Page 28 of Wicked Truths
“How am I supposed to diffuse the situation between the players when I haven’t even officially met the players? Let alone smooth things over with the press that have probably taken dozens of pictures and video footage?”
Dad shrugs. “You’ll figure it out. You always do, but you better think quickly because we are heading downstairs now and it’s not that far.”
Chapter Eight
RHETT
Fuck.
I should have known last night was a mistake. Don’t get me wrong, it was enjoyable, and it felt great to be back with Francesca, but it was too much too soon.
She was gone by the time I woke up this morning. Late for practice, I might add. Her bags, clothes, everything. It was as if she was never here.
But that’s not what set me on edge. It started as soon as I woke up, and the anger only built from there.
The stupid fucking team chat keeps going off every fifteen seconds with a new text talking about the new PR Hottie and what they can do to get some one on one time with her.
A few of the rookies are planning to walk past her office after practice and check her out.
Others are planning on asking her to join them for a drink at the bar tonight.
My hand wraps around my phone in a death grip, and I resist the urge to throw my phone against the wall.
After throwing on a pair of gymshorts and a sharks t-shirt, I head into the kitchen and grab a pre-made protein shake out of the refrigerator.
I finish getting ready for practice and head straight to the arena while drinking my shake. I’m already late so I have to walk by myself, but today, I don’t mind.
All eyes turn to me as I walk into the locker room. I finish my shake and throw the bottle away before making my way to my corner.
The locker to my left is empty, meaning Spencer is already on the ice or he’s upstairs with Arturo. If he’s upstairs, he’s probably already seen Chessie, and for some reason, that thought makes me jealous.
I had plans to wake up early and make us breakfast before getting her keys to her apartment.
Did she stop by the office this morning before leaving? Or did she carry her bags all the way here?
Damn it. This wasn’t how today was supposed to be.
No one says anything to me as I change into my practice gear, but they continue with their crude remarks about Francesca.
One of the guys, probably Hall, says, “I wonder if she still looks the same from the pictures the paper posted last week. She looks pretty hot in black and white. She’d probably look great in my bed.”
Phoenix Young, our other defenseman to Gage Roberts, laughs and says, “Yeah, not happening. She doesn’t want a guy that can’t wash his own sheets.”
He gets a few chuckles from the other players.
The next voice to speak causes my muscles totighten. It’s none other than Chase Williams, our newest rookie.
“Nah, she looks better in person. I saw her walk in this morning wearing the tiniest pair of jean shorts, looking absolutely stunning. I can imagine those legs wrapped around my waist for a night or two.”
I keep my back toward the team as my muscles twitch and anger builds inside my body. If I have to see the smug look on his face, I might actually hit him.
The rookie adds, “Yep, she was even representing the team. Pretty cool that she already had a shirt before her first day.”
The anger subsides marginally. Either she had a shirt in her backpack from two years ago when we were together, or she took one of my shirts this morning before she left. Either way, she’s wearing one of my shirts, and that thought excites me a little.
I finish changing and head out to the ice, putting some distance between Rookie and me.
Gage bumps into me from behind. “Hey, man. Are you good?”