Overnight Sensation(14)

There’s a chuckle from the seat beside me. “Have you eaten anything yet today?”

“Lord, no. Didn’t seem like a good idea.” Not to mention that I was pressed for time. I took a five a.m. subway ride back to Manhattan. I snuck into my father’s apartment, quiet as a mouse. After a hasty shower and some frantic packing, I snuck out again while my father was in the shower.

I barely made the team bus, saving myself the embarrassment of missing it. Although, if I barf everywhere before we arrive at our destination, the point will be moot.

Bayer rises in his seat and fishes a hand into the duffel bag at his feet. “Here.” He hands me a small bag of pretzels. “These are the perfect hangover remedy. I always have some handy.”

“You are a prince among men,” I gush, which makes him laugh.

I tear open the bag and put one of the pretzels in my mouth and chew. Even the first bite of salty, bland carbohydrates is restorative.

He reaches into the duffel again, then hands me an unopened bottle of water. “Now have some of this, with two of these.” He fishes out a bottle of ibuprofen and takes the cap off.

“That settles it,” I say gratefully. “I’ll name my firstborn after you.”

Bayer laughs. “Learning to cope with a hangover is just part of hockey. I have to keep up with these youngsters around me.”

“I hope you’re not sacrificing your best weapons for little old me.” Later today I will find a bag of pretzels and a bottle of water to replenish his stock.

“I’m good.” He chuckles. “I had just one shot last night. No need for the arsenal today.”

“If only I’d stopped at one.” I could have saved myself a full helping of mortification. I distinctly remember straddling Castro’s lap and asking him if he’d tie me up. And it’s possible that I said the word “clitoris” out loud at some point.

Even if the bus driver opened the door of the moving bus and tossed me out, I don’t think I could be any unhappier than I am right now. Every time I think about last night, I want to die all over again.

There should be a charm-school course on how to hold your liquor. Gather ‘round ladies, tonight we’re drinking tequila! The idea would be funny if I weren’t so distraught right now.

I fix my gaze on the highway as the miles roll by. I eat a few more pretzels, sip the water, and count down the minutes until our arrival.

At last the bus leaves the highway. We begin to roll past carefully manicured properties and tidy little shops. You know you’re in the Hamptons when everything is decorated with beachy paraphernalia and expensive landscaping.

Beside me, Bayer is poking at his phone. But he’s also stealing glances at me.

“What?” I finally ask. “Something the matter?”

He opens his mouth and then shuts it again. “Suppose not.”

“Thank you again for your kindness,” I say as the bus comes to a stop outside a hotel. “I feel worlds better.”

“You’re welcome. Anytime.”

Before we can exit the bus, the doors open to admit Rebecca Rowley, who will soon become Rebecca Kattenberger, as well as the new team owner. She and Nate Kattenberger announced their engagement right at the end of last season.

And—if I’m lucky—Rebecca will become my permanent boss. She’s going to hire someone to replace herself as the office manager. I plan to be first in line for that job.

“Morning, champs!” she says. “We have a full day ahead of us. You have forty-five minutes to check in to your rooms and prepare for practice. This bus will leave at ten for the rink. You’ll practice, eat lunch, have a meeting with the coaches. And then you’ll scrimmage for the public at three thirty. Veterans against the younger guys and rookies. Then it’s back on the bus, and back to the hotel for two hours of rest before the black-tie cocktail party. Everyone attends. Any questions?”

Bayer’s hand shoots up beside me. “What do the veterans get if we beat the rookies again this year?”

“My undying respect,” Rebecca says with a smile. “And free drinks at a stuffy cocktail party. Now off you go.”

I practically launch myself off the bus, I’m so happy to breathe the fresh air. I know I’m not the first stupid girl to ever have a hangover, but I sure do feel like I survived three hours of torture.

“Heidi Jo? A word?” Rebecca waves me over, using the name my father calls me.

But I don’t correct her. If I can interview for the office manager job, I don’t care what she calls me.

“Yes, ma’am,” I say, stepping out of the way of the players who are streaming toward the hotel.

“You ma’amed me?” Becca says with an exaggerated gasp. “Did I age significantly over the summer?”

“Oh, stop. I’m just feeling humble this morning. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

Rebecca’s smile fades quickly. “Are you okay?”

“Absolutely,” I say quickly. Not only do I feel loads better now that we’re off the bus, I never want to show weakness to the boss. “What can I do for you first?”

“Well…” She makes a grim face. “I have two items of news for you, and neither of them is good.”

Oh, dear Lord. My stomach dives for the hundredth time today, and it’s not even nine o’clock. “Did you fill the position already?”