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"What the—?" Jagger’s face falls. "Shrek? The fuck does that mean?"
"Oh, didn’t I tell you?" I jump in. "I’m assigning callsigns for all you bastards, and I do believe Mac here has the right idea with Shrek."
"Now that you mention it—" The guy next to him looks Jagger up and down. "I see the resemblance."
The only man on the team taller and broader than me slumps in his seat. "I don’t suppose I have a say in this matter?"
10
Gio
"I wish my nickname didn’t make me sound like a burger." I scowl down at Mira’s face on my phone.
She’s at the gym but picked up my call. "You have any idea why he decided on Mac?" She sounds a little out of breath. She’s on the treadmill, not going too fast, so she can speak to me.
"Because I look like a Big Mac?" I glance down at my waist. I knew I shouldn’t have eaten that cheese-toasties for lunch. But damn, if the Brits haven’t mastered the art of a toasted sandwich. And the cheddar here tastes heavenly. As for the pickles they slid in between the loaves? They are to die for. I wasn’t able to stop myself from devouring it on my lunch break. Then, I decided to take a walk through the park near the rink—before I go back to my desk. I sink down on the park bench and scowl at Mira. "So, I do look like a Big Mac?"
"Jesus, Gio, you’re the most svelte, most stylishly dressed woman I know."
I blush a little. "My insecurities are showing, eh?”
Her features soften. "I’m always trying to go on a diet, too. And I guess being surrounded by all those fit men doesn’t help, either."
"I’ve always been like this, though. I’m not sure where it comes from," I lie. I know exactly where my obsession with my weight comes from, but somehow, I’m not sure I want to share it. Not even with the woman who’s fast becoming my best friend.
"Have you thought of going to therapy about it?"
I shake my head. "I don’t need therapy. I’ll be fine."
"Hmm." She purses her lips.
"No, not another hmm. Your hmms are scary, Mira."
She laughs. "Sorry, it’s a habit I can’t seem to get rid of. Seriously though, Gio, you are fabulous. I wish I had a figure like you. I wish I could dress like you. Not a hair out of place, perfect make-up…" She looks at me with something like admiration. "You look like you stepped out of the pages of Vanity Fair."
"Is it too much? I still dress like I’m in L.A.? London, I’ve realized, is a little more low-key, I think." I glance around and take in the people strolling in the park. On the bench next to me is a man in a suit, eating his sandwich and reading his newspaper. On the grass is a woman who’s taken off her jacket and her ballet pumps. She’s reading a paperback, and her handbag is next to her. Definitely someone who’s come out on her lunch break. And she’s not exactly dressed up—more smart casual than glamour smart—which is my go-to look. I glance down at my Gucci outfit, my Balenciaga bag and my Louboutins. "Yeah, it’s too much."
"You’re you, Gio. It’s what makes you, you. How you dress, how you walk, how you talk—"
"I might have overdone it this morning." I wince.
"Rick didn’t seem to think so, from what you said."
My eyes follow a woman who’s walking a dog. A little girl jumps around next to her. She stops to pat the dog, runs up the incline, then back down.
"He confused me this morning," I admit.
"You mean, because he backed up the nickname you gave the defenseman?"
"Thatwassurprising." I stare at the little girl bouncing along after the dog. The mother pulls out a phone and types away on it while following at a distance. "I thought he’d bite my head off, but he backed me up."
"So that’s good, right? He’s trying to make an effort to get along with you." She takes a sip from the bottle of water, then places it back in the receptacle next to the phone on the treadmill.
"Or maybe, he’s trying to lull me into a sense of calm, then lower the boom on me."
She laughs. "You don’t like this guy, do you?"
"I have no feelings toward him either way."
