Yo Ho Ho, page 11
The rest of the work day was more of the same. The media hung out in the stands watching practice. Max took notes on Matt Johnson's performance in the net since there was a rumor he was nursing a groin injury, but he seemed pretty collected out on the ice. She asked Becca from the team's PR department about reports the coach was considering a shake-up of the lines tonight.
"It's a game-time decision," the PR rep responded.
Basic questions, basic answers, basic notes. Basic day as the players headed off the ice after another basic practice.
"What were you watching Logan for?" Becca asked.
"Hm?"
"Logan," she said. "You seemed to be watching Logan quite a bit during practice this morning."
Maybe today wasn't so basic after all.
"Uh, I was just…" Max had to stall, trying to come up with some quick answer before the media guys caught up with her and the PR rep to stick their own noses in what was going on. Luckily, she remembered that night when she ran into him at the ice machine, his shirt off, his body gorgeous. "Logan was favoring one of his shoulders a few weeks ago so I was trying to keep an eye on him."
See? Believable, Max thought as she tucked her notepad into her bag.
It was a quick turnaround back to the hotel so no time for the media's questions, which meant no time for Max to have to be in close proximity to Logan. That was actually a good thing because if Becca had noticed her acting strange while sitting up in the stands, she would need some time to find a better way to control her emotions and hide her feelings before the game that night.
Instead, she busied herself by typing up her notes to send back to the editors in Detroit and see if there was anything they wanted her to focus on for the game that night. Half her notes were about Logan. Dammit, she really wasn't hiding her feelings for him very well. Sure, he had ravished her the night before, but she was a professional woman. She needed to get a grip and just push through. It wouldn't be much longer until her work was done.
Of course, that was assuming that what happened last night was something she would want to repeat after she lost her job. She pretty much figured that Logan wanted to continue on with the scandalous part of their relationship considering how he had yelled at her in the parking lot — and how he had ravished her in her hotel room.
She packed up her suitcase, ready to take it down and load it on to the bus before they had to head to the arena tonight. The team was leaving right after the game for the airport since the flight up to Jacksonville wouldn't be too long. They'd be walking into their hotel rooms by midnight.
But would Logan be walking into her hotel room again? As much as she would want that, she had a deadline to hit tonight. Her final Sunday column for the Detroit Herald. Writing Sunday columns was always a bit of a pain in the ass. Writing her last one and putting everything she wanted to say in 500 words? That was going to be especially tough. She was dreading that more than any of her other columns in her career.
She actually decided to pop her laptop open, hoping maybe sitting in front of a computer screen would jog her memory, inspire some ideas. But she just ended up staring at the screen and getting nothing in return.
The alarm on Max's phone started to bleep, and she quickly turned it off before shutting her laptop down. That was enough for now. She dropped it in her carry-on bag, then unzipped her suitcase. Her black slacks and red sweater were right on top along with a pair of sensible black heels. Some people wear hockey skates to work, some people wore sensible but fashionable shoes to hike through an arena just for a hot dog and free wifi in the media booth.
But no matter how it was done, Max had to make sure the work she did tonight was professional. Eyes down, head in the game, nothing but writing. She had a job to do and that meant she couldn't be distracted by Logan Moore.
The bus pulled up to their second hotel in two days before the players and staff grabbed their suitcases and wearily dragged themselves inside.
Tonight had not been a good night for anyone. The team seemed off for some reason — missed opportunities, needless penalties, weak shots. Miami, on the other hand, was on fire. A hat trick for their captain and two more goals by their new rookie sensation. The Pirates got one goal from a breakaway by Jordan King. It was the only bright spot in a dreadful 60 minutes of hockey.
Becca handed out key cards to the media, who shuffled into waiting elevators. At least it would be a quiet night since the game stories were easy to write and send off to sports desks back at home.
"You have edits to make tonight?" Charlie asked her.
Max looked down at her watch to see it was past 11 o'clock. "Nope, the paper went to print already," she said. "Nothing I can do to stop it now."
"What about online edits?"
She shook her head. "We've scaled those back since, you know, the whole thing."
"Right."
Charlie kept scrolling through messages on his phone, making nothing more than a casual nod to her impending doom. It seemed to be the tactic most of the media guys had decided to take regarding her job termination, which didn't bother her. Sure, sometimes, she wished someone would acknowledge that yes, her job was going away. It was really going to suck. This was her life now.
The elevator doors dinged open and Max said her quick goodbyes to her media friends before heading down to her room. The door key didn't seem to work the first time and she had to try again, wasting time waiting for the stupid thing to click open. She heard someone snicker from the door down the hall.
Sure enough, Logan and Alex were staying next to her. Again.
"Something you want to say, Moore?" she asked in a light-hearted tone.
"Just think it's funny that you're doing about as well with that door as we did trying to score tonight."
He gave her a quick smile and pushed his door open as Alex yawned and followed him in. Max followed his lead, thankful that her stupid key card finally decided to work.
