Clusterpuck (Vegas Crush #9)

11. We’re Going Anyway

11 /

we’re going anyway

Lila

Laura is sitting at a table already when I arrive. She waves and I scurry over. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Boss working you like a dog?” She’s grinning.

“One of them, anyway. The other left early to get her hair done.”

She inhales harshly, offended. “I did not leave early to get my hair done. Do you know what all those men in the office would say if I did?”

“Oh, sorry.” I start shaking my head. “The hair is so on point though; I thought for sure you just got it done.”

Laura winks. “Just kidding. I totally had a hair appointment. But seriously, don’t tell the boys.”

“Your secret is safe with me.” I mime the lip-zip and throw away the key action.

Laura is ten years older than I am, but we’re both new to town and trying to build careers in a male-dominated industry. We’ve hit it off since day one and she feels more like an older sister than a boss. That is probably the only time I’ll get to say that in my career, so I’m not taking it for granted.

“Is Grant being good to you?” I ask.

She nods. “He’s incredibly good. Has a thousand ideas. His mind works a million miles per hour. And it’s not like he doesn’t know the game. He played, too, but I can see why he’s won so many awards on the administrative side. He’s not just sitting on his ass counting beans, you know? He’s thinking about what will fill seats, what personalities will create the best kind of fireworks on the ice. He knows money and he knows people and he knows hockey. I made a good choice in coming here, I think.”

“I can see that about him. And he’s not terrible to look at, either.”

“No, he is not.” She looks down at her perfectly manicured nails. “You know, it could’ve been a disaster, bringing him here. The Crush is a solid team, and they did okay with a bumpkus of a GM. Grant could’ve come in and mucked things up like nobody’s business. Most GMs don’t get quite so involved in the game.”

“That’s the balance I’m trying to learn. It’s the reason I wanted to intern with the Crush, even though I probably should’ve gone somewhere else.”

“Why go somewhere else?” she asks, peering at the wine menu.

“Because it’s more than a little nepotistic, taking a top internship slot at the team my grandfather owns.”

“Girl, we’ve talked about this. Time to let it go. Take your shot when you get it. You’re doing a good job. It’s not like they put you in the slot and then you sat there filing your nails.”

I look down at my short, unmanicured nails. “I don’t have any nails to file.”

She makes a face. “You know what I mean.”

“I think that’s why Max hired you and Grant. He wanted new ideas. He didn’t want the team to get stuck in a rut.”

“I got that same feeling. And, you know, a lot of organizations are all about diversity and inclusion, and I know what it feels like to be a token. I know what interviews feel like when the effort is all lip service. But I didn’t feel that way when I interviewed with Max Terry. Which was a relief because, in all honesty, I’m a bit of a Max Terry groupie.”

“Really?” I ask, shocked and grinning widely.

“Not in a creepy way—though he is a total silver fox. But professionally, he is the gold standard in my eyes. I’ve met owners who only cared about money, and I don’t get the sense he’s like that.”

“Oh, he cares about money.” I laugh. “A lot. But I get your point, and you’re right. He really does care about people. He’s a good man. I mean, I know I am biased, but he’s the gold standard for me, as well.”

“There are about a thousand reasons that people think I don’t belong in sports management. And definitely not hockey management, but your grandfather didn’t seem to hold those same biases. He just wanted experience and ideas.”

“What have people said to you in the past?” I ask as the waiter comes to take our order.

Once we’ve ordered, Laura says, “You can probably guess. I got a lot of pats on the head. Like, oh, that’s cute you played hockey with the boys for a while. But some of it was more offensive. Women are too emotional to run a team. Women will be tempted by the athletes. Oh, and then the worst was that I was a Black woman and Black people don’t really like hockey much, so how would I be able to manage a team.”

A shocked noise comes out of the back of my throat. I swear my chin hits the table. “I’m sorry. What ?”

“It’s a different world out there when you don’t fit into someone’s prescribed ideal.”

“So how was your interview with the Crush?”

Laura lights up. “It was really great. They asked me about how I started playing, what I learned, why I decided to pursue management. They asked me relevant questions about how I would solve problems and infuse new ideas into the way the organization runs. They were real interview questions, and they took my answers seriously.”

“Was it just with Grant and Max?”

“It was. And they asked me why I hadn’t been snatched up prior to this.”

“What was your answer?”

She grins. “I said, ‘ Presumably, sir, it was because I don’t have a penis .’ Grant jumped right in and said he figured my balls were as big as anyone’s if I’d spent half my life playing hockey. Then Max started cracking up and I just felt like it was a done deal. I’d have worked for pennies if it meant working for those two.”

