Harper made sure she didn't touch on his personal life unless it directly correlated to the sport, such as who took him to hockey practice, when did he start playing, who were his childhood heroes he looked up to for motivation. She made no move to ask about girlfriends or his mysterious love life - he never seemed to have a steady girlfriend though there were a few casual ones - or even touch on the rumors that followed him from Toronto.
She and Katella ended up leaving relatively early - a few hours after they arrived - both seemingly content with their respective nights. Harper noticed Katella dancing a lot with Alexander Vane, the defensive player who was also a goon, poised to send a message or start a fight if the team needed it. Katella was a fabulous dancer and in Alexander’s hands, she moved beautifully, liked she belonged there. As far as Harper saw, they didn't make out at any point but there was chemistry that was undeniable.
"Thanks again," Harper said when Katella took her to her car.
"Thank you," Katella said with a smile and a wave before heading inside. "Have fun at practice tomorrow."
That's right, Harper thought to herself. I have another article I need to write. She smirked to herself as she slid in the car. God, she loved her job.
Harper finished her article on Zack Ryan the next day. She emailed it to Seraphina and took her time to do what she always did on Sunday - walk the Back Bay and buy a frozen banana on Balboa Island. When she got home, Seraphina emailed her back with a couple of edits and the approval for it to be published on the Gulls' blog that day. It didn't take long for Harper to post it, and from there, she shut off her computer, refused to check her smartphone, and decided to play her game.
Monday morning, she received an eight AM call from Seraphina requesting she attend the Gulls' nine am practice and write a piece about how they look. "And be honest," Seraphina added. "Practices are open to the public so don't bullshit. Not that you ever do, but don't feel you need to write as a homer."
Harper hopped in the shower and threw on her clothes - a fitted plaid shirt with the long sleeves rolled up to the elbows, tight skinny jeans, and worn converse shoes. She didn't have time to blow dry her hair so she tossed the wet locks in a messy bun and threw an old baseball cap over it. A couple of stray strands slipped out of the binding and framed her face. She hoped they wouldn't frizz up when they dried.
The drive was easy - no more than fifteen minutes - but the parking wasn't as empty as she expected. A lot of people probably wanted to see the new team practice together. Once she parked, she grabbed her tote bag and headed into the arena. The practice rink was down a long circular hall and broke off to the right. She slipped in unnoticed and headed up the stairs where half the stone rows were already filled with spectators.
Harper took a seat off to the side just as the Zamboni finished cleaning the ice. She pulled out her notebook and pen, and once the players made their way into the ice, began to take notes.
The team was rusty. No doubt about it. There was no syncopation yet because the majority of them had never played together. However, they had potential. That much was clear.
Besides Ryan, there were nine new players Seraphina acquired either through waivers or during the off-season. NHL analysts actually gave the team an A+ for their acquisitions because Seraphina managed to increase depth while remaining well under cap. Some still criticized her choices - there were a few players with controversies of their own, including Alexander Vane, a fourth line goon who was arrested for battery after he defended a female fan from a groping male and Oscar Solis, a top defenseman known for being a pest on the blue line and who, like Zachary, had no problem answering the call to fight if need be. Gregory Russell was the person Seraphina spent the most money on but someone worthy of the investment, despite the fact that he was in his early thirties and kind of a jerk. He was a second line center with more experience than Zachary Ryan, but no Cup. Kyle Underwood would serve as Ryan’s right winger.
Harper was waiting outside the locker room for the team to get decent before she got to go in and interview them exclusively. Questions swirled in her mind and she kept clicking her pen, trying to make sure they made sense to her, trying to make sure she didn't sound like a complete fool when she interviewed these players, the coaches.
Someone propped the door open, indicating that she was free to come in. She took a breath and made sure her recorder was on and she was ready. When she stepped in, the first thing she noticed was the smell. It reeked of body odor and body spray and she had to hold her breath so she wouldn't choke. They were gathered in a circle around their coach, all of them listening to what he was saying. No one really noticed her, which she preferred so she could get ready and prepare. Everyone except Zachary Ryan, that is.
His crisp blue eyes found her and he gave her a little half smirk, like he could see straight through her. Like he knew she was frazzled on the inside despite the cool demeanor she was holding onto on the inside. His dark blond hair was messy and sweaty and the crease from his helmet was visible on his forehead. He had no shirt on - oh my god, look at that body. Now I know how rappers feel when they talk about butts - so his broad shoulders and toned chest and sculpted abdominal muscles glistened with sweat for everyone to see.
Well, actually, only for her to see since his teammates weren't exactly checking him out.
She gritted her teeth and forced herself to look away. She would not look at him. She would not let him get to her.
"...lot of work to do," Coach Cherney concluded. He clapped his hands together before rubbing them up and down. "But we can get through it. We've just gotta stick to the plan."
When he finished, Cherney looked over at Harper, as though he knew she had been there the entire time. "You're Harper, right?" he asked. He waved her over before she could respond. "Sera told me about you. You're here to write about our practice."
