Page 43 of Pucking My Bad Boy Boss
"What's wrong?" I ask, sensing I may have hit a nerve.
She puts her fork down, her gaze meeting mine directly. "You know, being a part of the sports world as a woman..." she starts, her voice trailing off, a mix of determination and exasperation coloring her tone. "It's not always easy."
I lean back, realizing the gravity of what she's about to share. "How so?" I ask, my own tone shifting to match hers.
She takes a deep breath, collecting her thoughts. "It's like I'm constantly having to prove myself, over and over. My strategies, my decisions—they're questioned far more than they would be if I were a man. It's exhausting, always having to justify my position and my expertise."
I nod, the levity of my earlier joke completely forgotten. "That sounds incredibly frustrating."
"It is," she says, a flash of vulnerability in her eyes. "But I love the game too much to let it beat me."
I can't help but admire her determination, the fire in her eyes. "You shouldn't have to prove a damn thing," I tell her firmly. "Anyone who questions your place in the sports world is an idiot. You're one of the best, Isabella."
She looks at me, a trace of surprise flickering in her eyes. "I didn't expect you to understand."
I lean back, a half-smirk playing on my lips, feeling an unexpected connection in our shared experiences. "You'd be surprised.”
Isabella smiles. “Try me.”
"After my ACL injury, when I was trying to transition into a managerial role in the NHL, I wasn't just seen as a former player. I was the wounded athlete, the guy whose glory days were behind him. It felt like I was constantly fighting against this perception that I was just this... broken warrior."
I shake my head, almost surprised at my own candor. "I had to work twice as hard, prove myself over and over, just to get people to see past the injury, to see that I had a mind for the game, not just skills on the ice."
As I speak, a sense of vulnerability washes over me, a rarity in my usually guarded demeanor. I'm not one to open up about my struggles, but with Isabella, it feels different, almost natural.
Her expression softens, and I can tell my words have resonated with her. "I guess we both know what it's like to fight against stereotypes, to be seen for more than just the surface assumptions people make."
I nod, a newfound respect for her tenacity and drive building within me. "Exactly. It’s not just about what you can do, but also about breaking down those barriers, those preconceived notions."
It's a strange feeling, this openness, but it's not unwelcome. It seems that this fake engagement might be revealing more truths than I had anticipated.
“That’s not all,” I say, feeling more just pouring out of me.
“That’s not all?” Isabella’s clearly intrigued.
“Started at a young age, I guess. Growing up it was just me, my mom, my sisters, and my grandma. Dad passed when I was just a kid. It was rough, but it showed me real quick how tough women are. My mom and grandma, they were like these unstoppable forces, you know? They handled everything, no matter how tough it got. It made a big impression on me, seeing their strength. Guess that's why I've always had a thing for strong women."
She smiles, clearly liking my answer. In those moments, however, all I can think about is howweirdit is that I’m sharing so much about my past. This is the kind of stuff that never came out on other dates.
Who is this woman?
After dinner, I stand up, offering Isabella a slight grin. “Now, for the best part of the apartment,” I say.
“The best part?” There’s no missing the curiosity sparking in her eyes. I lead her towards the large glass doors at the far end of the living room.
As we step out onto the terrace, the ambiance shifts dramatically. It's my favorite spot in the apartment, a stunning terrace with a sweeping view of the city and the bay. The lights of the skyline twinkle like distant stars, painting a breathtaking urban nightscape.
I flick a switch, and soft music from the outdoor speakers begins to mingle with the night air, a perfect backdrop to the stunning view. To ward off the evening chill, I turn on the terrace heater, ensuring we’re enveloped in a comfortable warmth.
Isabella's eyes light up as she takes in the view. “This is incredible,” she says, her gaze sweeping across the city lights.
I nod, feeling a sense of pride. This terrace, high above the hustle of the city, has always been my sanctuary, a place to think, to dream, to escape. Sharing it with someone else, especially Isabella, adds a new dimension to the experience.
We find a spot to sit, the comfortable outdoor furniture allowing us to relax while still taking in the impressive panorama. The music, the city lights, and the cozy warmth from the heater blend together.
We clink glasses, and I can't help but notice how the light catches her eyes, giving them an extra sparkle. "To our very convincing engagement," I toast, my voice laced with a hint of irony.
Isabella smirks, raising her glass. "To the best performance of our lives."
