Cocky Score (The Hawkeyes Hockey Series)

After an ‘internet breaking’ first public outing yesterday at lunch, Briggs and I are social media official.

God, that feels weird, but it is also a big win and one step closer to my idea being a success. Tessa Tomlin already called me this morning, and we had a long conversation, going over everything she’s seeing in the comments and responses from the public. She said that upper management is thrilled with the overall positive reaction from the general public and The Hawkeyes Fans. Most people love that Briggs seems to be settling down with the hometown girl.

With The Hawkeyes having a home game tonight, Briggs and I put off the move into the apartment until tomorrow. It still feels so bizarre to be moving into an apartment with him.

Now with a VIP pass that Penelope had a courier drop off early today in hand for the owner’s box, I walk through the doors of the stadium and look for the elevator to the private boxes. I’ve been to more games in this building than I can count. My parents have been bringing Isaac and me here since we were kids, but this is the first time I’ve been here as a girlfriend of a player.

Wow, girlfriend feels weird to say in relation to Briggs Conley.

Security vets me before they let me in, and as soon as I walk through the doors of the owner’s box, I forget that I’m not going to be sitting with a bunch of boisterous fans, lost in the crowd. Nope, I’m upstairs with a room full of people that know Briggs and have no idea who the hell I am.

As I walk through the door of the large owner’s box, my senses are almost overloaded with so much to see.

From the team colors represented on every wall and all of the furniture, to the massive food buffet against the right wall that could probably feed the entire stadium of visitors, everything is well designed and thought out. In the middle of the room, several large turquoise and black couches are set up in different configurations for different groupings of people to sit, eat and visit.

To my left is a massive dark mahogany bar that matches the wood floors with an illuminated frosty light blue bar top. It almost looks like ice from this distance. Jerseys from every player are hung up in different places on the walls around the suite.

A bartender stands behind it mixing up drinks for the maybe thirty people in this room, but I bet this room could hold two hundred comfortably. What really catches my eye is the floor-to-ceiling glass windows directly across from the entrance to the owner’s box that allow anyone in this huge suite to see the entire stadium on the third floor. Excitement rages at the half-a-dozen bar-style tables with four bar stools set up at each, lining the glass for viewers to sit and eat while watching the game.

I’ve just found my favorite place in the stadium, and now I’m anxious to claim a bar stool before they all get snatched up for the game.

In my peripheral, I see Penelope head for me, her long blonde ponytale swishing side to side in her pursuit of me. I’ve spoken to her the most during this process. She’s the one that got Briggs and me an apartment, set up our lunch date reservations, and sent over my pass to get through security. She also sent me a massive bouquet of flowers as a thank-you for doing ‘extra credit’ and agreeing to be Briggs’s girlfriend so we could keep the whole thing in-house. The name on the card read: From The Hawkeyes. I’m sure the team credit card paid for it, but I know it was her idea.

“Autumn!” Penelope beams when she finally reached me and links her arm through mine as we meet in the middle of the room. A bunch of other eyes are on me too. Some that know me, like Phil Carlton, the owner, who sends me a nod, Sam Roberts, the GM, who smiles warmly, and Tessa Tomlin, the in-house PR guru they hired last year to keep an eye on the guys’ social media to make sure they’re keeping it all franchise friendly. She’s grabbing food from the craft table but sees me and heads our way.

Phew! I’m glad to already have allies in this group. Not that I’ve ever heard of The Hawkeyes being a difficult group to get along with, and since starting to work with them, they’ve all been accommodating.

“How was getting in here? Did anyone give you problems?” Penelope asks.

“Nope. I sailed right in. No issues.” I shake my head.

“Good,” Tessa says, snacking down on something that looks like a pear and brie tart as she walks up. The food looks high-end and delicious. “I bet Security was looking to the skies for flying pigs when you said you are Briggs Conley’s girlfriend.”

Penelope snickers. “Same thing would have happened if your brother had a woman stopping in claiming to be his monogamous girlfriend.”

I look over to Tessa, ‘Who’s your brother?’ I ask trying to think through people in corporate I’ve met, maybe he works in legal?

Penelope jumps in with the answer first, ‘Brent Tomlin.’

Oh yeah! I obviously know who Brent Tomlin is. He’s plays for The Hawkeyes as their left-defense.

“You’re right though, long term relationships aren’t on the horizon for my brother.” Tessa nods. “Or Powers… or Wrenley… or Altman,” Tessa says, listing off more players on the team.

“No,” Penelope interjects, “not Altman. He has a sweet little girl. He needs to find a nice woman to marry.”

“Yeah… you’re right,” Tessa says with a sigh.

“Is she here?” I ask. “Altman’s daughter?”

“She’s standing over at the glass,” Penelope says, pointing toward the wall of windows.

I remember now hearing in the news how Altman’s daughter was the product of a short fling he had years ago, but the mother never told Altman she existed, and then he found out after the mother got in a car accident and died.

I feel bad about how much the news hounded him at the beginning of this year about the whole ordeal. And how much his player reputation almost lost him custody.

I quickly scan the room, looking to see if the tiny little Kaenan Altman mini-me is here. And sure enough, tucked in the right corner of the room is a sweet little two-year-old girl with the same curling brown hair, wrapped in the arms of a woman around my age, with her tiny little toddler hands plastered on the glass, screaming at the crowd below.

