Knox shakes his head slowly, his smug grin fixed in place.
“Really? She’s the GOAT.” Emerson frowns. “Give us another hint. Is she active or retired?”
He laughs, and gravelly sound sparks heat low in my belly. “Retired.”
Emerson turns to me. “Any ideas?”
I press my lips together to keep from grinning and shake my head.
“Better luck next time,” he says, swaggering past us, his sweat-damp hair making him look even sexier than usual.
Emerson continues down the line, and I observe the players’ reactions, searching for one that feels off or a little too forced, but I’ve got nothing. I’m no closer to knowing who wrote the note this morning, and now I don’t even have it as a reference thanks to Dr. Banks.
Bouchard is the last one off the ice and cites a PWHL player as his favorite female athlete.
“I love it!” Emerson says. “Way to support the women!”
Bouchard blushes and lopes off with a crooked grin.
“They can do all that,”—I gesture to her camera, defeated—”but they’d never be able to say nice things about their own teammates.”
Emerson eyes me curiously. “I could make that happen.”
Of that, I have no doubt.
“How do you do it? It’s like you’ve got them wrapped around your finger.”
“My brother is a hockey player.” She grabs a bag off the bench and puts her camera inside it. “I’ve been managing him my whole life, despite being smaller and prettier, so I guess the answer is lots of practice.”
We both laugh, and it feels nice after the morning I’ve had.
“It’s a physical sport,” she says thoughtfully. “They’re used to using their size and speed to their advantage, but they’re plenty easy to outwit. You just have to get creative and show them you won’t back down.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Though I suspect it’s not as easy as she makes it out to be. “Where does your brother play?”
“He plays for the Canes. He’s in the final year of his entry-level contract, but he’ll be re-signed.”
“They’re the Gliders’ rivals, right?” I snort-laugh, imagining the family dinners. “That must be fun.”
“You have no idea.” Emerson rolls her eyes. “I’ve been running his social accounts for years, which is how I got this job. He has over two million followers, despite being a complete douche.” She grins. “Which is why the Gliders call me Little Spy.”
“Count your blessings. It could be worse.”
“Tell me about it.” She flips her ponytail over her shoulder. “It doesn’t bother me. Honestly, I love it here, and I hope I get to stay on when my internship is over. The owners have an incredible vision for this team, and the marketing directive is to make sure people come for the vibes, regardless of whether the team is winning or losing. They want to build a community, and I’d like to continue being part of it. Plus, my job is fun as hell.”
“Speaking of your job… I wonder if you could carry a message back to the marketing team.”
Emerson lifts a brow. “Shoot.”
I tell her how the team feels about Chippy, and she cackles, her laughter echoing through the empty rink.
“If you think it’ll help morale, I’ll bring it up at the next marketing meeting,” she promises.
“Oh, and there’s one other thing.” I hold up my fingers, pinching them together. “It’s really just a tiny favor, but since you’re on the socials team, I have to ask. Could you try to feature McGinnis’s good side a little more often?”
“Aww,” she croons, a devilish grin curving her lips. “Was Baby Glider complaining?”
I groan. “Please tell me you didn’t start that.”