Game Changer by Kelly Jamieson Page 0,78

time with the team.

And I want to be with the team, not practicing all by myself. This sucks ass.

I’ve had calls from the media, and I know Paul has too, not to mention Ian Yarish, the team GM. I keep telling them what Paul told me to say, that I’m not worried, I know it will get done, blah blah blah.

“Obviously you’d prefer that a deal get done before training camp?” the reporter asked.

“Well, yeah, that’s the plan. We never want to miss training camp, so that’s our goal, yeah. But nothing to panic about yet, these things just take some time.”

But I am worried. I trust Paul. I know he’s working on it. But still…

“Are you or the team waiting for someone like Charbonneau to make a deal?” the reporter asked, referring to another free agent in New York who still hasn’t signed.

I refused to comment on that and so did Paul, but it’s definitely a factor.

The dude on TSN announced the other night that the team and I aren’t even close on contract negotiations, apparently confirmed by Paul. Another sports reporter announced that other teams have reached out to the Aces about a possible trade.

I don’t want a fucking trade. I want a long-term deal here in Chicago. That’s what we’ve been pushing for. I want six years. Would I take five? Probably. Four? I don’t know. So far they’ve only offered three and not enough money.

I already knew about this from Paul, so it wasn’t a shock, but I hate that this shit is making the news.

I feel like I have no one to talk to about this. The guys with contracts are practicing together. I still see them, but I’m leery of saying anything that could get out when Paul has drilled into me how important it is to keep our negotiations private. Mom and Dad have both called, so I’ve told them what’s happening, but I kept up the positive façade I present to the media so they don’t know how much I’m freaking out.

Tonight I’m going out for dinner with Paul to get an update on their meeting today. I’m not optimistic that the news will be good.

We’re meeting at a steak house near my place, so I walk there and meet him at the restaurant. This place is upscale and expensive, but not stuffy, and the food is great.

We’re at a table for two in the dimly lit restaurant when for some reason I lift my head as the hostess shows a couple to a table across the room.

It’s Molly.

And who the fuck is that she’s with?

I frown. I don’t know the guy. His suit looks expensive. I’d say he’s about ten years older than Molly and me. Jesus.

“Jax?”

I look blankly back at Paul.

“Did you hear me?”

“No. Sorry.”

Paul repeats his questions about what it would take to get me to sign a four-year deal.

“I don’t know.”

Paul rolls his eyes, then follows my gaze across the room. “What’s going on? See someone you know?”

“Yeah. Sort of.”

“Ex-girlfriend?”

I huff an unamused laugh. “Sort of.”

Molly, apparently sensing my attention, turns and looks straight at me.

I don’t react. Just hold her gaze.

Her eyes widen and she visibly flinches back. Then she lifts a hand in a tiny wave.

I lift my hand too, smiling wryly.

She turns her attention back to the toolbox she’s with. Is she on a fucking date?

“Jax.”

I give my head a shake and try to focus on my conversation with Paul and my delicious twenty-eight-day dry-aged bone-in rib eye.

I’m hyper aware of Molly just across the room, though.

After she left the lake, I was a sad panda. I kept a happy face on until Dad left and I was alone. And then I was really alone. I’ve been at the lake by myself before, and I don’t mind it. But this year it was a definite downer. I ended up coming home sooner than I planned, which didn’t actually help because then I knew I was in the same city as Molly and still couldn’t see her.

And now she’s here. A few feet away from me. Looking beautiful and sexy, her hair its usual mess of waves brushing her shoulders. Smiling at another man.

Fuck.

I order another whiskey, since I’m walking home and also since I don’t have a fucking contract. Getting hammered suddenly seems like a great idea.

Paul and I are done our dinners and are finishing off our drinks when Molly gets up and walks toward what I assume are the restrooms. My heart leaps