Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Elias’s eyes light up, twinkling even. “Damn. That’s smart. Seriously smart.”
It is? I mean, yes it is. “Thanks. That’s your pro tip for the day,” I say playfully.
He taps his temple. “I’ll have to remember that.”
I’m about to leave having gotten away with murder, when I remember—he asked when to give it away. I can’t leave without answering. “Oh, and why don’t you decide when to give the stick away? You’re so good at the fan stuff, and you really know best.”
It’s actually the truth, even though it sounds like I’m sucking up to him. So I add, as earnestly as I can, “I mean it.”
“Thanks, Ev. I’ll find the perfect time.”
I grin and bear the nickname, then head on down the hall, whipping out my phone to text Max. I should let him know that Mister Hockey Stick might be onto us.
But I stop when I open his contact info.
Our last exchange was the photo the night he left town. I have resisted him. He’s resisted me. And he’s going to hit the ice in a couple hours when the puck drops. I don’t need to text him about Elias before the game starts since there’s nothing to really worry about anyway.
Instead, I text The Padlockers.
Everly: It’s been more than a week since I even texted him. I want a prize for my resistance.
Maeve: I’ll send you a new vibe tonight as a reward! That is impressive!
Josie: Gold stars for you, strategy queen.
Fable: Is anyone else wondering if we can all get that reward? Just me?
Everly: Yes, Maeve, make it a group reward.
Maeve: Bankrupt me, why don’t you?
Josie: But it’s for a good cause.
Maeve: You don’t need one, Josie! You have a hot man obsessed with your pleasure at your beck and call.
Josie: That doesn’t mean we don’t enjoy vibes!
Fable: I’d like to say TMI, but I’m mostly just jealous.
Maeve: Me too.
Everly: Me three thousand.
I smile, then put my phone away as I march down the hall, doing a double take when I pass the coach’s office.
“Leighton!” I say when I spot the back of the pretty brunette sitting across from her father.
She must not hear me though, because she doesn’t turn till her dad tips his chin in my direction, as if he’s letting her know I’m here.
When she looks my way, her eyes brighten. “Hey, Everly! How are you? Good to see you again.”
I step inside and give her a hug. I met Leighton a few years ago when she was still in college and interned at The Sports Network as a photographer. “Did you graduate last year?”
“I did. I’m doing some freelancing now,” she says.
“She’s so talented,” her father says proudly, and gone is his usual tough guy coolness. He’s all dad now, praising his daughter.
“I should have hired you for today. To take pics of the dog adoption event,” I say. “I didn’t realize you were back in town. I’ll just have to hire you the next time I need a photographer. I’m guessing you won’t have a problem with that, Coach?” I ask playfully, turning to her dad.
He adopts a faux stern expression. “Let’s see. A job for my amazing, talented daughter? I’d have no problem with it.”
“Can you come to the event today?” I ask her.
“I’m not sure. I actually have another freelance job with the Renegades.”
“That’s awesome. Seriously excited for you. Let’s catch up soon. Want to grab a bite to eat with my friends and me? One of my girlfriends works for the Renegades.”
“I’d love that,” she says, then I say goodbye to her and her dad.
I spend the next few hours before game time hustling my butt off. I haven’t even seen Max since he’s returned, but that’s okay.
We are just player and publicist—that is all.
With everything set for the event, and all sorts of media coming for photos, I head to the press box as a high school choir sings the national anthem. I arrive right before the one o’clock puck drop. The game begins, and two minutes into it, everyone’s eyes are drawn to the Jumbotron.
Lyra Raine’s face is on it, and she’s here at center ice, sitting in the stands.
28
SNEAK ATTACK
Everly
It’s my job to know how to handle surprises, but I am simply stumped. She’s not here to sing the national anthem. I don’t know what to make of this surprise appearance—nor do the members of the press. Gus peers at the Jumbotron with his brow pinched, then looks down at his screen, like the answer will materialize there.
Claudia’s jaw drops, and in a raspy, former two-pack-a-day, awed voice, she says, “No way.”
Jamie, the young podcaster, points at the huge screen above the ice, and blurts out, “Holy shit. Is that her?”
Her.
That’s all he says.
Her.
She’s so famous, she doesn’t even need to be called by her name, Lyra Raine, or as she’s more often known, America’s sweetheart. She’s famous enough that she’s just…her. Bloggers, reporters, and talk radio hosts scramble. There’s a shuffling of equipment, phones, cameras. And then it’s complete and utter chaos as reporters text their editors, lift their phones, and tap out social media posts, stat.