AllFreeNovel
Share Us
21
MASON
Puck isasleep on his dog bed in the corner of the spare bedroom I use as my office, snoring lightly. Rowan is in my kitchen, working her way down her list of contacts to get RSVPs.
I lean forward in my office chair, setting my cell phone in its holder.
This room is the most Rover-y room possible. All the companies that I have endorsement deals with send me merch, and it’s stacked up on every available surface in here—wooden shelves, the sofa and coffee table, and the floor behind my desk. Underwear, socks, shoes, shirts, coffee mugs, magazines with my face on the cover ... I should really organize all this junk and do something with it. I definitely will get to it sometime never ever. I’m glad Rowan and her sister didn’t come in here to help me organize; I think they both would have keeled over.
In my defense, my desk is mostly clear, and my Steelcase Gesture office chair does not have any Mason Raker coloring books piled up on it—anymore.
Because I put them on the floor.
Clutter drives my father crazy. That’s probably why I let it accumulate.
“Testing, testing,” Beck says loudly.
“This isn’t open mic night, Beckett,” Knox, right wing, says. We only call him by his full name when we’re giving him grief.
“All right, roll call,” I say. I have a group of my teammates on a conference call, on speakerphone. “I’m here, obviously, and Beck and Knox are here.”
“Here,” our goalie Logan calls out.
“Half here and half not,” Noah Walsh, left defenseman, says. “Like Schrödinger’s cat.”
“That’s not how that goes,” I protest.
“Present and accounted for,” Paxton, center, chimes in. “Why are we here instead of at a bar and—sorry, Mason.”
“Don’t be,” I shrug. “I can go to bars; I just drink O’Doul’s. It’s all good. We are here for a good cause, gentlemen.”
“Gentlemen?” Noah echoes. “I think you got the wrong group.”
“Keep your day job.” I snort. “We are here to support the upcoming charity auction.”
“We’re here to support Mason finally nailing that publicist? Fine, but we get details,” Beck declares. I glance uneasily at the door and hope it’s really soundproof.
“I will kick. Your. Ass,” I inform him. “Back off the publicist.”
“Oooh,” the guys all chorus. I roll my eyes.
“I’ve already given you the basic details of the event, the when and the where. It’s coming up soon. We want this evening to be an amazing success.”
“Why, exactly?” Logan asks.
“Because it benefits sick kids. Obviously.”
“Are the kids actually going to be there?” he says.
I heave a sigh of exasperation. “Yes, Logan, we are treating the kids and their families to an incredibly fun evening rink-side, and those who are physically able to play with us, will do so.”
“Argh. No kids.” Logan groans.
“Why not?”
“Kids creep me out.” At our groans, he protests. “No, hear me out. They’re like normal human beings but someone shot them with a shrinking ray. How is that not creepy?”
“How are you not getting professional help?” Pax laughs.
