his particular psyche. O’Brien gets moved down, and Chen goes up? Yeah, he doesn’t get it, gets dejected. But moving them like this, O’Brien up and Chen down—they’ll both react by playing harder.”
“While we’re on the topic of O’Brien,” Luca says, grabbing the remote and clicking on the screen to our left. “Let’s talk about his brother.”
His twin, specifically, who’s also a professional hockey player on the Seattle Kraken. The next team in our lineup.
I nod and pull out my notes. “Yeah, let me tell you what I have.”
For the next hour, Luca and I talk about the O’Briens. We talk about the upcoming game, the likelihood of the other O’Brien resigning, whether or not he might come here, and what the dynamic might look like if he does.
We talk about the next three games, the Wild’s tough defense, the Panthers’ tough defense and how to break it. Weak points on the Oilers’ lineup, and how we can break through them. I show him my notes and he shows me his.
Sixty minutes go by of a strange, harmonious energy. Us, building off one another. Plenty ofYes, andorI don’t know about thatorNo, and here’s why I think that. No accusations of being pig-headed, over-confident, or reaching.
By the time the meeting is nearing its end, and it’s time for Luca to leave for training, I feel out of breath. Exhilarated, like at the end of a hike looking over a gorgeous landscape. What it used to feel like in the car with my dad, speeding away from the site as we heard the faint, muted sound of sirens in the distance. A euphoria of accomplishment, paired with the joy of more to come in the future.
“I’mtellingyou,” I laugh, my marker squeaking across the white board as I trace the path I’m positive the Kraken’s O’Brien will take if pressed a certain way. “This is his fall back—his safety attack. He’ll go this way, and if you get Maverick pressing up on him, then Blackwood waiting for the scoop, you can take the puck from him every time. Until the Kraken wise up and take his line off the ice.”
“No, look.” Luca shakes his head, points to the video on the wall. “See how he’s leaning like that? When he does that—” he steps forward, plucks the marker from my hand “—that means he’s going to…”
His arm flexes as he reaches up to mark a new path on the white board, and my eyes dip to the place where his shirt rides up, exposing a strip of tanned skin just above his waist band.
Christ, am I a teenager? It’s just a stomach. Just a toned, muscled stomach, connected to a large, smiling man whose warmth I can feel radiating from him. Damn fast metabolism, I’m sure. Part of me wants to ask how much he eats every day to keep up with the constant exercise.
“Excuseme,” I laugh, reaching forward and trying to take the marker back. “I can’t believe you just took that—”
But while I’m trying to grab for it, I accidentally send a streak of blue over his white shirt, and he looks down at it like he’s been shot, raising his head to meet my eyes dramatically, that golden hair falling over his forehead.
“Wren Beaumont,” he says, and I hate the way the sound of my name on his lips makes me shiver. “I can’t believe you would stoopsolow, just because you know I’m right—”
“It was an accident!” I protest, but he’s already uncapped a different marker and swiped it just over my wrist, despite my attempt to step back from him.
I’m not sure what has happened to deliverthisLuca to me today. The one who wants to collaborate, who’s joking with me, smiling and running his hand through his hair, wielding his marker like it’s a sword, and we’re in fencing practice.
“Well,” a voice comes from the door to the room, and I jump, surprised at myself for not realizing Uncle Vic had stuck his head into the room. His eyes dart between me and Luca, and he purses his lips, making his mustache pop. “This isn’t what I meant when I said to get along, but if acting like middle schoolers makes you better at your jobs, then so be it.”
“We’re not—” Luca starts.
“Just wait until there’s chewing gum inyourhair, Vic,” I say, pointing the marker at him. He rolls his eyes and leaves, letting the door shut behind him.
“I can’t believe you talk to him like that,” Luca says, and I realize he doesn’t know his coach is my uncle. But I’m not about to tell him now—not after we’ve only just started getting along.
Instead, I just shrug, watching as Luca gathers up his things. “What can I say? It’s all about confidence.”
“Yeah, sure,” he laughs, and when he has his notes under his arm, he says, “see you next week, right?”
What is going on in my body right now? My palms sweat, and I resist the urge to rub them along my pants. “Right.”
***
“Wren! You made it! Happy Friendsgiving!” Ruby meets me in the foyer, hugging so tightly that I have to be careful with the bottle in my hands.
This time—unlike at Sloane’s Halloween party—Luca doesn’t look at me like I’m a fox in the hen house. Instead, he turns and nods, raising his beer to me from across the way as Ruby pulls me into a hug.
“I did—thank you for inviting me.” I lift the bottle of wine in my hands, push it into hers. A quick Google search will tell youthat there’s no wine on this earth I could buy that Ruby Romano couldn’t buy herself. So I went for something more unique.
