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“Ohh, yes, I like that,” Dennis says, coming over and repeating my move. “You there,” he says, pointing at Ian. “After he does that, you step forward and do the same move, then you lot behind them, grab them both, and pull them back and away from each other, and that’s when the team will start coming out. Positions everyone, let’s do this thing.”
Ian pumps his eyebrows playfully, and I turn away before the smile that wants to creep onto my lips can take hold. We run it through five times before Dennis is convinced we have it down and the teams separate into different conference rooms to practice individual choreography, run celebrations, and work on social media post planning. The Banana Ball has a hugefollowing on social media. My article had thousands of views, but one video on their page gets millions.
The reporters are split off, too. Word came through to Dennis from coaches Miles and Lennox during our last run. They decided it’s easier to assign us to teams. We still have access to the other team during group sessions, but whenever they branch off, we now know which team we follow without the support staff having to think about what to do with us. I’m sticking with Animal Control, but it’s almost like Ian can’t wait to run after the Funky Monkeys, sidling up next to the young hitter from Australia almost immediately. I tilt my neck to one side, the tightness suddenly too much, and stretch it out until I hear the crack. It offers little relief, but I try to ignore the dull ache and start jotting down notes for my next articles. We can’t write about what exactly will be happening on night one beforehand, but I want to have something ready to go out as soon as the opening number is over.
Dance practice ends with a brainstorming session, and when Rob suggests us reporters getting in on the fun more often, I can’t help but laugh. He was so nervous before, but just like the rest of us, he couldn’t help but be swept up in the fun of it all. And it is fun. Having VIP access to what these teams are working on before they even take to the pitch is unlike anything I’ve ever had before. Sure, in hockey they have press conferences, locker room interviews, and we might even get the occasional sneak peek at a warm-up but nothing like this. We’re completely embedded with the team. We get to see them as they truly are and hear all of the behind-the-scenes stuff. But still, I love hockey, and what Ian did, writing that gossip article, took hockey away from me. Yarro says it’s temporary, but Sasco, the sportswriter taking over my job covering the NHL, put out an article last night, and it was good. They keep that up and I’ll havea hard time convincing Yarro to move me back when this Banana Ball thing is over.
This experience is turning out to be more fun than I expected, and the access to the players has been unreal. True, we still have limits, the whole off-the-record, on-the-record thing can get a little tricky, but the players are pretty good at letting us know before they open their mouths if we can use what they say in a story. Not that I want to put anything out there that could damage any of their careers or their personal lives. Not like some of us. And as if right on cue, the door opens and the Funky Monkeys walk back in, followed by the reason I’m even in this place, Ian fucking Levram.
Chapter six
Ian
When I walk inwith the team, my gaze goes directly to Brendan, and not surprisingly, he’s scowling my way yet again. I get that we didn’t have the best of introductions and sure writing about a friend of his didn’t win me any points either, but fuck, can’t he get past it already? He’s so casual and easy with the other reporters, having known them for years helps, and I’m the rookie gossip writer who’s trying to make his mark and show them I’m just like them. I love sports and I’m not here to be his rival. I mean, we’re sort of rivals. Our magazines are anyway, but we don’t have to be. I’d be lying if I said I could keep my eyes off him during today’s practice. I couldn’t. Even his frown stirs something inside me. Even if he didn’t hate me, I’m pretty sure he’s straight.
Dennis claps in the middle of the room and gains everyone’s attention.
“Game one is close, so you pen pushers better get in some practice. We’ll do an on-pitch run-through tomorrow to tidy upany loose ends, then film a few short promos, so I want everyone in uniform. That’s it for today.”
The team hit the showers and thepen pushersas Dennis calls us, all head back to our rooms to do the same. My shirt’s soaked through, and I stop by reception to check what sort of dry-cleaning service they offer. I only brought a few shirts with me, knowing I could always hit up a laundromat, but by the time we got through warm-ups, practice, and dance rehearsals, the day was pretty much over.
“Sorry, won’t have anything for you until tomorrow,” the young lady at reception tells me. “I can add you to the morning pick-up, if you like. They usually have everything back by lunch?”
“That would be great, thanks. It’s just a few things, a couple of shirts and stuff.” I don’t exactly want to broadcast that I need my underwear washed also, but I’m sure by her smile she knows what I mean bystuff.
“There’s a cloth bag in the robe in your room. If you load whatever you need into there and leave it at your door by seven a.m., the team will pick it up. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“No, that’s it. Thanks,” I tell her and step back, but there’s someone behind me, and as I knock into them, I’m thrown off balance and my knees buckle as the room spins. Heat wraps around me, and I brace for the impact of the floor, but it doesn’t come, because the warmth embracing me is Brendan’s arms, and he’s holding me like some swooning love interest at the end of a waltz in an old movie.
Neither one of us moves. His dark blue eyes locked on mine, face flushed a soft pink. I should say something. Thank him, but no words will come. His mouth opens ever so slightly, and my gaze moves to his plump lips. As if on instinct, my tongue dartsout and swipes my lower lip. Then, as if a spell is broken, he pulls me upright and releases his hold.
“You’re welcome,” he says, stepping past me and up to the reception desk.
I’m still trying to form words. Any words. That was a moment, right? Like a real moment between us.
The receptionist giggles, and I turn to see her twirling her hair around one finger as he looks her way. He’s straight. There was no moment. He simply stopped me from falling on my ass. It was a reflex. Why do I do this to myself?
I trudge to the elevators and press the button. It’s excruciatingly slow to arrive.
The doors open, and before I can stop myself, my gaze moves to where Brendan and the receptionist are still talking, but just as the doors start to close, I spot him reaching into his pocket and pulling out something yellow.
Is he going to hide another duck?The elevator starts to move, and with each floor up, my desire to rush right back down only grows. What if it’s a duck and someone else finds it before me? Maybe I should go back down now?
The elevator reaches my floor with a ding, and I’m snapped back to reality. Stepping out before I can change my mind, I remind myself that I have to focus on the stories, focus on building up my name as a serious sportswriter. I can’t be mooning over some guy, especially when that guy is being a total dick. The whole point of this tour is to build buzz for the teams joining the Banana Ball, and that’s what I’ll do.
I shove open my hotel room door, whip out my phone, and jump onto the magazine’s social account. My next article isn’t done yet, so I create a post and insert a link to my last article. The automatic image that appears is not great, so I hide it and scroll through my phone for something better. Even as a thumbnail, the duck picture looks awesome. I crop it down alittle more and add it to the post. Now what to write? It has to be something catchy.
I quickly type out,Looks like we’re in for a ducking good time. Who’s ready for game one?and hit post before I can second guess myself. It won’t go up right away. We have a social media manager who has to approve all posts, but hopefully, it will boost my numbers on the last article and my next one, which will need to be in tonight, so I better not throw back too many, even if tonight is about fitting in. I have a quick shower, change, and head back downstairs.
***
I didn’t spot what had to be another duck when I passed through reception to meet the writers at the bar, so maybe the receptionist did find it after all or he decided not to hide it.
“So do you think Benny will give me a few minutes if I hit him up tonight?” Rob asks as he takes a seat beside me at the bar.
“Ahh, probably, I mean, if he’s here. He’s a great guy.”
“And you know him from school?”
