Page 90 of Patrick

“They are everyone—your fans and now the media. I saw a post on Instagram already this afternoon. Someone named Pammy. A friend of yours?”

I stare at the camera and then at him, clamping my mouth shut, which he understands without me saying a word. It means he’s not getting an answer to personal questions on camera.

He recovers quickly, ready with another question.

“Run me through your third goal, arguably the most spectacular of the three.”

Glad to be talking hockey, I grin and answer him. “I knew number nine was going to pass it off to his favorite winger, so I flew in and intercepted it, and then I kept going, making sure he had no chance to catch me. After that it was a matter of deking the goalie, then lifting the puck to the corner when I got close.”

“You make it sound easy.”

“Nothing about this game is easy, but I don’t mind entertaining the crowd with a Trick shot.” I wink at the camera.

He laughs and thanks me.

“Thank you,” I say. “Always a fun time.” I leave it up to him to interpret my level of sarcasm.

I’m about to duck into the locker room when Coach Winnick tracks me down.

“Trick, there’s someone here you might want to meet.” He nods at the man behind him and then moves on.

“Hello, Trick. Great game. I’m Dart Miller, agent with the Jett Agency. Have a minute to talk?”

My adrenaline spikes, but I hold a lid on it. “For you, sure. Say hello to Jett for me.”

He chuckles. “That’s what we like about you. You have personality.”

“You sure it’s not my hockey playing that impresses you?”

“That’s a given. But when we’re talking about regional NIL deals, we like to find players with star power on and off the field—or in your case, the ice.”

NIL deals? I nod but don’t say more in spite of my desperate curiosity. It’s his show.

“We think we can arrange a deal for you with Red Bullet, the energy drink. I’d like to send you a copy of the contract so you can look it over and then maybe arrange a meeting.”

My first instinct is to ask how much, but I squelch that and skip to the second burning question on my mind. “Don’t you need to wait for the draft to see if I make it to the pros?”

He laughs. “You’re joking, right? You’re pretty high up in the rankings, and I’d be the first to fall over if you don’t get snatched up by round three, four at the latest. You’ve been invited to the draft combine, right?”

If I have, I must have missed it, but I give him a noncommittal shrug. “Send the contract. I’ll take a look.”

“Good. It could be worth up to 50k if you build up your social media following—which from what I’ve seen, won’t be hard to do.”

I nod, not bothering to hold back my grin. I owe Kathleen and Pammy. With an extra fifty-k, I’d have some breathing room with my finances and won’t need to depend on my family. At least I wouldn’t need to depend on living with them or with Pammy.

In fact, if I could manage it, I’d get my own place and maybe talk Fifi into visiting on a regular basis. Or ask her to move in.

Shit. I must be out of my mind. I shake Dart’s outstretched hand and hurry to the locker room before I explode. I need to tell Fifi about this. In person.

Which means I’ll have to get her alone at the Winter Snow Ball.