Morgan Rielly Imagine

Can You Even Spell?

"Welcome to the team," Steve grins down at me and my stomach flutters nervously as I give him a small smile back and a nod.

    "Thank you," I murmur, adjusting my grip on my carry on.

There's a lot of people filtering around me, some faces I know, others I don't. But shortly I will know them all.

"After you," Steve says, gesturing with his free hand at the staircase leading up to the jet before me. I eye the sheer size of the plane warily, my fear of flying coming to the surface but I have no choice. I lead Steve up the steep steps, careful not to trip over my own two feet.

And so begins my new job here in Toronto, or at least it will be Toronto, right now we're in Montreal for a preseason game. I had been waiting for them here in Montreal, where I had previously been based for my work with the NHL as a whole, covering most every team but from the comfort of one city for the last two years.

Now, I'm technically employed by the Maple Leafs, but still can do some side work if I have the time. I won't have the time. Steve shows me the ropes of the plane quickly, where coaches sit, players sit and where social media, AKA me, sits. I avoid the stares of everyone as Steve talks openly to me, not lowering his voice at all. I can feel the heat of the stares though.

When I turn to take my assigned seat, another voice speaks out. A voice that makes my lip curl back and my eyes to narrow before I even get a glance at the owner of said voice.

"Well, well, well, look who it is," Mason says in his typical cocky voice, the same annoying smirk on his face that makes me tighten my hand around the strap of my bag in an attempt to not smack that smirk right off his face. "Little (Y/L/N), decided the top spot was too much work?" He asks me, the sarcasm so heavy that I know he still holds a grudge.

There had only been one spot open when we graduated college, both of us top of our class, separated by only 0.02 in GPA. Mason had thought that he had the job in the bag, little did he know I had that 0.02 over his ego-infused head. We had never gotten along in our classes. Not after I turned him down our sophomore year when he asked me out. Me getting the job was the breaking point in any sort of relationship that had been clinging by a thread.

I bite down on the inside of my cheek and the motion doesn't go unnoticed by Mason.

"Looks like you finally took my advice on those anger management classes," he says dryly, pretending to closely examine the apple in his hands.

I close my eyes momentary, knowing the stares that are still directed my way and ears have turned our direction as well.

"Get me off this plane," I turn and say to Steve who has an amused expression on his face.

Steve puts his hand on my shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze as he pushes me down into my seat across the table from Mason. An amused smirk also on his face. I can feel the death stare on my own.

"Now you two play nice alright?" Steve says, wagging a finger at both of us. "Y/N, don't rip his throat out and Mason, stop giving her reasons to."

Mason rolls his eyes and bites into his apple. The noise makes my blood boil. Everything he does makes my blood boil. I watch him raise the apple to his mouth again, another bite and my nostrils flare as I try to ignore the crunch.

"I see you still eat like a horse," I say through clenched teeth, glaring at the apple as he brings it away from his mouth. Mason takes extra time to chew his food, I'm sure to find a witty retort to throw my way.

To my surprise though, he just regards me with a curious look in his hazel eyes that annoys me. I ignore him and take my seat. Unfortunately my seat faces the rest of the plane, being in the first seat of the row. Mason in still lounged across the table from me, resting his shoulder on the wall, still chomping on that stupid apple. And also still staring.