Page 130 of So This Is War
In silence, we walked to the player bus, and I climbed on, sitting in the front with the staff, where I stared out the window. I thought about texting Sandie, but I didn’t want to get into what happened last night.
Why did he even want to massage me? Because he felt bad? Well, he didn’t have to take matters into his own hands. And why did I say yes? Because I’m desperate for the man? Because I wanted to feel his strong hands on my skin? Because I was possibly hoping that it would have turned into so much more?
That’s probably the reason.
And I know better than that. It can’t turn into anything. I can’t get distracted, and that’s exactly what’s going on.
I’ve put the logo design for Patty Ford on hold despite the entry form closing soon. I can’t seem to find the right font for what I need, and instead, I’ve been sketching on my iPad in Procreate, just having fun and playing with the techniques I’ve learned in my classes. I really enjoy just . . . drawing.
It kept me busy while on the plane ride to Chicago as well.
Dad is in the front with all the coaches and staff, probably discussing tomorrow’s game. Levi and his friends are toward the middle, a lot of them playing games on their Nintendo Switches—something that will always be funny to me—and a few people are toward the back like Halsey Holmes, who is quietly reading to himself.
I am in the row that’s right in front of the bathroom, which is always pleasant, especially when the backup goalie, Torres, decided to spend a solid twenty minutes in there. When he left, he offered me a wink as he walked back to his seat, a stench trailing him.
Disgusting.
“Would you like anything to drink?” the flight attendant asks after she’s served everyone else.
“I’m good. Thank you, though.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Well, if you need anything, just ask.”
“Thank you,” I say, but she doesn’t move away, so I look back up at her. “Everything okay?” I ask.
“Are you the coach’s daughter?”
“Yes,” I say, straightening up.
She nods and looks toward the front of the airplane.
“Is everything okay with him?” I ask, confused.
“Oh yes, sorry, don’t mean to worry you. I was just wondering, do you know if he’s seeing anyone?”
My expression falls flat as I look up the aisle at my father’s bald and shiny head. It’s no secret that he’s claimed as one of the hotties in the hockey coaching world. He stays in great shape, has that grumpy façade that women tend to like, and he dresses very well, thanks to the stylist he hired a few years back after a magazine shoot he did.
But this, this feels a bit much for me.
“Uh, not that I know of,” I say. “Then again, he doesn’t talk to me about that stuff.”
She nods. “Okay, well, thanks for letting me know, and I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I just felt like, I don’t know, there was some flirting, and I thought about giving him my number.”
“Flirting?” I scoff, my eyes feeling like they’re about to fall out of my face. There is no way Will Wood was flirting. Unless she considers a snarl to his lip flirting, which, in that case, he’s flirting twenty-four seven. “My dad was flirting with you?”
“Well, it felt like it. He was touching my hand.”
“What?” I nearly shout, drawing the attention of a few people around me, so I lower my voice. “He touched your hand?”
“Is that uncommon?”
I set my iPad down and say, “To be fair . . . uh, what’s your name?”
“Giselle.”