“Who’s that?” I ask and nod over to the woman holding baby Altman.

“Oh, that’s Isla. She’s Kaenan’s nanny. She’s really nice but a little shy.”

“Ah, that makes sense.”

“This is her first game. Altman said he’s been begging her to bring Berkeley to the games since she started a couple of months ago, but this is the first time I’ve seen her,” Penelope says.

I nod, knowing exactly how she must feel right now.

“I’m going to grab something to eat,” Penelope says.

“And I need a drink before the game starts,” Tessa adds.

“Meet you girls over there?” I say, pointing to the four bar stools and the table over in the left corner with no one occupying it.

They both agree, and I take a wander over to the glass within a few feet of Berkeley and the nanny.

Right before I make it to the glass, I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. A text from Derek.

I send a quick response. We work together and I don’t want things to get weird between us.

It’s mature of him to apologize.

Hmm, some apology this is turning out to be…

I’m not completely sure why I’m giving him reassurance. It’s not as if we’re dating right now. And the fact that he basically told me to pick him over my career has me questioning if I’d consider going out with him after everything with Briggs blows over.

Aww, that was really sweet. Maybe I was too hard on him.

Before I can type back, he sends another text.

Dang it…and you were so close Derek, so close.

I tuck my phone in the back pocket of my jeans and turn to my right, where the nanny and the cute little girl are standing.

“Hi,” I say, smiling over at the little girl who’s being held up by the nanny with her nose almost smashed up against the glass. “She’s cute.”

“Oh, uh, thanks, she’s not mine,” the nanny says, glancing at me and then back to Berkeley.

I nod to let her know that I already know.

“Are you a hockey fan?” I ask.

“I’ve never watched it before. And this is my first time in a hockey stadium.”

“Well then, come sit with us,” I tell her again, nodding toward my new friends who just made it to the table and are looking over at us, waving us over to join them.

“Okay… thank you.”

She pulls Berkeley off the glass, and I swear I hear the little girl snarl as the other team takes to the ice.

Yep, that little girl is a future hockey fan in the making.

She and I climb onto the last two bar stools surrounding the small bar-height dark wood table with The Hawkeyes logo laminated under a thick coating of epoxy.

“You’ve met Penelope and Tessa already?” I ask Isla.

They all nod.

“Great. Well, we will be your guide to all things hockey tonight,” I offer.

“Thank you.” Isla beams at me and then looks over at Penelope and Tessa’s plates. “I can’t believe what amazing food they have here. Kaenan said that there would be food, but he didn’t say it would be catered.” She practically salivates. “I thought it would be dry hot dogs and stale pretzels.”

“Absolutely not. The Carltons are the best hosts. Once, one of the players’ wives said how much she loves kombucha, and Mrs. Carlton now has a different flavor on tap every home game, and Mrs. Carlton doesn’t even come to the games. Today, it’s lavender strawberry,” Penelope says as she swishes her kombucha in her cup and takes a sip and then hums her approval.

I see Isla’s eyes flash toward the craft table. “Are you hungry, Berkeley?” The little girl nods. “I’ll be right back after I get her a plate.”

After Isla and Berkey head for the buffet, Penelope and Tessa turn to me.

“Okay, this might be our only chance to ask.” Tessa looks over at Penelope as if they rehearsed that they were going to jump me with questions as soon as I got here. I can see it in their eyes. “How’s it going? Is Briggs being a total tool?”

“Yeah, tell us everything. My dad is the GM. I can make his ass do ice burpees for a week.” Penelope leans in with an aggressive whisper as though she might enjoy wielding power to cause a player some pain. It’s the first time I’m not seeing the sweet, sunny side of Penelope.

But her facial expression has me laughing. She can’t do mean. Her face just refuses to look mad or something. Instead, she looks slightly deranged but mostly still smiley.

“Nothing really to report yet. He was a gentleman at lunch and did everything right. Move-in day is tomorrow, so we’ll see how that goes,” I say, shrugging a single shoulder, “But the minute he screws up, I know where to turn.” I wink at Penelope.

“Game’s about to start,” Sam announces to everyone in the owner’s box.

The thirty or so people finds a bar stool next to the glass or stands nearby.

The puck hits the ground, and even though we’re on the third level, you can see absolutely everything as the ice rink’s illuminating blue ice highlights each player. They take off at lightning speed, skating from one side to the other. Defending and shooting. Ref calls and penalty box time. I can’t keep my eyes off the game as Penelope, Tessa, and I take Isla under our wing, teaching her everything she needs to know. But through the entire game, there’s not a single second when I can’t account for Briggs’s whereabouts. My eyes are trained on him, constantly looking for his turquoise blue jersey, the same color as his eyes, Conley #48.

There’s one moment in the game when he scores a point, and he looks up at the owner’s box. Maybe he was looking for Sam’s approval or the thumbs-up that Phil lifts high for Briggs to see, but I swear our eyes meet as I’m off my bar stool jumping up and down in celebration for his goal, and my heart warms.

The game ends, and The Hawkeyes narrowly win by one point. It was a tough game against a tough team.

“Let him finish his interview, and then we’ll want you to walk out with him so the media can see you leave together,” Tessa coaches me while she scrolls through the teams’ social media accounts to see what the fans are posting right after the game.

“Got it.”