Eye of the Hurricane

I already was in a nervous mood. I came off the plane in jeans and a sweater, ready for the cold. What I wasn’t ready for was the slew of photographers eager to snap a picture of me as soon as I grabbed my bags. The biting wind tousled my hair into an unflattering mess, and I desperately wanted to subdue it when I found the next cab. I hate the cold. Two reporters followed my every step until I had to adopt the old Southern attitude of “It doesn’t exist if you pretend it doesn’t exist.”

I mean, what was I supposed to say? Thank you for stalking me, but I don’t even know the first thing about hockey? I had to google everything to learn and forgot it the minute the plane touched the ground. This was enormous pressure, and I haven’t even met the team yet. The only barrier I had between the stalkers and personal space was gone the minute I ducked out of the airport.

Groaning, I slipped my iPod out of my bag, ready to sprint for the next cab that came my way. I scanned the area, all too aware of the grey sky looming ahead. An ugly cab before the rain comes down on me and my clothes, I thought. That’s all I want.

There. I fixed my bag and my suitcase before chasing down the stopping cab. I probably looked like a madwoman with deranged hair. I threw my suitcase on the other side, followed by my bag. I breathed a sigh of relief before I ducked into the cab breathing heavily.

“Ow,” a voice beside me declared, making me jump. To my left, blue eyes twinkled at me in amusement. “You know, this is my cab.”

The scenery blurred around me as I flushed with embarrassment. He was a good looking guy- pale skin, outfitted in a nice suit, light blue eyes dancing in mischief. Maybe it was his laid-back manner, but I’ve seen him somewhere. I just couldn’t place it. I wished I stopped into the rest room to fix my hair. Maybe change my clothes too. I took out my earphones, but before I could say anything, the cabbie in front asked where we were going.

“The United Center,” we both stated before looking at each other. The man grinned.

“I take it that you’re a fan,” he proudly smiled. I tried not to let my mouth drop before shaking my head. This was either upsetting or perplexing, because he laughed nervously.

“I wish I could say that I was,” I said quickly. His eyes lit up challengingly. “But I’m starting my first day there. I barely know a thing of hockey. I probably would bump into one of the players and go about my business. I’m that clueless.”

It must have been really funny, because he laughed so hard, tears sprang into his eyes. He even ignored his ringing phone, opting to wipe his eyes. When I looked into the mirror, the cabbie flashed me a sympathetic look. I was an idiot for moving to Chicago and not learning the sports teams. It‘s like going to New York and not knowing a Jay-Z song. I was coming off as an airhead. It wasn’t a great feeling. “Do you need a tour?”

Who said Northerners were rude? I liked him already. I hoped he worked there, not just there for a business meeting. I could use a friend. “Sure. I have to get my badge and stuff, but I could definitely use the help.”

Smiling, he offered his hand. “Kris Versteeg.”

I shook it, frowning. “Nichole Jackson. Sorry, do you work for the Blackhawks? Your name seems really familiar.”

Laughing, he shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Just do us all a favor and stay away from Adam Burish. He works for the Blackhawks too, and he’d love to mess around with you.”

I knew that name. “He’s a player.”

“Yup,” he smiled. I don‘t think this man had a single bad moment in his life. He seemed to just stay in a good mood. “You’ll see me in a bit too. Who’s your boss?”

“Jared Hansen.”

Kris smirked as the cab ducked into the garage below the ice rink. He grabbed my phone, plugging in my number into his Blackberry. “Well, I’ll definitely see you in a bit, Nichole. Good luck on your first day.” He placed my phone in my lap with a wink.

I smiled nodding. “Thanks.” I looked down to my phone as he left, frowning at the information on my phone. Under job title, he put #32, Left Wing while under company he put Chicago Blackhawks.

I groaned. What a major fail. I let the cabbie take my bags out the backseat before flirting with vindictiveness. I wondered if it would be overly bitchy, not tipping him. Now that I knew why the men were laughing at me, I figured I could pay him back in kind. Unfortunately, my conscience started kicking in, making me pay him.

But Kris Versteeg was not going to be so lucky. If it was the last thing I did, I’d get him back for his prank and then some.