In the past, someone saying something like that to me may have made me blush. Now, it’s all a part of the public persona I hide behind for protection.
Jack Parker, starting center for the Brawling Badgers, doesn’t mind his body being celebrated in flatlays and soap commercials because it’s not his. The trainers and nutritionists who changed me from an awkward college kid to someone with hard, immovable muscle own it. It’s a tool I use for my job. That’s it.
I pivot to join the ladies, but Grady’s grip holds me firmly in place. I trip on the ledge of the sidewalk, and my ankle twists. My ass meets asphalt, and a large splash follows.
“Are you kidding me? We just got you walking again.” Grady crosses his arms, casting a withering stare down at me. “Coach will kill me if you show up like this tomorrow.”
“Dude, you gotta chill out.” I laugh. “You know how often I’ve seen your ass on the ground?”
“This is different.”
“How?”
“Because I was in college when I pulled this shit, and you’re twenty-eight and have a team of guys relying on you to get them to the Cup this year.”
The wholeyou have a bunch of guys relying on youbullshit always sobers me up. Well, kind of, anyway. As much as I can sober up after five shots of tequila.
It may have been seven. I don’t know.
“Let’s get back to my apartment,” I say, standing and straightening my shirt.
“Thank you.” Grady lifts his gaze heavenward, and drops of rain collect on his face. He blinks, wiping them away with agitation.
I should cool it before he blows a gasket.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. It’s probably the same person who’s called me the last four times, but just in case...I slide my hand into my soggy designer jeans and pull it out. Sure enough,Veronica Burke, Mandy’s friend, sits at the top of the screen.
I hit the ignore button…again.
Grady glances over in time to see her name displayed and shakes his head. “She won’t stop.”
I slide my phone back into my pocket, and we continue to walk through the relatively empty streets of Boston. “I’ll change my number tomorrow.”
I don’t understand why Veronica is bothering. Our arrangement was clear. Our dates were for the headlines, nothing else. “It’s ridiculous that she’s acting like me ending this caught her off guard. I was clear about my timetable from the beginning.”
“No way someone like Veronica has experienced being dumped, real or fake.” Grady shrugs. “She probably figured you’d fall in love if you spent some time with her. Like in that one Hallmark movie she starred in where she owned a failing bakery and had to fake date a movie star so people didn’t catch on that he was dating some other starlet. What was it called? I can’t remember, but I should watch that one this weekend. It was the right kind of cheesy for a rom-com, you know? Oh!Fake It Till You Bake It, that’s the one.”
“I’ll—erm—I’ll take your word for it.” I shake my head, careful not to laugh at Grady. He’s obsessed with cheesy movies about love, and I don’t think it’s cool to dump on something someone else is passionate about.
Although the humor of a tough hockey player watching Hallmark movies isn’t lost on me.
“I made sure she knew about my No Dating During the Season Rule, though. That wasn’t a flexible rule,” I say. When the hockey season starts, only one thing matters to me—winning the cup and seeing my name next to my dad’s on the trophy.
Sure, I still dabble in some extra-curricular stuff, like parties and drinking, but I’d argue it helps me stay loose and keep my screaming skull quiet between puck drops, so I don’t tighten up on the ice.
Veronica was a publicity stunt, nothing more. My agent thought it would be a good idea to have a backup in Hollywood in case my injuries in the offseason didn’t heal. Veronica needed her name in the gossip columns to pull away from her first failed attempt at film.
Going from playing cheesy Hallmark characters and a demon slayer to a British historical piece where her accent went from American to Cockney to Australian didn’t go over well with the critics or the public.
A dizzying wave hits me, and I stumble along the sidewalk. The neon glow of the golden arches near my apartment blurs in my hazy line of vision. It beckons me in a whisper.Poor dietary decisions don’t count as long as they’re done in the mid-of-night, Jack.
“I need sustenance,” I say.
“Really? The day before our opening game?” Grady groans. “Just cut me now, Coach. I realize I’m only on the team to keep the asshole under control, but really, he makes it impossible.”
“It’s just a burger. I’ll be fine.” I wave him off and enter the restaurant. A scrawny teenager stands behind the counter, leaning on the palm of his propped-up hand, half asleep. Our shadows fall over him, and he startles at the creeping darkness. Slowly, his eyes widen, and his mouth slackens as he recognizes us. Well, me specifically.
The open gawking doesn’t faze me anymore. It’s been happening ever since some TikTok went viral, crowning me the “Bad Boy of the National Hockey League.” The video ushered thousands of follow-ups with montages of me in clubs in Boston, me fighting on the ice, and one even dream-cast me as the main character in some dark romance novel (whatever that means). I mistakenly asked Aulie about it, and she sent me the story summary, and I just have to ask: are people who read okay?