Harper swallowed as every player turned to look at her. She refused to notice Zach's smile get bigger on his face.
She cleared her throat. "Um, yes." She nodded her head and felt her fingers clutch her pen tighter. She hated attention. She liked writing for a reason. It gave her the opportunity to work alone where she answered to no one but herself. Now, she was still writing - for a salary and health benefits - but she was given assignments that involved her interviewing people and spending time with them and getting to know them. And not just a few people, but an entire hockey team and their coaching staff.
"Why don't you introduce yourself to us, and then you can grab a few players and get some quotes," Cherney suggested.
Cherney was intimidating even though he was a smaller-built guy. When he played hockey, he used to play defense, which didn't make sense because he was so small and so lean. He was bald with a bushy mustache that crawled over his top lip. He was known for being direct and had no problem being confrontational. He was old school and did things his way without adapting to the times, which could definitely be an issue depending on how this new team responded to his coaching. However, he seemed to be nothing short of friendly and Seraphina had nothing but good things to say about him. Even now, he was looking at her with warmth even though they had yet to be formally introduced.
Except for the fact that he was making her introduce herself to everyone. Except for the fact that he put her on the spot.
"I'm Harper," she said, forcing a smile. She sounded more confident than she felt, which was a good thing. She hoped her smile came off as genuine rather than as a grimace. "You'll be seeing a lot of me. I'm the team blogger and I'll be writing a lot about you as players, you as people, and you as a team. If you have any questions, feel free to reach out to me."
"Do you let your subjects read the articles you write before you publish them?"
Harper's eyes narrowed in on Zach. There was that dry glint in his eye, the cocky smirk on his chiseled face. He stood there without a shirt on, only in the leggings all hockey players wore under their hockey pants, padding, and socks. She refused to look at his chest, refuse
d to explore the muscles with her eyes, refused to give him that satisfaction. He was a gorgeous specimen but he knew that and it took any endearment away.
"Are you worried?" The quip was out of her mouth before she could stop it and her tone was challenging and possibly flirtatious.
Especially after her conversation from last night.
She didn't like the way he was looking at her. She didn't like that gleam in his eyes, the particular curve of his smile directed at her, his body language. But she was starting to understand who he was and she knew how to respond to that. She wasn't nervous around him anymore. In fact, she was secure, bold in her confidence of herself. He liked a challenge; she would give it to him.
"If you have any questions," she said, her eyes finding Zach once again. "I have an office on the second floor of the Ice Palace that I will be moving into Monday. Feel free to reach out to me. I look forward to working with you."
The team collectively welcomed her in their own way but she didn't hear them. He hadn't looked away from her. Another challenge. She got that.
Challenge accepted.
God, she hoped it wasn't flirtatious.
Chapter 5
Harper sent both of her articles to Seraphina late Sunday night. Besides a couple of tweaks, the articles were published exactly as they were on the website late Monday night. She even had a couple of complimentary comments left the last time she checked. This was gelling and it felt good. She couldn't wait to bring it up to her grandmother when she checked in on her.
"So," Terrie Immings said, sitting across from Harper at her round kitchen table, her long fingers - fingers that used to play that old piano in the living room beautifully - tapping the surface. "How does the team look? I heard we got Zachary Ryan. How's he?"
Harper shrugged, swallowing a mouthful of fresh lemonade. It was Tuesday, early afternoon, and the sun was seeping through the open kitchen window, making the kitchen look both lighter and bigger than it really was.
"I haven't really seen him play, Grandma," Harper said once her mouth was clear. "But he'll be first line center, so he must be good. Cherney wouldn't put him there unless he wasn't."
Terrie snorted, rolling her blue eyes. "He was out there because Matt Peters left," she said. "He had a shitty season, let me tell you. I'm not sure if it was because of his relationship with Katella, or if it's because he had already mentally checked out after Brown’s death. Regardless, he was lucky to play for us and he gave us a half-assed season. I'm hoping Ryan turns it all around for us."
"Well, the guy has scored thirty goals since his rookie season," Harper pointed out. "That's eight seasons with thirty goals per season. Plus, the last four years, he's had fifty plus assists. He's a sixty percent average in the faceoff circle, which can be improved upon but is still really impressive, and last year, he was ranked a plus thirteen even though the Bangles didn't make the playoffs. He wasn't even first line with them."
"What is it, Harp?" she asked. "You sound skeptical."
Harper pressed her lips together, trying to think of the right thing to say. She knew how to write down her thoughts, no problem, but to organize her thoughts in a way where she could communicate them verbally... That was an entirely different story.
"On paper, he looks perfect," Harper said. "Besides his off-ice issues, the only problem I see is his attitude. He's top line material but he has over a hundred penalty minutes his last three seasons. He's a skilled player but he'll fight - which is respectable, but then he broke his hand during a fight and was out of the lineup for thirty games."
"And he still managed to score thirty goals?" Terrie pointed out, though she legitimately sounded intrigued.
"He doesn't wear a shield either," Harper added, "which, I know since the National Hockey League’s shield regulations were grandfathered in, he doesn't have to, but it screams reckless, arrogant behavior."
