Page 75 of Two for Charging

“And let me tell you, the pics have been making the rounds on social media all week. I’ve had two different girls hit me up on TikTok to find out if Howie is looking for a Tinkerbell.”

Luca rubbed his hand across his mouth until he could school his expression into something approaching neutral. Howie hadn’t spoken to any of them all week following his dramatic exit from the party on Friday. Instead, he’d spent his time at the rink with Dmitriyev and Fedorov, practicing rudimentary skills in Russian. They had dropped two games since then, ruining their perfect record for the season. Tomorrow would be the last day of their homestand, their second match against Chicago this year, and if they couldn’t pull out a win for the home crowd at least once, the road trip to Montreal promised to be equally miserable.

As if she read his mind, Kayleigh continued, “And between you and me, this kind of content keeps the fans happy and distracted when the team isn’t bringing home the Ws.”

Chris smiled. His dimples didn’t appear. “That’s good, then, isn’t it?”

“Oh, sure!” Kayleigh agreed, as if she couldn’t stand for either of them to think, even for an instant, that she had a different opinion. “It’s great, and we want to keep the momentum going. People are super into the fun friendship dynamics on the team, so we thought we could do a segment with the Italian roommates, you know?”

Luca winced preemptively, expecting Chris to jump for joy at the thought.

Instead, Chris asked, “What content are you looking for, exactly?”

“I’m so glad you asked! People are responding to the ‘at home with the captain’ vibe at the party, you know? Like, look, Tom Crowler’s kitchen! Oh, look, there’s Cheryl Vanderbilt taking a selfie in Tom Crowler’s living room. It humanizes the team, and it gets people talking about real estate and design choices. So, we want to do a little tour where you show us around your place.”

“It is a two-bedroom apartment,” Luca pointed out in lieu of asking why he, a real, actual human, needed humanizing. “It will not make a long video.”

She waved him off. “We can show you doing whatever you usually do! Playing video games, making dinner… Do you cook?”

“I do not,” Luca was forced to admit.

“Great! Very college roommates, relatable stuff. We have a lot of young viewers and fans, they’ll see themselves in you.”

“So, you will…what…film me ordering takeout?”

“We could make it work. Do you order out a lot? From anyone we have a sponsorship with?”

“No,” Chris said. “I cook. He cleans.”

Kayleigh laughed as though he’d told a great joke. “Even better! Do you have a chore sheet or something?”

“No.” They were grown adults, and Luca would not be reverting to a level of slovenliness requiring a checklist. Was this what hockey fans were interested in watching? If so, why?

“Could you make one—for the video?” She leaned forward in her seat as though she’d asked a vital question.

“I suppose?”

“Perfect! I’ll let you know when we’ll be by to film, sometime after your road trip.”

She turned back to her laptop. The meeting appeared to be over.

“Do people really want to watch that?” Luca asked Chris as they headed down the hallway toward the changing room. “Us hanging out and being bad at housework?”

Chris scrunched up his face. “There’s probably some weirdos out there who would be into seeing you in rubber gloves. She’s not filming for them though. Wish she were, then I could complain to someone.”

Luca drew to a halt. “Chris?”

“She wants us to look as much like two clueless bros in their early twenties sharing an apartment as we can. Chore sheet, video games, separate bedrooms all on camera.”

“Okay,” Luca said. “I still don’t understand—”

“People are super into seeing NHL stars at home,” Chris said through gritted teeth. “They’re also super into gossip. The comment sections on the photos people posted from Halloween? They’re all talking about Tom’s house and how great it is and who might live there with him.”

“So?”

“So, when everyone finds out it’s Jax, Kayleigh wants to be able to point to us and say, ‘Look, platonic NHL roommates are a thing’!”

“Oh.”