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But here, everything is more relaxed and far more welcoming. The owner of the team had even come to personally meet me on my first day, which was completely shocking on the one hand—I mean, he was a billionaire with more important things to do than meet one of hundreds of employees in his organization—but on the other hand, with the way Emily was, I wasn’t shocked at all that her father would be just as kind and genuine as she was.
And I’d heard nothing but good things about Vern since day one. Everyone seems to absolutely love him, which is one reason that they’re all really hoping that I can do what I was hired to do. If I can’t, he might have to sell the team and they’ll be moved to New Jersey.
So, no pressure or anything.
“I think so. I’ve got my basic questions…somewhere,” I say, glancing around my office. Bobby grins, golden eyes roaming over my admittedly messy desk. “It’s chaos, but it’s organized chaos, I promise…Oh, there they are!” I pull a folder out from under a stack of articles I’d printed on the newest social media trends and some sports-specific marketing books I’d found online. I wave the folder at him in triumph and he chuckles lightly.
I like Bobby. He’s friendly and welcoming without being overbearing and hasn’t tried to dig too much into my personal life like some people have.Looking at you, Kelly. She’s Al’s personal assistant and though she seems nice enough, she is constantly spilling tea on the entire organization, from players to custodial staff and everyone in between. She somehow seems to know everything about everyone, so I’ve been tight-lipped about myself. Ihaveheard some juicy stories about some of the players though, so that’s been…enlightening. What I’ve gathered so far? Hockey players are on the whole, well,players. I can’t blame them, I guess. They have fans obsessing over them, girls practically throwing themselves at them, and most of the guys are exceedingly hot. Why shouldn’t they enjoy that little perk of their chosen career?
It automatically rules out the idea of me ever dating one of them, though. I’ve been there done that with the whole casual sex thing, or dating a fuckboy who cheats on me with everything with a pulse thing. I’m over it. Besides, after Josh, I don’t think I can be trusted to make good decisions when it comes to relationships.
Things had started out so great with him. I’d fallen hard and fast. Josh was so funny and charismatic, the life of the party and I’d desperately wanted to be a part of it with him. I got completely wrapped up in all of it, and by the time I found my way out of the haze, his true self was coming out more and more, but I felt stuck. Looking back, I can see that he was the CEO of Six Flags and every last one of them was red, but it’s hard seeing that when you’re in the thick of it. Or maybe you do see it, but you don’t want to, so you make excuses or tell yourself you’re overreacting or imagining things, somehow make it your fault and make yourself colorblind.
So, yeah, it’s better that I put dating on the back burner and just focus on work and, I don’t know, get a few cats or something.
“Do you have the fan questions?”
“Right here,” he says, handing over a list of questions submitted by fans on the various Vipers' social media platforms. They are working on hiring an assistant to help me with all this stuff, but Bobby graciously offered to help out for the time being.
“Did we get some good ones?” I ask, scanning the list.
“Oooh yeah. Apparently, many fans want to know how big Rizzo’s…uh…stickis.” A faint blush darkens Bobby’s light brown cheeks and I bark out a laugh.
“Lord Almighty, the internet is a wild place.”
“That it is. But I mean…how big do you think it is?” He wiggles his eyebrows and I shake my head, tossing a balled-up piece of paper at him. He bats it away, leaning backwards out of my door to look down the hall before turning back to me. “Looks like the film crew is here. You ready?”
I take a deep breath. I’ve done stuff like this plenty of times in the past. Granted, it’s never been for something as big as a Professional Hockey League team, but I know I can do it. I shove the nerves away and put on my game face, so to speak. I nod and head out to meet the crew.
Chapter Two
Connor
“So, what exactly is going on today?” I ask Rizzo while I lace up my skates. I admittedly hadn’t been paying much attention when word had passed about something happening today. Something for marketing? A commercial or promo or something maybe?
