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4
Gigi
“What did he say to you when he dragged you out of the rink?” Jillian asked as we packed all of our crap back into our suitcases. We’d been staying in a hotel for the last two nights while we waited for our permanent team accommodations to be ready.
“Basically, that he’s a pig,” I said, rolling up my T-shirts tighter so they’d make a better fit.
“Was he really groping you?” she asked, true concern in her voice.
I shook my head, feeling bad for shouting at him like that. “No, his hands were getting awfully close to certain—things—though,” I said, pointing down at my female attributes. “He was right in a way, I guess. I mean it’s not his fault what my boobs do when I’m on my side.”
Jillian peered at my chest. “You had no support for those babies, either. None of us did.” She stared at me for a minute before speaking again, “How are you feeling after today?”
“Fine. Nervous. Excited about the start of a new season and a new team,” I told her the truth.
She nudged my shoulder with her hand. “I mean how are you feeling about Beau? You’ve been in love with the guy for years and now—”
“It was a crush. A girlhood crush,” I corrected her before I sighed. “Disappointed. Then more disappointed. Now really, really disappointed,” I said with an even bigger sigh. “I had hoped we’d have this—connection because we’re both captains and play the same position. And then after I heard him talk about the team—before he even saw us—it kind of crushed those dreams, ya know?”
Jillian nodded and dropped the conversation but kept packing. “Do you really think Angelique will nix the pics?” she asked,
“I do. I can’t see her allowing any of that to get out into the world. Can you?”
She shrugged, then shut the top of her suitcase. “I think we all looked really hot. Say what you want, G, but sex sells. I took a quick peek of some of the photos they were discussing on the monitor and—” she bit her lip, “they were pretty genius.”
If any of us had an eye for style and photos it was Jillian. Her bikinis and coverups were top notch designs. She also had a way with knowing what colors and nuances looked best on social media.
“Well—hopefully—if they do go live—they just choose a team one from really far away,” I said as I climbed up and sat on her suitcase so she could zip the lid.
“G—” she said, staring at me with an odd look on her face, “the ones of you and Beau? They were stunning. Incredibly hot.”
The way she said it—her whole demeanor, almost with sympathy in her eyes, scared me. Like she was preparing me for what was to come. I couldn’t think about that right now. I knew Angelique. This would not fly in her conservative world.
Jillian reached down and zipped up her suitcase halfway then I took over and zipped it up the rest. “Let’s go, the shuttle’s probably waiting for us.”
After having to make a few calls and knock on some doors, we finally boarded the bus that was taking us to our new home for the season. I was curious as we’d only been sent pictures of our new digs. From the pics, it looked like paradise.
The bus started moving and I settled into my seat, ready to put my earbuds in. Just as I was about to insert the second one into my ear, I heard some gasping. Then more. Then a, “Holy crap.” Then an, “Oh my God.”
This was never a good sign. I let my chin fall to my chest, hoping it wasn’t anything big. A finger poked at my shoulder. “Uh, Gigi? You need to see something,” my teammate behind me said, then handed me her phone.
My heart stopped. My eyes fell out. If I hadn’t been sitting down, I probably would have toppled over.
Right there, on social media—for everyone and their dog to see—was a picture of me with my back pressed against the wall, white feathers from my wings in stark contrast to my dark hair, with a whole lotta boobage showing.
Beau was leaned into me, his hand on the wall behind me, a sexy smirk on his face.
“No,” I whispered as my eyes went even wider when I saw how many likes and comments there were underneath it.
Morbid curiosity got the better of me and I started scrolling through some of them. One near the top said, “They look perfect together!” another said, “OMG, their babies will be gorgeous…” Many more variations much like that were voiced underneath—sprinkled in with ones like, “Get yo hands off my bf!”
They were right, though. It was a great picture. If you hadn’t been a party to the conversation that went on, I could see why someone would think—what they obviously thought.
Before our contracts were even sent out, we’d been warned about behaving ourselves. This was nothing new. Coaches frequently gave us lectures on how to conduct our lives. We were young but we all knew the ramifications of bad shit getting out on social media.
If you got a reputation as a badass or being difficult to get along with—well, your options could be limited to where and who would take you on their team.
Not that we didn’t cut loose. We just made sure there were no phones around to capture it.