Terrie smirked. "Sounds like my kind of player," she said.
Harper rolled her eyes but a good-natured smile tugged at her lips. Her grandmother was a character, there was no denying that. She had been prim and proper, the perfect definition of a nineteen fifties housewife. It wasn’t until her children were out of the house did she start smoking cigars during the Stanley Cup playoffs and swearing when she was driving. Her personality began to emerge during the acquisition of more independence. When her husband died, she allowed herself two weeks to mourn the love of her life before she decided life was too short and threw herself into her passions.
“You should come with me to the practice," Harper said, teasing her grandmother with a wink. "I get to go into the locker rooms afterward and interview them without their shirts."
"You're getting paid to talk to naked men?" Terrie asked, her brow pushed up under her hairline. Her pale green eyes were clearly impressed. "Honey, I would have killed for your job."
Harper laughed. She loved spending time with her grandmother. It didn't even feel like a burden to take care of her by any means. In fact, Harper aspired to be more like her grandmother. She loved life and had no problem expressing who she was. She didn't care how people perceived her or what they said about her. She was who she was and was unapologetic about it. Harper was relatively the same except she did worry about what people thought about her. Which was stupid. Which was why she spent as much of her free time as she could with her.
"Go home, Harper," she said with a smile. "I can get myself into bed. You have a busy day tomorrow. Charity function, right? Do you have a dress? Let me give you some money to get a dress. Get a slutty one. You have a great set of tits, Harper. Use them to your advantage."
Harper started laughing. "My advantage?" she asked. "What am I using my boobs for?"
"You're going to marry a hockey player," she said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You've got to catch their attention with your looks and make them fall in love with your personality."
Harper rolled her eyes but a smile still permeated her face. "Grams, you have quite an imagination," she said as she stood up and collected her keys.
"Of course I do," her grandmother replied. "Why else do you think your grandfather was so satisfied in life?"
It was dark by the time Harper returned to her apartment. The days were getting shorter with October fast approaching and there was a chill in the air that hadn't been there before. Harper didn't mind; she loved the cold.
She changed into a long sleeved thermal and blue plaid pajama bottoms, leaving her socks on and her hair down. She was just about to remove her bra and settle into bed with a good book when a knock interrupted her. She pressed her brows together. No one visited her after six at night. She only had a couple of friends who would stop by and they would only let her know ahead of time. Her only family was her grandmother and she didn't drive and she definitely wasn't dating anyone, which just begged the question - who was at the door?
She padded over the carpet living room to her door and rolled up to her toes to check out her peephole. Her heart skipped to her throat.
What the hell was Bryan doing on her doorstep?
She hesitated. Her teeth started gnawing the inside of her bottom lip. She didn't want to answer. She was compelled not to. They had a bad breakup several months ago and he was the last person she ever wanted to see again. That was why she broke up with him. Because he was a terrible, controlling person that teetered onto mental abuse. She spent a year and a half with the guy; she didn't want to spend another minute of it with him again.
"Harp?" he called, knocking on the door. "Come on, open the door. I know you're there."
Her heart seized up and skipped a beat. She hated his voice; it grated on her the way fingernails dragging on chalkboard did. She pressed her back against the door as gently as she could, keeping her position crouched, preventing herself from being seen. As if Bryan could see her through the peephole. She held her breath, willing him to go away. She wanted him to go away.
Her phone started vibrating against the wooden t
elevision stand. It sounded like a car horn on an empty street. It made her jump and nearly lose her balance.
"Come on, I can hear your phone. I know you don't go anywhere without your phone."
Harper pressed her hands against her mouth, ensuring she didn't make any telling noise. She didn't care if he thought she was gone. All she cared about was getting him off her doorstep. She had no idea why he was here. It wasn't like he had any of her stuff and she definitely didn't have any of his. There was no reason for him to be here. She didn't want him to be here.
Her phone stopped vibrating. The light went off. She held her breath, waiting. Waiting.
Then: "I just wanted to congratulate you on your position with the Gulls. I know how much you love hockey and you're such a talented writer, you completely deserve it. Your article on Zachary Ryan was superb. Great job. I look forward to your next one. That's it. That's all I wanted to say."
More silence. Then footsteps walking away.
She let out a sigh of relief. She could finally catch her breath. The tension still hadn't left her body. It probably wouldn't until she was tucked into bed and Bryan was far from her mind. Far, but not forgotten.
Harper hated her body's reaction whenever Bryan was involved, even if one of her friends brought him up casually, even if her grandmother made a disparaging comment about him in an off-handed way. Her palms would start to sweat, her stomach would clench up, and her entire body would completely freeze. Her heartbeat would start to get harder and faster and she could feel her pulse gently slice a corner in her neck. She felt out of control, losing her grip, and she had no idea how to calm herself down. Her instinct was to curl up in a ball and shelter herself from the outside world until Bryan was gone from her mind and she could breathe again.
Exes and Goals: A Slapshot Novel (Slapshot Series Book 1) Page 3
