Page 7 of Falling for the Felid
Once the last of our teammates has clomped out, Coach looks at the four of us remaining. “You’ve probably heard that the organization is collaborating with the DEA to build a fandom among the elves and dragons,” he starts, and I blink. Huh? “Erik in marketing has asked for some player volunteers to be part of the outreach program, and you’re it.”
Understanding—and giddy relief—settles over me, but before I can say, “Thank you for this chance, I swear I won’t fail your test”—because that’s abso-fucking-lutely what this is—Sarcnet proves exactly how lacking in smarts he is.
“Sorry, Coach, I can’t volunteer for this.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I, uh… got stuff on.”
Opposite me, Hebbe’s eyes slide closed on a wince, proving he has two brain cells to rub together. Seriously, though—“I got stuff on”? He doesn’t even know how much time he’ll need to give, or when.
Coach nods slowly. “Uh-huh.”
Vitter, who I’ve never thought was particularly bright but clearly is smarter than Sarcnet, looks confused but keeps his mouth shut, gaze darting from face to face as he tries to work out what’s going on.
“I’m good for it, Coach,” I say, not caring if it sounds like I’m sucking up. Because I totally, one-hundred percent am. “Should I see Erik about the details?”
“Me too,” Vitter races to add, surprising me. Hebbe quickly agrees, and Coach nods again, his face giving nothing away. Damn demons and their damn muscle mass. I’ve gotten better at reading them after so many years playing with half a team of them, but it’s still not easy.
“Erik will be down after practice,” he advises us. “Let’s get going.”
I fall in with the others to follow him out, feeling like I’ve dodged a bullet. Now I just have to pass this stupid community outreach test.
CHAPTER FOUR
Ari
I followErik down to the dressing room, dreading what’s about to come. I recognized every one of the four names on the list the coach gave us, and though none of them make me happy, one makes me practically break out in a cold sweat.
Felix Ansas.
Aka the whole reason I’m here, undergoing this punishment that Eoin swears is guided by instinct. Probably the same instincts I ignored when I was a complete and total ass to Ansas a few months back.
Was I doing the job I get paid to do in service to my king and people? Yes.
Did Ansas’s past (and present) actions warrant further questions? Yes.
Was I unnecessarily rude and aggressive in asking those questions? Also yes.
Did I push things beyond what was needed and embarrass myself and the DEA in doing so? Definitely. I deserved the dressing down Eoin gave me, as well as the very awkward experience of apologizing to Ansas. I deserved to feel uncomfortable through the entirety of training camp and the king’s promotional visits.
But now I’m starting to feel like I’ve suffered enough for that mistake. I mean, seriously? I have to coordinate his unwilling volunteer activities? The life force is a petty, vicious entity. I’ll be lucky if I don’t end up as the next victim of one of Ansas’s short-tempered rages.
Although to be fair, aside from the incident all those years ago, his rage seems to be confined to the ice. Or at least, there haven’t been any enforcement or social media reports about it.
I take a deep breath as Erik reaches for the door, and he shoots me a sidelong glance. “You okay?”
Smiling tightly, I say, “Yes. Of course,” then suppress a flinch.
Erik either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care—probably the latter—because he just grins at me. “Once we’ve made a hockey fan of you, you’ll be eager to get in here and give the guys hell.” He pushes open the door and disappears inside before I can scoff at that idea.
I give myself an extra second to get back under control. I spent a long time—literally decades—working on my social skills, and now I only slip when I’m stressed. While I knew I wasn’t thrilled with this whole Warhammers situation, I thought I was handling it. Clearly my subconscious feels differently, if it’s letting remnants of the life and self I hate so much come to the surface.
But then, I’ve been struggling with that since the moment I did Felix Ansas’s background check.
Shoving my inner turmoil back into the battered mental box I keep it in, I follow Erik into the dressing room.
It’s chaos, of course. Impossible to have so many rowdy athletes all gassed up on adrenaline after practice, and expect the room to be calm. Most of them are in various stages of stripping down, and some are already headed toward the showers, either naked or with towels wrapped around theirwaists. All of them are loud… though there’s an underlying tension in the room that I don’t remember from training camp.
