irritably. “As if I give a shit about any of the details. What do I care what the napkins look like? Or if it’s four courses or twenty? I swear that woman obsesses over the most trivial nonsense.”
I’m surprised he doesn’t follow that up with some progressive commentary about how women are trivial creatures who have teeny pea brains and could never, ever work in a sports environment. The sports treehouse is for men! No girls allowed!
On the big screen, ESPN is showing a clip of the Oilers’ Connor McDavid scoring one of the most beautiful goals I’ve ever seen. Sadly, it’s not enough to win them the game.
Mulder whistles loudly, his mood brightening. “That kid is a legend!” he crows.
“He’s a generational talent,” I agree. “Best thing that’s happened to the franchise in decades.”
“And next season we have Connelly, too? Yee-haw! We’ll be unstoppable.”
I nod. “Connelly will bring some much-needed speed to the team. He’s one of the best skaters there is.”
“Lightning on skates. Lord, Brenna, I’ve never looked forward to a season more!” He rubs his hands together with unabashed glee.
My body language relaxes. This is the first time Mulder has actually warmed up to me. I’m not particularly thrilled that Jake Connelly is the reason Mulder is thawing, but at this point, I’ll take whatever assistance I can get. Jerk Mountain is harder to climb than frickin’ Everest.
We discuss Jake for nearly five minutes. I swear, Mulder actually seems to appreciate my opinions. One of my remarks legit causes him to say, “I couldn’t agree with you more.”
And yet when I try to steer the conversation back to the internship?
Mulder’s attention goes back to his computer screen.
Frustration claws at my throat. I just want to scream. I can’t figure out if he likes me or hates me. If he wants to hire me or wants me to GTFO.
“Anyway. Thanks for coming in again,” he says absently.
Well, there’s my answer. Get the fuck out.
“We still have a few more candidates to meet with, but you’ll be notified as soon as any decisions are made.”
He means I’ll be notified that I didn’t get the job. At the moment, the likelihood of me landing this internship is about as good as me landing on the actual moon.
Whatever. I swallow my disappointment and try to convince myself that perhaps I’m better off.
“Thank you for your time,” I say politely.
“Hmmm. No prob.” He’s once again concentrating on something other than me.
Yes. I’m absolutely better off. I’d hate working in even the same building as someone like Ed Mulder. The man doesn’t give a crap about anything but himself and his precious Oilers. The only time he engaged with me or seemed the slightest bit interested was during our brief discussion about Jake. Mulder’s hard-on for Connelly is almost comical—
My step stutters on my way to the door.
An idea forms in my head. It’s insane. I’m aware it’s insane. And yet…I think maybe I don’t care that it’s insane.
I want this internship. I want it so very badly. People have taken far more desperate measures to get a job. In comparison, what I’m about to do is…trivial. You know, just a silly woman with her trivial pursuits.
“Mr. Mulder?”
He glances at the door, annoyance in his expression. “Yes?”
“I…well, I didn’t want to mention this before, because I thought it might be a bit inappropriate, but… Jake Connelly…” I hesitate, second-guessing the insanity.
I draw a breath, quickly penning a pros and cons list in my head. There are so many cons. Like, a lot of them. The pros don’t seem as satisfying as—
“What about him?” Mulder says impatiently.
I exhale in a rush. “He’s my boyfriend.”
12
Jake
Morning practice is grueling, but I don’t expect anything less from Coach. He was already riding our jocks before we made it into the finals—now all bets are off. We’re expected to skate faster, hit harder, take more shots. It’s an intense workout, and some of the skating drills we run leave even me breathless, and I’m the best skater on the ice.
Not that I’m complaining. Some guys like to grumble about having to haul themselves out of bed so early. They bitch about the nutrition guides, or Coach’s hard-ass nature. I can’t deny that Pedersen’s got a more physical style of play than I do. Me, I rely on my speed and accuracy rather than brute strength. But in Coach’s playing days, he was a goon, and he promotes the same aggression in his players. Brooks is our main enforcer,