“I can’t believe you said that to him,” I say. “Then again, maybe I can. He’s very progressive in a lot of ways. Max has never told me I should go do something else just because I’m a woman. He always encouraged me to be part of the business. I think he truly just wants the best people, the best minds, in the game. I’m hopeful things will continue to evolve. I’d like to own a team one day myself.”

Our wine and appetizers arrive and we both dig in. Laura takes a bite and then says, “It seems like the crystal ball would say you’d be likely to own the Crush someday, so your dream seems realistic. That is, unless Max Terry is an immortal, which also seems well within the realm of possibilities.”

“Someday seems like a long way away. My dad would be in line before me. Plus, I kind of want to get there on my own, you know?”

“Again, I get that but use what the universe gives you. If the universe hands you a team, you take it. Don’t be a stubborn ass.”

I smirk at her. “Not the first time someone has told me I’m a stubborn ass.”

“Oh, well, then I’ll need to get more creative, then, won’t I?”

“Perhaps. So, tell me about the move west. Did you leave anyone special back on the East Coast?”

She shakes her head and takes a sip of wine. “I was engaged until about a year ago. Got jilted at the altar and now I don’t believe in love anymore. The end.”

“Sorry, that sucks.”

“To say the very least,” she says, looking thankful as our entrees arrive.

“What happened?”

She lets the waiter get through his offer of fresh-ground pepper and his questions about whether we need anything else at the moment. After he leaves us, she tastes her food, closing her eyes and letting out a soft moan of approval. “This is delicious.” Then she sighs and takes another breath. “His name was Aaron. He’s a professor of chemistry at the college I worked at. We dated for two years before he proposed and wanted a quick wedding. So, we planned a quick wedding. I was ready to walk down the aisle; my dad was holding out his elbow so we could do just that when the best man stopped us. Told us Aaron said he couldn’t do it.”

I’m cringing so hard my face hurts. The image this story creates is heartbreaking.

“So, I called him, and he told me he was in his tux and ready and then he just…couldn’t. He couldn’t step out the door of his dressing room. I asked why, and he said he couldn’t see himself with me forever.”

“Why did he ask you to marry him, then?”

“That’s exactly what I asked him. And he said he got caught up in the idea of it.”

“Of what?”

“Of romance. Of marriage and kids. But when he really thought about it, that wasn’t what he wanted at all. He wanted to focus on his research and getting tenure, and he didn’t think he could do that if he was constantly trying to make someone else his focus.”

“That’s not very modern.” I shake my head in disgust. “Who says he has to make you his primary focus? I mean, you have career goals, too.”

Laura groans. “Girl, you are speaking my language. But it’s fine. Why be with someone who doesn’t want to be with me?”

“Sounds like it was better that it happened before you got married, rather than after.”

“Would’ve been good if he’d told me all that before we spent twenty-grand on a wedding, but sure.”

We focus on our meals for a moment before Laura asks, “What about you? Anyone in your life?”

I shake my head. “No. Not interested in all that. I had a boyfriend in college for a while, but we broke up during my senior year. It was totally mutual. There just wasn’t a spark anymore.”

“Gotta have a spark,” Laura says, snapping her fingers.

“I agree, but it feels like you get one or the other. You can find crazy good sexual chemistry, but then totally miss out on any emotional or intellectual connection.”

“Or you can be great friends who just don’t mesh in the sack,” Laura says ruefully.

“Exactly. You don’t get both.”

“Or one outlasts the other.”

“I just don’t know if it’s worth it.” I lift a shoulder. “I have my own interests. I have my own goals—my education and career are at the top of the list. And I intend to be successful. A lot of guys are still intimidated by successful women.”

We’re both quiet for a moment. Then Laura says, “This conversation is too damn serious. We need to go let off some steam. Maybe find some handsome strangers to tell us we’re cute and pump up our egos. Let’s find somewhere to go dancing.”

“I’m not…Dancing’s not really my thing,” I confess with a grimace.

“Stop. You look gorgeous until you make that dumb face.”

I laugh. “You stop. I’m a terrible dancer.”

“I’d wager you’re just fine at it. Two more drinks and you’ll be great at it, if you catch my drift.” She winks.

“You need to stop plying me with alcohol and trying to make me dance in public.” I take an extra big gulp of my wine to prove my point.

“And you need to find the bold woman inside of you right now. The one who stripped down to a bikini in front of the whole staff and then climbed up on the very masculine shoulders of one Tripp Blackburn in order to take down that skinny Alexis and that arrogant taxi squad kid.”

I nearly spit my wine to keep from laughing loudly. “Well, I’ve known Tripp all my life. And it was my grandfather’s pool. So that’s different.”

“Well, too bad. We’re going anyway.”