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I mean, when I’m watching a game, watching poetry on ice, watching a battle play out before my eyes, I’m not sitting there thinking,I heard the left wing banged a puck bunny in the bathroom of an airplane last week.I’m admiring his moves. Or cursing them, if he screws up.
Point being, it’s all about the game. Or it should be.
I sigh heavily and pick up a bottle of Mason Raker smart water, give the picture of me on the bottle a thumbs up, and take a long swig.
Ralph sits next to me, scowling at his cell phone as he taps on it. He holds it up to show me the latestDaily Snitchheadline.
Hockey Hunk Really Pucked Up This Time
“Hey, they called me a hunk.” I grin at Ralph, who does not grin back. “Come on, loosen up a little.”
“Oh, I think you’re plenty loose for both of us.” Ralph returns his attention to the phone.
Dick.
Thank you for bringing our team to number one in the league, Mason. Thank you for selling more Rovers merch than any other player in Rover history, Mason.
The sound of heels clacking down the hallway towards the Rovers meeting room sets my teeth on edge. I glance at the wall clock, wishing they were late so I could be annoyed, but they are five minutes early.
I stifle a groan.
“Shut it,” Ralph growls.
Okay, in fairness, punching Dylan in the face might have been going a little too far. Then again, so is Dylan dating Lexi. We aren’t together anymore, but I was with her for six years. He violated the bro code on so many levels. Dylan could crook his little finger at any single model, influencer, or actress in the country and her clothes would start unbuttoning themselves—so why did he pick her?
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make trouble for you.”
Ralph shook his head. “You don’t mean to, but you’re really good at it.”
I give him one of my most charming grins. “Well, at least I’m good at something.” Not if you ask my dad, mind you, but my fans and my stats tell another story.
“You’re good at being a Rover when you’re not screwing with the team’s image,” he grumbled.
I nod in thanks. Ralph’s kind of a father figure to me, has been ever since I first signed with the team. My actual father straight up loathes the career path I’ve taken. He built a commercial real estate company from the ground up and could never understand why I wouldn’t want to follow in his footsteps and work in a business that was so boring it made me want to give myself a lobotomy with an ice pick.
The underwear endorsement sure hadn’t helped in the “earning respect” department, but at that point any chance of reconciling with my dad felt like a lost cause. Maybe part of the reason I did it was to poke at him.
The door swings open, and three women walk in. Ralph straightens up in his seat, sets his phone down on the conference table, and adjusts his Rovers logo tie.
The one leading the pack is an older woman wearing a pink Chanel suit, with frosted white hair swept up into a bun. Behind her trail two women in their twenties, a strawberry blonde in a navy suit with a wary expression and a brunette in a flowery summer dress who catches my eye and smiles in a way I am very familiar with.
Ralph introduces them. The older woman is Cecelia Queensby, owner of Queensby Publicity; the skeptical blonde is Rowan James, and the brunette who likes me a lot is Amanda Rinaldi. The blonde moves like a dancer and has the lean body of one as well.
They all sit down across from me. I catch a quick flash of disapproval in Rowan’s eyes and a distinct lack of warmth in her smile. It makes me want to heat her up. She’s no pushover, that’s for sure. She’d be a lot of work. Too much work.
Not that it matters. The last thing I need right now is any kind of female distraction, especially if it’s someone I’d have to see more than once.
Still, something about her draws my attention ... until Amanda leans forward, giving me a generous view of her cleavage.
“It’s so nice to meet you,” she trills. “I never miss any of your games. I’m such a fan.”
That earns her a throat-clearing sound from Cecelia and an amused curl of the lip from Rowan. Who is clearly not a fan.
“Thank you,” I say politely. Keeping it professional. Amanda flutters her eyelashes at me, and I let my gaze slide away, drifting to the framed posters of the team on the wall.
“You’re going to be working with Rowan, one of their best publicists,” Ralph tells me. “I hear she’s got some great plans to rehabilitate your image. And you guys are going to be doing some traveling together.”
Of course they’ve picked the stick-up-her-butt girl who clearly can’t stand me.
