Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
The couple to my left made a big deal about it. “Did Coach West just wink at you?”
I played stupid. “I don’t think so. I wasn’t paying attention.”
Not sure if they bought it, but they continued to stare at Cannon to see if he’d look back again.
He never did, and that was okay by me. Tonight, I’m just a fan, and he’s at work, doing what he does best.
Well, not sure it’s what he does best. The things he does to me between the sheets are pretty damn incredible. I know one thing I’ve learned during this very brief affair so far—I didn’t know what great sex was before Cannon.
Now I’m not sure anyone else could ever compare.
And yes, I have to think about a future without Cannon because he’s laid down enough hints that he doesn’t have time for anything more than “stolen moments.”
That’s okay with me for now. I’m still suffering low confidence from how Derek mistreated me, and I want to be able to trust my feelings. I don’t want to chase after a shiny happily ever after.
I learned my lesson.
I follow Kimberly up the steps to the main concourse, which is already filled with fans making the mad dash to their cars. She leads me to an escalator that goes up one floor and down a short hall to an elevator. Pulling out a key card from her retractable badge reel, she presses it to a panel and the doors slide open. I follow her in, and we go all the way down to the basement level.
“How come we had to go up the escalator just to go down in an elevator?” I ask.
“This one’s just a convenience and the closest elevator, even though we have to go up to get it.”
Doesn’t seem efficient, but I’m not an engineer.
At the basement level, we step out, and I can still hear some of the fans cheering as well as boisterous male voices, which I assume are the players, echoing down the hall. The basement is a huge oval that follows under the arena stands, but it’s so large I can’t see anyone down the hall as it curves in the distance.
“Locker rooms are down that way,” Kimberly says, explaining the noise. She heads in the opposite direction, pointing things out as she goes along.
We pass their workout facility, a family lounge where the door is open and I see several people inside, and then an equipment room.
Kimberly turns left down a short hall, and there are offices on each side with the other coaches’ names etched on brass plates on the doors.
Maurice Dupont.
Sam Thatcher.
Gage Heyward.
Baden Oulett.
Jack Hanson.
Cannon’s is at the end of the hall, and it’s huge, filled with a heavy wooden desk, bookcases, and leather chairs. A large-screen TV is mounted in the corner, and he has a round worktable circled by five chairs.
“Make yourself comfortable. Coach West has to do the aftergame press conference but will come and get you after.”
“No problem,” I reply. It’s either wait for him here or wait for him in the parking garage of his condo.
“Would you like something to drink?” she asks.
“I’m good. Thank you for your help.”
Kimberly smiles and exits, pulling the door closed behind her.
I walk around the room, checking things out. On the worktable are several notepads with scribbles. Three whiteboards have hockey rink lines drawn on them, littered with x’s and o’s and lots of arrows in dry-erase marker. I’d guess that’s Cannon creating plays.
His desk is fairly clear except for a laptop, a landline phone, and a three-ring binder.
The bookcases are fascinating because while they aren’t overloaded, they hold many items relevant to his hockey career. I study pictures of him when he was a player, and God, I thought he was hot in a suit, but in his hockey uniform on the ice… I might melt into a puddle.
There’s an eight-by-ten of a hockey team in the middle of the ice posed with the Cup, which even I know is the trophy passed along to each championship winner. I bend in closer, look among the men, and identify Cannon. Thanks to Google, I know he played for the Toronto Blazers and that they won the Cup one year he was on the team.
There are other group photos where Cannon’s wearing a suit, and I’m guessing those were the two teams he coached before coming here. There are pucks, awards, unframed certificates, and other knickknacks.
There are framed photos with what looks to be other coaches and perhaps some of his hockey buddies in settings outside the arena, including one of a handful of guys on a beach with beers in hand, mugging for the camera.
Cannon and two guys dressed in golf apparel on a putting green.
The collection seems to reflect only his hockey life—on and off the ice—and there are no pictures of his family.