I didn’t realize he’d come over to me, or I wouldn’t have had the volume up. I was desperate to hear her voice though.
“She’s…” Confessing that Caelia is my scent match is intensely personal. I let it slip with Marilyn, and press my lips against each other as I make my decision. “Marilyn wants you to meet with her. She’s not responding to any of her messages about agreeing to a date with you.”
“I’m failing to understand why I’m chasing after a girl who doesn’t want anything to do with me,” Levon says.
“You’re right,” I muse. “Gorgeous, hates hockey players, and definitely not your type.”
Levon bristles, glaring at me. “I don’t even want to participate in this,” he grumbles. “Santo moved into my condo, how will it look if I’m chasing a skirt?”
“Like you’re following orders from your PR manager?” I suggest. “It may not even happen. If you do see her one day, try not being scary, yeah? Also, Santo knows about Marilyn’s need to matchmake. No one is trying to push him out of the equation.”
“Yeah,” Levon sighs. “I feel like a hunk of steak being offered up.”
“You’re not that great, hot stuff,” I chuckle. “You can go home to the doctor in exactly twenty minutes. I’m sure Santo will be ready to pamper your damaged ego.”
“Fuck you’re mean,” he mutters, drifting away.
Chewing on my bottom lip, I open a message box from the Scorpions’ team social profile and begin by pretending to be someone else entirely.
In this instance, I am an enemy despite not being someone who personally hurt her.
Hello, Ms. Caelia.
My name is Marilyn Mansfield, and I’ve been trying to get a hold of you. I’m attempting to change the way the public sees hockey players, and particularly the Scorpions. I understand you aren’t a fan of them. Whatever the reason, they belong to you. Not all of them are cut from the same cloth. The young man I have in question volunteers regularly, has a great family, and would have a chaperone, as your safety as an omega is always paramount in my mind. Will you accept?
I hope to hear from you soon,
Marilyn.
Again, I have very little conscience about impersonating someone else. I’ll play by the rules on the ice, and bend everything else when it suits me. I’ve always been like this. It’s why I wasn’t around during Coach’s diatribe after our loss six years ago.
I just didn’t want to deal with getting yelled at. I believe in begging for forgiveness later, though I remind the guys their careers do hinge on public opinion. No one wants to get traded because they have a bad reputation.
Marilyn smoothes the edges when our players misbehave, and we all toe the line just enough not to get spanked.
No longer wanting the rest of my beer, I leave it on a table and gaze around the room. Heads pop up, players make eye contact, and they nudge each other to signal that I’m ready to go. We didn’t quite make the hour, but it was a good effort.
No one complained too much, and I’m solidifying a precedent of team building. Now, I’m ready for a shower and to fall head first into my bed.
It’s going to take all of my resolve not to worry about whether my impulse to write to Caelia was a mistake or not. In fact, I shove it into a box in my head to think about later, and manage to forget completely about it by the time I’m sinking between the sheets of my bed.
If I can’t remember it, it doesn’t exist.
10
CAELIA
My lips part in surprise as I read a message left on one of my socials by a Marilyn Mansfield. My gut instinct is to tell my father, but I’m also intrigued. I have so many questions. There are many other girls who would be interested in hockey players, girls who aren’t me.
Ms. Mansfield,
I really think you have the wrong girl here. I fly into a panic whenever a hulking hockey player gets too close to me. There’s a reason why my father, the coach, steps in front of me whenever they’re coming and going off the ice.
If you were at the game in New Orleans, you may have noticed this. I don’t think I’m the right person for this PR stunt.
Sincerely,
Caelia Freedman
