The Penalty Box (Vancouver Wolves Hockey #3) - Odette Stone Page 0,116

boarding line diminished until only the airline staff remained at the gate. I could not seem to get off my chair. My churning gut told me not to get on that flight.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Canada West, flight 335 to Vancouver is closing its doors in one minute. Ticketed passengers must board immediately. I repeat, this is the final boarding call for Canada West, flight 335 to Vancouver.”

Did it matter if I took a later flight? My parents wouldn’t care. They were at a function tonight. I could get a hotel, or even better, return to NYC.

Above me, the overhead speaker crackled. “Rory Ashford, please report to gate 23 immediately. Rory Ashford. Please report to gate 23.”

With heavy, reluctant limbs, I walked up to the gate. The attendant glared at me as she took my passport and my boarding pass.

“Didn’t you hear the announcement?”

I tried to speak, but no words came out.

She snapped my papers back at me. “Have a nice flight.”

Puck Me Secretly, is now available on Amazon and KU.

Excerpt from: Home Game

A Vancouver Wolves Hockey Romance

Chapter One: Ryan

“Shit,” I said under my breath, looking in dismay at the screen of my laptop. I was in a cafe trying to get my receipts submitted to Frank, my accountant, who had threatened to disown me if I didn’t get him an accurate account of my expenses. I had been doing good but now the screen I had been working on had disappeared and there was nothing. I leaned back in my seat and rubbed my face with frustration. Wasn’t the point of having an accountant was so he could do all this shit?

“You accidentally minimized your screen. That’s all,” a soft voice spoke from my left.

I looked beside me. A tiny punk rocker chick was looking at my screen. Messy black short hair tucked behind her ear that was lined with multiple piercings. She had a tiny silver ring on the side of her petite nose. The biggest blue eyes, lined with heavy black make-up avoided my gaze.

“You know how to get it back?” I asked. She didn’t look like she knew her way around a computer, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

She leaned across me, punched a couple keys and my program was back.

I stared at the screen in amazement and then looked back at her. “Thanks.”

Her head was already bent over a beat-up paperback. Her thin, plaid-covered shoulders gave a slight shrug but other than that, she didn’t acknowledge me.

I took a deep breath. Only in Vancouver. People in this city all seemed to walk to the beat of their own drummer. Here, it seemed like anything went when it came to personal style. I started to work again.

God, I hated working on the computer. This was my fault. Krista, my agent, had been bugging me for months to hire a PA but my life had been stupidly busy. First, it had been playoffs. Then when the season ended, they had drafted me to the NHL Vancouver Wolves. It had felt like chaos packing up my life, saying goodbye to my old team and finding a new place to live. I got the keys to my apartment and my boxes the same day I needed to show up for my first practice with my new team. Between off season conditioning and training, trying to get to know my new teammates, and sorting out everything from HR paperwork to changing my bank accounts, there had been no time for anything but what was necessary.

“But this is why a PA would help you. All this stuff that is making you too busy to hire someone is exactly the stuff you can just give to them,” Krista told me yesterday at our dinner meeting. “I’m going to set up some interviews for you.”

If it meant that someone else would organize my receipts, then I was onboard.

“Shit,” I said again, when the program disappeared from my view. I clenched my teeth in frustration.

I glanced over at the little punk rocker, who was reading with intensity.

“Hey,” I said.

Nothing. She didn’t even lift her head.

“Yo, computer genius,” I spoke again.

She didn't even lift her face from her book. “Drag your mouse down the screen. Your docking station is set to hide itself.”

“My docking what?” I asked, trying to negotiate the trackpad on my laptop. Nada.

She lifted her head and looked directly at me. The electric light blue of her eyes again surprised me. “Your docking station is where your apps are. And when you