Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
“It would be my pleasure,” he said, and after scrawling his signature out on the photograph of him in a sweaty celebration after a goal, he dropped the marker to the table and turned back toward where Livia and I stood. “Although, I don’t expect you’ll get much for such an ugly thing.”
His eyes were on me with those words, and I tried with all my might not to swallow or back down from his gaze.
“Oh, I’m sure you’re wrong,” the volunteer said. “It’s not often a pro athlete also has an artistic inclination. This is the kind of work that a collector would be proud to display.”
“You made that?” Livia asked, her eyes wide and impressed. “It’s beautiful.” She shook her head, appraising the piece further. “Save some talent for the rest of us, why don’t you?”
I rolled my eyes, which made Vince smirk in victory.
The volunteer went right back to whatever it was she was doing behind the tables, and Vince kept his eyes fixed on me long enough to make me look away.
When I finally did, he adjusted the cuff links on his wrists before nodding at Livia. “Better get back to it,” he said. “Enjoy your evening, ladies.”
He didn’t so much as glance at me again before he was striding through the crowd, and where the seas had parted for Livia, the opposite was true for Vince. He was magnetic, calling to every person he passed without saying a single word. He didn’t get farther than a few feet before a group was enveloping him, pulling out their phones for pictures. And as soon as he’d break free from them, there was a girl or two or three tugging on his arm and vying for his attention next.
“I can’t imagine the life he lives,” Livia said with a curious smile.
“I can,” I bit back. “The carefully curated kind.”
“Okay, grumpy. Not everyone is evil until proven a saint,” she mused, laughing. Then, she tugged me toward the stage. “Come on. Let’s find our table before the speeches start.”
I let her lead the way, schooling a few breaths to shake off how flustered that stupid man had made me.
Adding insult to injury, the vase went for ten-thousand dollars by the end of the night.
A Real Piece of Work
Vince
A calm energy ran through my veins as I taped up my sticks the morning after the gala, but there was something razor sharp beneath it.
It was only our second home game of the regular season, and while a win felt great no matter where we earned it, there was something special about one in our barn. If we were going to be taken seriously as competitors in the Eastern Conference, we needed a dub tonight against the Toronto Titans. They were leading the conference and coming off a Stanley Cup win last season.
If there was ever a time to prove Tampa was back in the game, tonight was it.
I wasn’t too worried. Coach sensed as much at the gala last night, and he warned me not to get too cocky. But it wasn’t cockiness.
Well — not entirely, at least.
I just saw things exactly as they were.
Our lines were stacked with veterans. Our defense was focused. Our goalie was the best in the league. We were running efficiently, and we’d studied tape so long my eyes had crossed.
Plus, we had me.
They could call it cocky if they wanted, but I was the missing piece for Tampa — a strong right winger on the first line with the tenacity this team had been missing. I bulldozed my way into rookie camp after graduating Michigan in the spring, and I hadn’t let up since. Coming straight into the NHL after college wasn’t an opportunity I was going to waste, and I didn’t care if I had to ruffle some feathers in order to keep my spot here.
My teammates loved to give me shit, to remind me I was just a rook and that I’d be humbled as the season progressed.
But that hadn’t happened yet.
I felt the win tonight. It was ours. Home ice just felt better, we had won three games in a row, and having the support of our fans always ticked the energy up a notch.
Although, the Tampa fans were restless after nearly a decade of half-baked seasons — and I didn’t blame them. The Ospreys had only made it to the playoffs twice in that time, and had choked in the first round on both appearances.
But again — that was before me.
I finished taping my sticks just in time for my headphones to be flicked off my head by the hand of Jaxson Brittain, a defenseman who was quickly becoming one of my favorite to work with. He was only a couple years older than I was, a Canadian known for battling in the corners and being quick on the ice. We’d struck up a friendship easily when I came to the show.