“Duck and cover, jack-offs.” Henny skated up behind Roscoe and Kenton, knocking them both on their helmets. “Chief Executive Ball Buster, twelve o’clock.”

“Fuck,” Roscoe said. “I’m not wearing a cup.”

“Then you’d better hold it,” Henny said. “She’s wearing a scowl with your name written all over it.”

“Again? Splendid.” Roscoe chugged the rest of his water and pitched the empty bottle into the players’ box. He and the boys had just finished an early morning practice, and they had about twenty minutes before the monsters from the youth clinic showed up. Wednesday had ended on a high note, but today they had to work. Hard. He had no idea how the kids would handle it, and he definitely wasn’t in the mood for a lecture from PR.

Clarissa Finch, however, seemed to thrive on lectures.

“Mr. LeGrand.” Her voice echoed across the rink, announcing her arrival seconds before she stomped out of the tunnel. “What have you got for me? Short version—I’ve got a meeting with Gallagher in ten.”

Kenton let out a low whistle. “How can anyone so beautiful be wound up so tight?” he mumbled to Roscoe. “On a Friday, besides.”

Clarissa flashed Roscoe her usual irritated glare, but Roscoe detected something else when she looked at Kenton—a little warmth in her otherwise icy demeanor. Before he could confirm, she was looking down again, face buried in her iPad.

He didn’t know what was going on there, but for Roscoe, irritating the PR manager was one of the perks of the gig. “We’re great, Clarissa,” he said. “Thanks for asking! How’s your day going so far?”

“What part of ‘short version’ did you not understand?” Her trendy black-framed glasses slid down to the end of her nose as she tapped and swiped her screen. Not for the first time, Roscoe wondered what the hell she was doing on that thing. Reading the sports page? Scanning YouTube for more Tempest indiscretions? Catching up on porn? Hell, he never thought he’d miss Eva and her simple, straightforward clipboard.

“We’ve got twenty-four kids on the team,” Roscoe said. “Fairly experienced overall, only a handful of bench riders. We’ll test them out in different positions today to get a feel for their specific skills.”

“And the bench riders?”

“We’ll figure it out. Put them through some more drills, see where we can improve.” He had a few ideas, but he’d need to spend one-on-one time with each of them to do it right. For some of the kids, it was just a discipline issue, and once he earned their respect, he could get them in line. Others lacked motivation and drive, or they were afraid of the ice, just here to appease a pushy parent. A few had all the heart in the world, but were hopelessly uncoordinated. Still, Roscoe wouldn’t give up on any of them.

“Everyone needs ice time, boys,” Clarissa said. “No matter how lousy they play. One complaint from a hockey mom about her kid being left out, and this whole thing goes south.”

“I’m on it,” he assured her. “Every kid here will have a role in the tournament. That’s what it’s all about, right? Giving the kids a boost?”

“That’s all I needed to hear.” She flashed him a cool smile that made his balls shrivel. “Anything else?”

“It’s only the second practice,” Roscoe said. “Ask me again next week.”

“I’m asking now, Mr. LeGrand. In case you’ve forgotten, I need to start booking TV spots. The sooner you can identify the kids with media potential, the better. I need to confirm with the parents, get these interviews locked down, and keep this thing running tight.”

“Media potential? I thought we were done with all that.”

Clarissa rolled her eyes. “One photo shoot is hardly enough. We need TV clips, action shots, captions. Meme-able backstories.”

“What the fuck is a meme-able?” he asked.

“Human interest is always a good angle.” She tapped the iPad again, her black bob swishing as she spoke. “Miraculous recovery from a terrible injury, underdog of the family, that sort of thing.”

“Your compassion never ceases to amaze me.”

At this, she rolled her eyes again. “My job is to make you knuckle-draggers look good on TV and convince this city that you’re worth rooting for again. Compassion has nothing to do with it.”

“Smart and beautiful,” Kenton said. “I like it.”

“Now you’re just trying to piss me off.” Clarissa flipped her iPad closed and looked at Roscoe. “I understand there was an issue with one of the teens yesterday. Regina Heinz?”

“How did you hear about that?” Roscoe asked.

“It’s my job to hear about it, despite the fact that no one felt compelled to tell me at the photo shoot. What’s the story?”

Roscoe scratched his stubbled jaw and shrugged. “If you’re thinking of pimping the girl out to your media pals, forget it. She’s off the team. Apparently she forged the parental release. Mom found out, showed up here all pissed off, hauled her kid home.”

Clarissa made a grumbling sound in her throat, but didn’t say anything.

“Shame, really,” he went on. “That girl was our best player.”

“I’ll bet.”

Roscoe could’ve sworn Clarissa was biting back a laugh, but since he’d never seen the woman truly smile before, it was hard to tell.

“If she comes back,” Clarissa said, “I want her treated with total respect. The kids are here to learn hockey from the pros, no matter what their gender, and you guys need to lead by example. Got it?”

“Nothing to worry about there,” said Roscoe. “Doubt we’ll be seeing her again, anyway.” Or her gorgeous mother, which is a damn shame…

“Regardless,” she said, “It’s good policy going forward. Actually, I’m thinking we need to revisit our outreach campaign for next year. We need to diversify, get on the radar for other girls who want to play hockey.”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Kenton said. “Maybe you and I could get together after work, do some brainstorming.”

Plowing ahead, Clarissa said, “Buffalo News wants to do another group photo shoot next week—we’ll need to let the parents know. And keep me posted about those human interest stories.”

“I could tell you some stories,” Kenton said.

“Do I need to remind you boys what’s at stake here?” Clarissa slapped her iPad closed and shot one of her patented death-glares at Kenton. “Stop screwing around and get with the program. None of you can afford another fuck-up, so you’d better start taking this clinic—and me—seriously.”

Kenton nodded, apparently struck dumb by the takedown. Despite his silence, though, he was still smiling.

“We’ll handle it,” Roscoe assured her, but Clarissa was already gone, leaving them all shivering in her frigid wake.

“That was… special,” Henny said.

“No shit.” Roscoe slapped Kenton on the back, biting back a laugh. “So, how long have you been banging the Ball Buster?”