Page 82 of Shootout
“You’ll get other attractive offers, and we want to be the organization you choose. Are you interested?”
“Yes. Yes. Yes. I want the job.”
Lauren and I talked a while longer, then I hurried home. The first person I wanted to call was Banks. I deflated, my good feelings fading as I reminded myself that Banks wasn’t available like that anymore.
The guys should be in their hotel by now, and I dialed my brother. He picked up on the second ring. I could barely hear him over the din in the background.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“At dinner.”
“It sounds like you’re in a strip club or something.”
“I wish.”
I snorted. No longer able to hold back, I gushed about my new job.
“I’m not surprised. What I’m surprised about is how long it’s taken management to figure out what a prize you are.”
I laughed, then sobered, as I couldn’t share my news with the one person who believed in me more than anyone else. “How’s Banks?” I blurted out without thinking.
“Hang on. Let me go somewhere more private.” I waited and soon my brother unmuted the phone. “Okay, sis, listen. I’m going to give it to you straight. Got it?”
“I guess,” I said warily, knowing I was on the verge of getting a lecture from big bro.
“Pull your head out of your ass and go after him. The idiot fucking loves you, and I’m sick and tired of him moping around like a lost dog in an animal shelter.”
“He loves me?” I wasn’t shocked because I’d known all along Banks had fallen for me. I’d just refused to see what’d been so clearly displayed on Banks’s face.
“Yeah, and you love him. I’m not playing matchmaker, but you better damn well do the right thing so my team can get on with business.”
I laughed at how my brother tried to make everything about him, but he was truly concerned about Banks and me. My heart soared with joy, and my soul sang every love song ever sung.
“How do I do that?” I asked.
“Do you expect me to take care of everything?” he grouched.
“I do.”
“All right then, here’s what we’re going to do.”
ChapterThirty-Three
WILD’S PLAN
~~Banks~~
The second game of our road trip was in Philly on Wednesday night. We won on Monday in Pittsburgh. No thanks to me. I played like crap, drawing a scathing dressing down by Wild after the game about being a professional, not letting personal issues affect my play, blah, blah, blah. Wild was right, of course, and I was determined to fight back in Philly and not let my teammates down.
He’d told me about Jessie’s new position, and I was overjoyed for her. She’d earned it. I’d started to call or text her multiple times but stopped myself each time.
We flew to Philly immediately after the Pittsburgh game. I went straight to my hotel room, not in the mood to party with my jubilant teammates.
The next morning at practice, I dived for pucks, hit hard shots, and outmaneuvered the defense. Wild’s ass chewing had knocked some sense back into me. No more moping on the ice. I’d save my moping for my room.
After practice, Wild approached me. “How about a shootout?”
“A shootout?” I frowned.