Rizzo is checking himself out in the mirror, turning his shirtless torso this way and that, looking like a complete tool. Anthony Rizzo is one of the best centers in the league and one of the best puck handlers I’ve ever seen. He might also be the world’s biggest playboy, but I can’t really blame him.
“They’re filming like mini Q-and-A segments for social media. Something about letting fans get to know us or whatever.” He turns and smiles at me. “As if the fans don’t knowme,” he scoffs. Rizzo has quite the fan base in the hockey world, but thanks to his personal social media posts that usually involve doing stupid shit shirtless, he has an entirely different type of fan group thirsting for him twenty-four-seven. Turning back to the mirror, he runs a hand over his chest and asks, “Anyway, do you think I should get a tattoo?”
I roll my eyes. “You’ve asked me this at least once a week for the past year, dude. Shit or get off the pot already.” Rizzo would be described as the clean-cut, preppy boy. You know, theAll-American quarterback from the small town that dates the head cheerleadertype of vibe. Blonde hair, blue eyes, chiseled jaw, melts panties. You know the type.
He’s one of the few on the team that doesn’t have a single tattoo. I, on the other hand, look more like I belong in a biker gang than in front of a net, with piercings and tats for days. One full sleeve, another half, chest, back—you get the idea.
Apparently both looks are very popular with the female fanbase though—and a portion of the male one. I can’t tell you how many times someone has told me point blank that they want to suck me and fuck me right then and there, no matter where the then and there happens to be. Bar, airport, stadium bathroom, coffee shop—you name it. And Rizzo gets even more invitations than I do. I don't know if it's just the allure of fucking someone somewhat "famous" or what, but there is no shortage of opportunities almost everywhere we go. Rizzo calls them Puck Bunnies, which is awful, but the term has kind of stuck despite my better judgment.
But that’s just part of the gig and we all love it, regardless of if we take anyone up on the invites or not. All of us have mini-God complexes I’m sure, at least to some extent. How could you not? Hearing your name chanted by thousands of people, feeling the ground shake from the force of the cheers and screams. All for doing something that you love more than almost anything. All for playing a fucking game, like we’re all still just kids fucking around on the ice. It’s wild and can definitely go to your head.
“Listen, you have to think hard before you deface a perfect canvas like this,” Rizzo quips, gesturing to his body. I toss a shirt at him, unable to keep myself from laughing. Rizzo is one of those guys who would absolutely be a fuckboy, except that he’s too nice. He’s cocky and gets more tail than should be humanly possible, but he’s never a dick about any of it. Off the ice anyway. On the ice, he’s an absolute fucker, but then again, most of us are.
“Just get dressed already. I’ll see you out there.”
When I emerge from the tunnel that leads from the locker room up to the ice, I see a small group milling about in the stands by the edge of the wall on the other side of the rink. One of the guys has one of those big fuzzy things on a stick. What’s it called? A boom mic I think? Then I spot the tripod. So, this must be the film crew.
I think the whole meet the players thing is a great idea. Not only is it nice to do stuff for the fans, but maybe (hopefully) it’ll bring attendance numbers up a bit. We do pretty well, have ended the season in the top five for the last few years, but even so, the stands seem to get emptier and emptier. There’s even been talk about offers to purchase the team and move it to Jersey. Ireallydon’t want that to happen. If it does…well, it may just be the end of my career. I love hockey more than almost anything on the planet, but there’s one thing that I love even more that requires me to stay in Seattle. My life can’t work anywhere else. So, I’m willing to do just about anything to help get the numbers up. I’ll pull a Rizzo and play shirtless if I have to.Anything.
“Alright, they’re going to do these interviews with each of you one at a time,” Coach Ulrich says, his Icelandic accent thick. “Some of you should do yourselves a favor and practice while you wait,” he looks pointedly at Tyson and Mickels, who grin and give himoh come onlooks, “but do what you want until it is your turn. Full practice will begin in two hours.”
I know there will be no shortage of people willing to whack pucks at me while we wait, so I start stretching.