Max dropped her suitcase on the extra bed and quickly dug through it to find her black yoga pants, a hoodie, and her trademark bunny slippers. Then she pulled out her laptop again and booted it up. She was determined to get this stupid Sunday column done, especially because the team didn't have a morning skate tomorrow. She could sleep until noon before she had to head to the arena.
She was also a night owl, getting some of her best work done while the rest of the world slept. But as she suspected, she just stared at the blinking cursor on her screen. Rather than waiting an hour before she would finally decide to check the mini fridge for some whiskey, she figured it was better to just do that now and save herself the hassle.
Yep, whiskey was in the fridge. Sure, it was just a mini bottle, but it would do — even if the hotel did charge her $10 for that tiny thing.
Max grabbed her cursed key card and her ice bucket and checked the map on the back of her door to see if the hotel had marked the ice machine on it. There it was, right at the end of the hall like she expected.
"Bingo," she said quietly with a smile.
She double checked to make sure her card was in the pocket of her hoodie and quietly slipped out. A few of the rooms she passed had the sound of hockey coming from the other side of the door, but most of them were quiet. After such a tough game, the players were either already asleep or stewing quietly, wondering what they could've done differently.
The ice machine gave off its typical late-night hum as she stepped up and started filling her bucket.
"Beat me here this time?"
Max's head snapped up to see Logan leaning against the doorway, a teasing smile on his face.
"Something like that," she said quietly.
She watched Logan look back down the hall, making sure no one could hear them before he stepped into the room. "So listen, last night—"
Max held up her hand, wordlessly telling him to stop. He did. So did the ice maker at the same time.
"I just—" She lowered her voice, realizing how loud it was now that the ice maker was quiet. "Maybe we can talk about this when we get back to Detroit? You know, maybe somewhere that isn't the team floor at a hotel?"
He gave her a huge grin and then ducked back out of the room to make sure the hallway was still empty. Then Logan walked over to her, invading her personal space with his warm, rugged body.
"How about a drink?"
Max pulled out the small bottle of whiskey she had tucked in the pocket of her hoodie. "I have a drink."
Logan rolled his eyes. "I mean, like a real drink at a real bar when we get home."
Max stared at him, too weirded out to know what to say. He has asked her in the parking lot at the ice rink if she would get a drink with him. Sure, there were other things he said to her as well. But as she was able to put more distance between her and that parking lot, she had started to think about his invitation. Would it be nice to have a drink with Logan? Definitely. In public where people could see them? Not so much. Logan seemed to catch on to her hesitation.
"We would just be going out as friends," he said. "If anyone sees us, I'm just talking to you about what you want to do next with your career. It's a totally legitimate reason for the two of us to be seen together casually in public."
"So you thought this through?"
"Maybe." He shrugged. "I had a lot of time last night to think about a lot of things."
"Last night?"
"Yes, Max," he said in an exasperated tone. "You fell asleep and you were warm and soft so I stayed a little longer than I should have and I thought about stuff like this."
Max quietly looked at him. She remembered asking him to stay until she fell asleep, but she never considered how long he had stayed. She just knew when she woke up, he was gone. She knew he would be, but it was still a bit disappointing.
"Max, you're over thinking this again, aren't you?"
"Yes," she blurted.
He gave her a teasing smile. "Well, I over thought some of it too," he said quietly. "So come have a drink with me and we can over think it together."
Logan looked down at her with his blue eyes, warm and inviting. He was being serious, wasn't it? It was just an odd sensation to think about going out on a date with Logan Moore — if she could even call it a date. It was drinks. No big deal, right?
I'm just talking to you about what you want to do next with your career.
If a guy was willing to work on a whole plan just to justify going out for a drink with her, maybe she should take him up on the offer. Maybe she needed to be happy.
She looked up at him, his eyes hopeful. Max wondered if she looked the same way.
"OK," she said quietly.
He gave her a huge smile. "OK," he said. "You have my number from… Wait, do you have my number?"
Now it was her turn to give him a teasing smile. "I've had your number for three seasons."
Logan seemed a bit surprised. So was she. Max had his phone number for that long and only ever called him once to get a quote for a story she was working on about what players were doing on their summer hiatus.
"So you'll call me?" he asked hopefully.
"I'll send you a text."
"Good enough," he said with a smile.
Logan grabbed the filled ice bucket from the machine and handed it over to her. Then he replaced it with his own, turning his back on Max to start filling it up. She took it as a cue that their conversation was over, giving him a quick nod before walking out.
"Hey, Max?" she heard behind her.
"Hm?"
"What's with the whiskey tonight?" he asked. "Another column?"
She leaned against the doorway. "A last column."
Logan looked up and gave her a tight smile. "I know it'll be amazing."
"Thanks."
He nodded, grabbed his bucket from the machine, and the two of them just naturally started walking back to their rooms together.
"So are you going to do a column about how much you'll miss Bob snoring on the plane?"
