“Holy shit!” Forey snorts. “You know what I just realized? The Rattlers are our affiliate team, but their mascot could probably swallow ours whole.”
The room instantly devolves into chaos. The guys are on their feet, shouting over each other as they argue the possibility of such a thing.
I throw up my hand, calling for silence.
It’s futile. They’re deep in the Chippy vs. Rex debate, and no one is looking my way.
I need a different tactic to—
Dr. Banks produces an air horn from god knows where and lets it rip. We’re standing far too close for comfort, and my ears ring with the echo.
All eyes turn his way, and he chuckles. “I’d say we’re done here. Let’s chalk this up as a failed experiment. You boys go ahead and hit the ice for morning skate.”
Knox shoots him the side-eye, but the team gathers their equipment and he leads them out.
Once they’re gone, it’s just me and Banks.
“Not a very encouraging start,” he says, stroking his chin like a cartoon villain. “If you can’t maintain control of a few rowdy athletes, you’re going to have a very difficult time here, Ms. Washington.”
Anger flares low in my belly, and I press my lips together. Perhaps if he’d given me an opportunity to rectify the situation, instead of cutting me off at the knees, we’d be having a different conversation. But I can’t say that, so I keep my mouth shut.
The last thing I want is to be labeled difficult to work with.
“Based on what I saw today, you need to rethink your strategy, or these men will never respect you.” That genteel charm is back, each word delivered with smooth precision and dripping with condescension. “Grown men are not going to talk about their feelings with twenty other grown men. That’s justnot how this works.” He makes a show of straightening his cuffs. “Word of advice? Do your time here, pad your resume, and transition back to women’s sports. I’m sure there’s a professional team out there that would appreciate your style.”
“Thank you for the feedback.” I smile, despite the urge to throat-punch him. “I’ll take it under consideration.”
“Good, you do that.” He spins on his heel and heads for the door, stopping at the last second. “Don’t forget to send me an update on Friday, and if anything of consequence happens this week, I want to know immediately.”
When he’s gone, I head over to the rink and plant myself on one of the metal benches in the viewing area. It’s hard and cold, which is fitting since nothing about this day is going to plan.
Late for work? Check.
Made a fool of myself in front of Knox? Check.
Got condescending advice from my misogynistic boss? Check.
If this morning is a sign of what’s to come, I’ve got my work cut out for me.
You look like you’ve been eating sorrow by the spoonful.
It’s one of Nana’s favorite sayings, but it’s the kick in the pants I need. I don’t have time to wallow in self-pity. The Gliders’ first game is tomorrow, and the clock is ticking.
I focus on the ice, watching as the team runs through drills and small-area games. The guys bicker and argue, and there seems to be an abundance of player-on-player violence for a practice session.
No wonder they’re struggling.
After a while, Coach Carlyle joins me on the bench. “What do you think?”
“Honestly?”
He nods.
“We have a lot of work to do.”
“Tell me about it.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “Are you sure you’re up for this? I heard things didn’t go well this morning.”
Great. It’s only day one, and he’s already questioning my abilities.