Page 61 of Traded

“’kay.”

I’m watching the practice when Lauren slips into the seat beside me. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.” If I close one eye, I can actually see the lump. It blocks my view of the ice. “Sorry I dipped out last night.”

“Don’t worry about it. It was a good night. They happen a lot?”

“Team dinner? Yeah.” I stare hard at the rink. Martin yells as the team moves into place for battle drills. Jonas checks Ryker with his stick, tipping him over. “It’s good to bond outside of this place, you know?”

“I get it. It was nice to meet everyone.” She sips at her coffee, and I try not to glare at it. Apparently the gift-giving stage has now passed, since my hands are very much empty. “What are you working on?”

I tip the notebook in my hands, showing her my scrawls. “I had this idea for a nature documentary-style voiceover series. Players in their natural habitats. We can drop it in between the game highlights.”

“Huh.”

I wait. That didn’t sound like awow, Rosie, that’s a brilliant idea, you master of all things socials, let me worship at your feetcompliment. “You don’t like it?”

I’m actually disappointed, because I read her strategy and it was, indeed, fucking perfect.

At the flatness in my voice, her brows fly up. “Uh, no. Sorry. I can’t think and talk. I think it’s great, actually. We could build up a real audience for it. Get a jingle made up, release it in targeted episodes. Do you need a budget?”

My eyes narrow. Ineverget a budget. “Can I have one?”

“Cost it up and we’ll talk.” Her smile spreads at my surprise. “What? It’s good, Rosie. I told you, I like your content.”

I suck on my cheek. “Are you saying that because—”

“No.” Color flares on her cheeks. “I told you. This is a separate thing. My work is… it’s important to me.”

I nod slowly. “Just asking.”

I reach over and yank the strategy from my bag, handing it over. “This was good. And believe me when I say I tried to find holes in it. I was ready to go to work with my special red pen.”

Her laugh is unexpectedly loud, followed by a flush of embarrassment. “At least you’re honest.”

“Yeah, well.” I turn back to the rink. “My work’s important to me, too.”

She tucks it carefully into another huge dark green bag. “I’m meeting Ness and Dick later, so that’s helpful. You’ll be at dinner?”

“Obviously,” I say drily. “If I’m invited.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Relax.” I settle back into my chair. “I’ll be there. It’s only leftovers, though. Fridge is full of them.”

“Oh.” Her brow knots together. “Yeah. Sure.”

If she doesn’t like leftovers, she’s going to be heavily disappointed in the majority of my meal planning. Gourmet chef is probably somewhere in the middle of her impressive resume. “Something wrong?”

“It’s fine.” She’s looking out at the ice. “I’ll… see you later.”

I stare after her as she grabs her bag and takes off.

Weird.

***

I pour myself a giant glass of wine before starting dinner.