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I stood outside the locker room in the ice hockey stadium the next night, waiting for the team to file out. Just like me, all the other players' assistants were out waiting.

As Vince wanted, we reached the hotel by noon yesterday and he spent the entire day lazing around. He went for a swim, allowed himself two burgers and some fries. He wanted to go to the spa but coach Peters said he could do that after the game, just in case he strained or over relaxed a muscle.

Today, the team had training in the morning and now, at six, they're getting ready for the game that starts in thirty minutes. Vince is one of the three forwards in the game, he's the right-winger. The game consists of three twenty-minute games with a seventeen-minute break between each half, those seventeen minutes are generally spent deciding new and improvised strategies, switching out players if one is injured, and of course, catching a damn breath.

Our opponents for tonight were the Scorpions. They're an American team, however, most of their players are Canadian and so is their coach. Well, so is coach Peters.

The door to the locker room opened and coach Peters walked out while clapping and calling out behind him to the team. "Let's go, let's go, boys! Get on the ice!"

Each player walked out one at a time while double-checking their gear and helmets, some of them checking the wrapping on their hockey sticks and getting a firm grip. "Demi," Christian smiled, saluting me with two fingers as he walked past. He plays center.

"Demi," Cody and Logan greeted in sync. Cody plays left-winger, Logan is the defenceman.

Michael, our big guy is the goalie, who walked out next, giving me a high five before fastening his gloves, and last came our kindest boss, Vince.

"Tiffany," he nodded, holding onto his helmet.

"Mr. Hunter," I nodded in response.

He looked calmer than his teammates, always does. He always looks arrogant in the game, it's something that his fans love and his haters hate. He leaned down just a bit. "Push my hair back, could you?"

I went on my toes and ran my fingers through his hair till it sat back. He dampened it, as usual. He handed me the helmet and I fixed it on, knocking on it three times for good luck. It's something my Dad always used to do when I was a kid and still does. Knock on my head three times for good luck. The first time I did that to him, he just looked at me weirdly, rolled his eyes, and walked onto the ice, but he's used to it now. "Good luck," I sang.

He stood upright, threw me a wink, and then moved to the rink from this side while the opposing team walked in from the other. The other assistants took a seat on our bench while I went and stood beside coach Peters.

My Dad played ice hockey in school, he's obsessed with the game, never misses a match, so you bet I know everything about the game and I've actually come to enjoy watching it. Brutality and all.

"Everyone take positions!" the referee called out.

"Come on, boys!" coach Peters yelled beside me. "Hey, Demi," he mumbled.

"Hi, coach," I replied, watching the puck in the middle while Christian and the center player from the other team prepared to steal the puck, aiming to beat their opponent to it. I glanced at the scoring machine which showed zero on both sides while a countdown from ten began. An automated voice counted the numbers aloud while two voice anchors sat in a booth above the scoreboard, ready to announce every detail of the game for the radio.

The whistle blew, loudly echoing through the stadium and everybody on the ice became a blur for a split second. It took me a minute to realize who was where. Christian stole the puck first and moved quickly to the other team's net while Vince and Cody moved along the sides.

"Cody!" Christian yelled, passing the puck forward.

Cody managed to catch it right before an opponent skated past, bumping shoulders with Cody as he tried to steal it. Cody moved forward while the defense charged at him. Last-minute, without any warning, he sent the puck flying to Vince who caught it with the stick and continued moving forward.

He moved past one defenceman, then the other, and hit the puck so hard, I thought it would fly out of the rink. But it flew straight to the net. The scoreboard beeped and Royal Riders had one point while the Scorpions had zero. The crowd cheered and went wild screaming the players' names. But the team didn't celebrate too early. They nodded, exchanged a small word while retaking positions, and got ready to keep the game going 'till they win it.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The score was tied, we had one minute left till the end of the last half of the game. Coach Peters seemed more stressed than anybody, I was scared he'd have heartburn.

That happened once and he had to be rushed to the hospital during a game. Then the team was on their own that night.

I glanced at the assistants behind us who were all talking or on their phones, having no interest in the game.

"We have to win this, Demi! We have to win!" Coach yelled, shaking my shoulder.

"We'll win, coach, don't break a shoulder," I mumbled, pulling his arm down.

He chuckled awkwardly. "Sorry, it's a habit. You know, it's usually another player standing beside me like this, so..." he trailed off.

I nodded, giving him a small smile.

"And Christian sends the puck over to Cody but Malcolm intercepts it!" one of the anchors yelled.

Both coach and I turned to the ice. I rested my arms on the rink, which I could since we were behind the glass shield. I started biting on my thumbnail, watching the game intently.

"Come on, come on, come on!" coach yelled, making me half deaf.

"And Vince Hunter cuts in yet again, stealing the puck right before Malcolm scored a point. And here he goes! Here he goes!" The stadium went quiet for a heartbeat. I felt my whole body relax as my arms slid off the rink. "And he scores!"

The whistle blew just in time, signaling the end of the game. The crowd went absolutely crazy, people jumping out of their seats. The team finally allowed themselves a little celebration as everyone rushed to Vince, trying to tackle him with hugs. The big screen above the scoreboard focused on his face, we could see under the helmet while he grinned, his cheeks and nose flushed from the temperature in the rink.

Everybody backed up, the winning team, our team, was announced, the teams shook and skated back out. Security became stricter, holding fans back as our team walked over here, giving some of the fans high fives while walking into the locker room. Just like they did while entering the rink, Vince came out last, taking his helmet off and shaking his sweaty hair out. Coach briefly patted every player's back before disappearing somewhere.

Vince stood there in front of me, leaning against the rink as he caught his breath. He glanced at me, holding out the helmet while his chest rose and fell quickly with each pant. I took the helmet while he shook his hair again, getting it off his forehead. He leaned his head back, closing his eyes for just a minute. He lifted his gloved hand to his mouth and ripped the glove off with his teeth before using his now free hand to take off the other one. He took a step forward, towering over me, and knocked on the side of my head three times. "Your good luck works, Tiffany," he smirked.

I blinked, staring at him.

"It works every time," he chuckled. He actually chuckled.

I got a little laugh out of him. This is the first time in the two long years I've worked for him that I got to see him laugh because of me. That laugh was for me. I made Vince Hunter laugh.

His brows lifted a little. "What?"

"I fangirled for a minute," I cleared my throat.

He stared at me in amusement and his lip lifted at one side but he rolled his tongue along the inside of his cheek and bit back the smile and laugh. He took the helmet out of my hands, knocking it on the side of my head softly. "Keep fangirling then. You're nicer when you're starstruck," he nodded before walking past me and going into the locker room.

They win, of course, they win. Looking at how hard they train, I'd be extremely disappointed if they didn't. Sometimes, I feel worse about a loss than the team because I see Vince brooding and overworking the life out of himself until the next match and that's when I have to put up with the extra tantrums and mood swings.

But this kind of Vince? The one with the afterglow of a winning match? He's my favorite. Because he plays nice. Even if it's just one night, he plays nice. And he's actually a pretty good boss.

I leaned against the railing, folding my arms across my chest while waiting for him to come out. I smiled softly to myself, touching my head where he knocked on it.

He's still Vince fucking Hunter. Of course, I fangirl sometimes.

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