Scott and I are grabbing lunch in the pub by the arena. I’m in workout clothes because I came in for a clear-the-head gym workout first, and I have practice right after.

He’s, of course, in an impeccable suit. His short, brown hair has just a few strands of grey at the temples. He’s probably forty-ish, a total bull when it comes to representing his players.

“So Bellikowski cleared a path for incentives,” Scott’s saying. “Which, you knew he would because he’s easy like that.”

“He is,” I say, distracted.

“I think we can set up lines of income based on scoring, assists, All-Star participation, vote to Team Captain,” he says as he shoves French fries in his mouth.

I pick at my sandwich and try to pay attention. Honestly, though, my head just keeps going right back to Holly Laurent. I can’t stop thinking about her, especially since I had that little text exchange with her. Where she turned me down.

I don’t think I’ve been turned down by a woman since I was in, like, primary school.

“Hey, earth to Evan. You hearing me?”

“Huh?” I ask, coming back to reality. “What? Sorry.”

“You okay, man?” he asks. “I know you took that hit in the first game. You concussed? Should we have forced protocol?”

“Oh, no,” I say. “No, I’m totally fine.”

“You’re a star, Evan. We need you healthy. It’s only September and the season is long. Let’s get you checked out before you head out on the road, just to be safe. We can keep it quiet. No need to sound an alarm…just a quick check-up.”

“No, it’s cool, man,” I say, putting up my hands. “I’m fine. Just a little zoned out today.”

“I saw the glazed look you had out there after it happened,” Scott says. “Everyone saw it on the big boards. Twitter was ablaze with commentary about you getting your egg cracked. Just go see the team doc, have him take a look. Do it as a favor to me, your old pal Scott, who is trying to get you even bigger money than the last big money I got you.”

I shake my head and grin. “So what do you think about the rookie line this year?”

“You changing the subject on me, boy?” he asks, dipping three fries in ketchup and shoving in another mouthful.

“Yes, because I’m not concussed and I’m ready to talk about something else.”

“Well what do you want to talk about?” he asks. “Because you sure as hell weren’t interested in talking about money and incentives.”

“Fair enough, I guess I deserved that.”

“How’s old Georg holding up so far?” he asks, granting me my subject change now that I’ve admitted I wasn’t paying attention.

“He’s Georg,” I say with a shrug. “Ballsy, always at my side. Mostly sober.”

This earns me a raised eyebrow and dubious snort from my agent.

“Okay, mostly sober while on the ice,” I amend.

“I’ll tell you,” Scott says. “You two are a dream team most games. I’d love to take him on but he’s a risk.”

I shrug. “He likes women, partying, and hockey.”

“In that order, unfortunately,” Scott says. “He’s too wild for me.”

“He performs when we need him to, though. He hasn’t played NHL that long. I’m sure he’ll settle down.”

“He’s not a kid,” Scott says. “If he was going to settle down, he would’ve already, so don’t give me that line of horseshit. I know he wants representation, but I can’t take on a risky bet like that. If he cleans up and keeps performing, I’ll think about it.”

“Well, you’ll never convince him that women are a risk,” I say.

“I’m not talking about women,” he says. “If I was, you wouldn’t have representation either. I’m talking about the fact his liver’s probably going to defect back to Russia if he keeps it up. He needs to pick a healthier vice.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I mean, I’m not his babysitter.”

“No,” Scott says, “But you’re his friend and his teammate.”

I stew on this while I eat a bit of my lunch. I expect a hard practice, so I really should be getting something into my stomach for fuel.

“You asked about the rookie line,” Scott says. “I think they look good so far. That kid you butt heads with seems like a wildcard.”

“Kid’s got a big chip on his shoulder,” I say. “He’s so young. Too young, probably. Should’ve played minors or nationals or something first. Or gone to college and played. He’s out there thinking he’s got to make his mark immediately. Doesn’t want to be told shit. You know how it goes.”

He nods. “I do know how it goes. I’ve signed plenty of kids his age. They’re all the same. Stars in their eyes, money they’ve never seen before. Well, he’s got talent, I’ll give him that. He could probably use a good mentor.”

“I’ll assign Georg,” I say with an eye roll.

“You’ll assign you,” he says. “Because you want to be Team Captain next year. Dumbass.”

We move on, talking about Scott’s wife and kids. His wife is a teacher and his kids are both in middle school. He beams while he talks about his family, as always, and I find I envy him for it. He obviously loves being a family man, a dad, a husband. I’ve never seen myself that way. In fact, I’ve actively driven the opposite direction of any kind of commitment thus far. But he makes it look not half bad.

He gets a phone call and says he has to take it. He mouths, “Go to the doctor,” before tossing two twenties on the table and heading out, his voice getting louder as he bickers with someone about another athlete’s contract.

I finish my sandwich, pay, and then head back out. I think about heading to the administrative offices but then change my mind. I don’t want to look desperate. But maybe I could call…just leave a message. She’s probably not going to answer during the workday anyway.

So, I dial Holly’s number and when she picks up on the first ring, I find myself surprised enough that I don’t really have anything planned to say.

“Hi, uh, Holly…it’s Evan,” I stammer. Like a fourteen-year-old, nervous kid. What the hell is wrong with me?

“I know,” she says. “How can I help you?”

“Oh,” I say, at a loss. She sounds very…professional. “Well, I called to follow up on our text exchange.”

“You did, did you?” she asks.

“Yes, I wanted to let you know I really think you’re missing out on a great opportunity. I’ve literally been on skates since I was a wee little thing. I’d be a bloody good teacher.”

She lets out a little huff of a laugh. “Well.”

“Well, what?”

“Well, your accent,” she says. “The offer does sound better when it comes out like that. In writing, you sound American.”

I laugh. “Well, thank the saints for a European accent. Is that a yes?”

“It’s still a no, I’m afraid,” she says apologetically. “I still need to eat, and my paycheck allows me to do that.”

“What if I could guarantee you wouldn’t lose your job?” I ask.

“Because you’re God? Or a secret owner of the Crush? How could you possibly guarantee it?”

“You are quite feisty,” I say. “I like it. And no, I am not God, though I have been called that name before.”

“I assume this is your way of telling me you’re good in bed,” she shoots back. “Not the way to my heart, hearing about your other conquests.”

I laugh out loud at this. “Well, I do understand that. But no, I was actually thinking of my teammates, who call me that when I score more than a hat trick in a game.”

“Ah,” she says. “A hat trick is three goals, right?”

“Right, and I could teach you all about it and more if you agree to a skating lesson with me. We’ll totally focus on the game. And I give you my word I will be a perfect professional and gentleman.”

“What about Fiona?”

“Fiona already heard my opinion on this matter, and Bud approved it right in front of her. He outranks her, and I could have her fired tomorrow if I really wanted it.”

“You have that much power over the back office?” she asks incredulously.

“Well…actually…I don’t know. But I know I covered this with both of them already. We’re golden. I promise.”

She laughs. “You drive a hard bargain. Let me think about it.”

“So, it’s not a hard no, then.”

“It’s not a hard no. Now let me get back to work before I really do get fired.”

“Okay, bye for now, Holly.”

“Bye, Evan,” she says softly before she ends the call.

Okay. I feel better now. I can go to practice and bash some rookie heads and not be distracted by the one who nearly got away.