Max gave him a wistful smile. "Probably not, but it isn't the worst idea."
"Don't subject the entire city to that," he said with a small laugh.
"So what should I write about?"
Logan gave her a surprised look. "Really?"
"Really," Max simply said. "I have no clue what to do, so any idea is better than no idea."
"Well, you always write about us. Maybe for your last column, you could write about you."
"Maybe."
She stopped in front of her door and pulled out her key card. Once again, it didn't work on the first try. She could hear Logan laugh from his spot a door down from her.
"Bet you won't miss that," he said sarcastically.
"Nope." She turned and gave him a little smile. "Have a good night, Logan. Thanks for the idea."
He gave her a small nod and headed into his room as she headed into hers.
She leaned up against the door for a few moments, trying to collect her thoughts. She could've invited him in. She could've asked him to stay with her again. But there was something different about the way he treated her tonight. Maybe it really wasn't just about the one-night stands in hotel rooms on the road for him. Maybe he did want to be with her. After all, he asked her on a date — or as real of a date as you could get for two people who had agreed on an excuse for why they would be platonically seen in public together.
Holy crap, she agreed to go on a date with Logan Moore.
Max took a deep breath and gently pushed herself off the door towards the bathroom where she found a clean glass on the counter. Then she took everything to the dresser and set it all down, pulling the whiskey out of her pocket. Glass, ice, drink.
She walked over and took a seat at her desk in front of her computer, the blinking cursor now a welcoming beacon instead of a dreaded sight. As much as she wished she could be with Logan tonight, she needed to be in her room writing. Like any writer, she struggled, but when she was motivated and inspired, her body had no choice but to get the words out of her head and onto the page.
She put her hands on her keyboard, letting them linger over the keys as she got her thoughts in order. Logan was right. She had written so many words about this team, so many columns about who they were or what they did. Maybe it was time for her to write about herself.
Maybe she was finally ready to write her goodbye letter to the job she had loved for so long.
Chapter 16
Logan checked himself in the mirror for a third time. It was getting to be borderline narcissistic, but he wanted to make sure he looked good for Max tonight. He was wearing jeans, but they were dark jeans. He was wearing a basic black sweater, but it was cashmere. Sure, it could be considered a bit "luxurious" for a hockey player. He blamed Jordan, who started to dress better after he began dating Charlotte. His updated fashion sense had spread through the locker room, making it more acceptable for guys like Logan to wear lightweight cashmere sweaters.
Also, women loved the feel of his sweater. This black sweater helped him get laid several times. He was kind of hoping it would get the job done tonight too.
But that's not why he was going out with Max, at least it wasn't the main reason he was going out with Max. If he was being honest with himself, he knew he didn't invite her out for a drink so he could get laid. He actually, genuinely was looking forward to talking to her outside of work, to see what she's like when she's not at the rink with all of them. Maybe he wanted her to see what he was like outside of the rink. If he slept with her again, it would just be an added bonus — a really good-looking added bonus that was making him get hard just thinking about her.
Logan took a deep breath to clear his head of the images of Max's naked body underneath him. He still had to spend time with her with her clothes on before he could get that far.
He grabbed his black leather coat, his phone and his keys, and headed down to the parking garage. Sometimes his Range Rover was a bit of an overkill on the roads here, but there was a light dusting of snow on the ground tonight that was a little slick. He still wasn't worried about getting to Max's place on time.
The drive down Woodward Avenue only took about ten minutes and he soon found himself pulling up in front of her building. It was one of those older apartment complexes in Royal Oak that had been built before the area had regentrified. Not too flashy or sleek like the lofts around here, but those usually cost two grand a month in rent and were filled with pretentious people. This seemed like a place that would fit Max. Maybe it would fit him too. Sometimes he thought his building was a little too over-the-top for him. Then he would remind himself that he made a seven-figure salary to play hockey. He had become over-the-top.
Logan walked in the front door and headed for the second floor. Max's apartment wasn't hard to find — two doors from the stairway, just like she said. He took a deep breath to try and calm himself down before he quietly knocked on the door.
He heard her footsteps on the other side — the light click of shoes on hardwood. It was giving him ideas that he had to quickly stop.
She opened the door and smiled at him. "Hey," she said quietly.
"Hi."
"You ready to go?"
He nodded nervously. "Yeah, yeah."
"Let me just grab my coat real quick." She stepped out of the way to let him into her place for just a moment as she headed down a small hallway. "I'll be right back."
He nodded and watched her go, tight jeans the same color as his with a cream sweater on. She was wearing black ankle boots that made a small tapping noise across the hardwood floor as she walked away.
The inside of her apartment was as he expected from her. Brown couches and tan walls. Cozy and inviting. He turned to see some framed personal photos on the wall. Kids on a lake in the summer. A fluffy white poodle. A little kid in hockey gear, their back to the camera as they faced an entirely empty sheet of ice. He remembered days like that when he was a kid. He loved those days.
