Jameson (Face-Off 4)

As I walk toward the elevator, it hits me. Not only am I part of the wedding party, but I will need a date. And I can’t bring some stranger to my best friend’s wedding. No, that would not work.

Women have a hard time accepting that my best friend is a girl. It’s not like either of us had planned it. That’s just how it happened. I’m always penalized for my friendship with Charlie. At first, the women I meet assume Charlie is a man, and then, they meet her and don’t know how to react. Charlie overpowers a room when she’s in it. That dominance is what makes her one of the best sports agents in the business. But it also makes her intimidating as fuck.

Girls always assume that Charlie and I have feelings for each other or at the very least that we’ve had sex. I remember Alex wondering the same thing in the beginning. We haven’t even gone as far as a kiss on the lips, not unless you count the kind of peck you’d give a family member. We never had sexual feelings for one another, and even if we did, we needed each other too much to sacrifice losing what we have for sex.

With Charlie always around, it hasn’t been easy for me to keep women in my life. She usually scares them away after the first encounter. On accident. She would never do that on purpose unless she really couldn’t stand the woman I had introduced her to, which has happened a few times.

How do I find a date without Charlie scaring them off? I need someone strong, confident, and just as intimidating as Charlie. A woman who can stand her ground. Now, I need to find her.

Chapter 2

Regan

“Hey, you!” I yell across the crowded lot, storming toward the jerk that couldn’t bother to listen to the instructions he was given by the parking attendant. The twenty-something lanky punk with dark hair tucked behind his ears turns around to face me, a smirk already on his lips. I want to slap it right off his stupid face.

He points his finger at his chest. “You talking to me?”

“Yeah, I’m talking to you, you sorry sack of shit.” I march toward him, seething mad. “Who do you think you are parking in a VIP spot when the guard already told you to move your car down there?” I point to the section where he should have parked his beater.

Tugging on his Flyers jersey, he curls his lip upward at me in disgust. “I don’t take orders from little girls. Why don’t you keep walking, and mind your own business.”

“This is my business, and that spot is reserved. Either you can move your car, or I will have it moved for you. Your choice. It will cost a lot more to recover it from impound if I have to call a tow truck. And that five minute walk you tried to save yourself will have been for nothing when you have to walk down Broad Street to get your car.”

He snarls at me. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” I counter, “and I will if you don’t get back in your car and park where you were told.”

Lenny, the parking attendant, was too busy with incoming guests to worry about this jerk. I wasn’t even supposed to be outside with the Flyers so close to face-off, but I forgot my jersey in the car. I have a weird superstition that I will jinx the team if I watch the game without wearing my jersey. It was a silly tradition from back when my father played professional hockey.

For as long as I can remember, every game I’d sit on the floor in my parents living room in my jersey with my face so close to the TV screen that my mother swore I would go blind. I had worn my father’s number, of course. Even back then, it was too big for my tiny frame. It still is to this day. Because I had insisted on wearing his old jersey, the same one he’d worn at one point during games, I looked ridiculous. But it smelled like my dad and reminded me of him when he was on the road.

My dad has a bunch of embarrassing pictures of me all over his office in this jersey. Some of the players on the team even make fun of me for it. Mike Turner doesn’t sound like the name of a hockey legend, but it doesn’t change the fact that he is. And I still wear his jersey, even if it’s only to support his team. After he had retired, he tried his hand at sports broadcasting and hated it. Now, he’s the general manager for the Flyers. I guess you could say I’m his assistant or something like it.

The man sighs, finally realizing he’s on the losing side of this argument. I have no problem calling our tow services at the Wells Fargo Center to drag his car off the lot just on principle alone.

He blows past me in a huff without another word. I might be petite, but I’m not some little girl to be messed with. That’s one thing my dad had taught me—not to take shit from anyone. At least this guy has enough sense to leave before the guards have to escort him off the property. We get tons of drunken idiots who try the same stunts every time there’s an event at the Wells Fargo Center.

Tonight is no different from any other night. The only difference is that the Flyers are playing the Penguins, and I need to haul ass back inside if I want to make it in time for face-off.

My teeth chatter from the winter chill in the air. Using the jersey clutched between my hands, I hold it up to my face and pick up the pace, as I make my way through the crowded parking lot. I love when I get the chance to walk around the grounds alone. Everyone treats me differently when my dad is around. Right now, I’m just Regan, an ordinary girl holding her favorite player’s jersey. That player just so happens to be my father. But no one knows that. At least not until I spot Kevin Murphy, who everyone calls Murph. Then, my two seconds of pretending I’m a nobody wear off in an instant.

Once I reach the side entrance of the building, Murph is waiting for me with his back against the door, holding it open with a lazy grin. He loves my dad and always gives me special treatment. Sometimes, I wish he’d knock it off and act as if I’m a girl he’d met on the street. The weight of my father’s legacy is often too much to handle.

“C’mon, Regan, I’m freezing my nuts off out here.” Murph rubs his hands together. “Get a move on, girl.”

I shake my head, laughing. “You know you don’t have to stand out here for me, Murph. I am capable of handling myself, thank you very much.”

“Yeah, but your dad would be pissed, and I don’t want to get on his bad side.”

“Smart man,” I tell him, stepping inside the warm building, still keeping the jersey up to my face until the cold leeches from my bones.

The cacophony of cheers echoing throughout the open space set fire to my insides. I love the vibe of a packed event center. It reminds me of my childhood. I love the hum of voices and the screaming fans that make the place come alive. When I walk the halls during the day, it’s quiet, leaving me alone with my thoughts. But when it’s game time, there’s a certain energy that surges through my veins. The excitement is palpable, consuming the air around me.

“I don’t need you sending Daddy after me if I leave you hanging,” Murph says, as we walk the halls together.

I chuckle and nudge him in his biceps. “As if I would even think of it. He pokes his head in my business enough already. You have no idea what it’s like to have everyone watching you all the time. It’s creepy.”

He holds his hand up to his mouth and laughs once. “No one is watching you, Regan. You’re just paranoid.”