Page 14 of Oh, Puck!
Coach Pearson’s handshake is firm. Somehow it feels like a test. “Welcome aboard.”
“Thank you, Coach. It’s an honor.”
He grunts, a sound that could mean anything, and sits back down.
Colin gestures to the others. “Darcy Madden, head of analytics. And Pete Langford, assistant coach.”
They both give me polite nods and I take the seat Colin indicates, directly across from the empty chairs at the far end of the table.
Colin checks his watch. “The Morrison brothers should be here any second.”
Any second.Right.
For the next twenty-five minutes, I learn two things:
One, 'any second' in Beachside apparently means 'maybe sometime before lunch.'
And two, nobody in this room wants to talk about hockey.
“You catch that swell this morning, Coach?” Colin asks, leaning back.
Coach Pearson shakes his head. “Too much chop. Went to Goldie’s instead.”
Pete chimes in. “Oh. Goldie’s got a new IPA on tap. Those citrus notes? Almost too smooth.”
“Toosmooth?” Colin scoffs. “That’s the problem with this town. We need some damn bite.”
I sit there, my smile plastered on, screaming internally.What the hell is an IPA anyway?!I mean, I know what it is, but do we need to discuss itscitrus noteswhile a franchise drowns?
Just as I’m about to politely clear my throat and ask about, I don’t know,the losing hockey team, the door swings open.
“Sorry we’re late! Someone couldn’t find his hoodie.”
The voice is loud, cheerful, and instantly grating on my nerves.
A man walks in first. He’s all lean muscle and chaotic energy, dressed in ripped jeans and a vintage t-shirt for a band I’m pretty sure broke up before he was born. Dark hair falls across his forehead, and his grin is pure trouble.
He scans the room, those bright blue eyes landing on me. “Ah. You must be the new blood. Our Lord the Savior.” His grin widens. “I’m Beck. The fun one.”
“Josie Whitfield,” I say, my professional mask snapping into place.
Behind him, a calmer, steadier version enters. Same blue eyes, same build. He gives me a polite nod. “I'm Mason.”
“Nice to meet you both.”
And then.
The air in the room gets heavier, hotter, like a door to a furnace just blew wide open.
Oh no.
The last of the brothers fills the doorway.
And white fucking noise fills my ears.
I know those shoulders. I know that haircut that's cut short on the sides. I know the set of his jaw, the full lips I spent hours biting just to stop myself from screaming.
But worse than all that…
