One of the rookies shuffles over like he just struck gold, phone glowing in his hand. “Oh, but this one, Captain, this one’s priceless.” He shoves the screenin my face.
It’s a picture of me sliding the paper rose behind her ear, her wide eyes looking up at me.
The boys lose it—whistles and hoots bouncing off the walls.
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, snatching the phone before he can yank it back.
“Hey!” The rookie flails after me, panic all over his face.
I hold the phone out at arm’s length, shoulder pinning him against the lockers like a bug on display. He squirms, red-faced, while I scroll with a thumb. “What else we got in here, kid?”
“Captain, seriously…”
“Couple selfies? Maybe a dick pic or two?” My voice booms across the locker room, a grin spreading across my face.
“Nothing!” The kid’s voice cracks, horrified.
“Microdick shots? Let’s show the boys what you’re working with, hm?” I tilt the phone like I’m about to put on a slideshow.
The locker room explodes; half the guys double over, and Jace shakes his head at me with amusement. Back then, he would’ve joined me—maybe even goneas far as pulling the rookie’s pants down. I guess love really does make you a better man. Or a boring one.
“Actually, let me get this live.” I open the camera, angling it toward the rookie.
“Captain, Jesus Christ!” The kid thrashes like a fish, but he’s not getting anywhere. I’ve got a hundred pounds on him, easy.
“Hold still,” I tell him. “I need a good angle. Lighting’s everything when you’re trying to make an inch look like two.”
The howl that goes up damn near rattles the ceiling. His face is crimson, sputtering every swear word he knows while I keep him caged against the lockers with one arm, phone dangling out of reach.
The door opens, and the head of our equipment manager pokes inside, looking around hesitantly before his eyes land on me. “Uh, Cap?” he calls, voice carrying over the racket. “Tinnie’s asking for you.”
Finally. I’ve been waiting for this since I saw my face all over the internet this morning. A PR circus like this doesn’t go away on its own.
“About time,” I mutter, straightening up. I let the rookie wriggle a second longer before tossing the phone back at his chest.
He clutches it, glaring up at me while the rest of the room cackles. I don’t miss the faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
I pass Jace, giving him a quick pat on the shoulder as I make my way out of the room.
The PR suite smells like overbrewed coffee and paper. Tinnie’s standing in the middle of the room while three of her people hover nearby with tablets.
“Dom,” she greets, all polite warmth. “Appreciate you coming in.”
“Anytime,” I say, dropping into the chair at the end of the table.
“You know we wouldn’t pull you in without good reason.”
I tug the towel off my neck and lean back, waiting.
The younger guy with the tablet glances at Tinnie like he’s not sure if he should speak.
“First off, congratulations,” Tinnie says, speaking for him. “That was one hell of a game last night.”
“Thanks,” I say flatly, leaning back in the chair.
“We’ve been tracking engagement.” Tinnie presses on. “Since last night’s win, numbers are up across the board. Website traffic, merch clicks, hashtag trends. There’s been a twenty percent spike overnight.”
“Twenty?” I raise a brow.
