“Hey, Rog.” Tank claimed the empty chair next to the affable guy.
Roger offered him a tired smile. “Hey, Tank.”
“Mouse,” he said to McKenna, who was sitting directly opposite.
McKenna blinked twice, before flat-out ignoring him, turning her attention to Benny, who sank down in the seat at the head of the table.
“Tank’s been apprised of the press conference at three,” Benny said. “Have the lawyers looked over the statement he’s making?”
Roger nodded and slid a piece of paper over to Benny. “They made a couple of suggested changes.” He pointed to them as Benny scanned the paper.
“Those work.” Benny handed the paper to Tank. “Familiarize yourself with this.”
Tank glanced at the paper and sighed. “Fine.” He had a feeling that was going to be his standard response to all this bullshit.
“You’ll need to shower and put on something more appropriate,” McKenna said, taking in his too-small clothes as she pushed up her glasses.
“I know how to dress for a press conference, Mouse,” Tank retorted with more heat than he intended. He shouldn’t be taking things out on her, but he was literally at the end of his rope as far as patience was concerned.
McKenna bit her lip. Tank got the sense her response wasn’t driven by nerves, but because she was trying to hold her tongue. She managed to swallow back whatever she wanted to say by rising to walk to the coffeepot in the corner. She refilled her cup, adding creamer and a shit-ton of sugar.
He took a moment to study her outfit, amused despite his bad mood. She was younger than him, probably no more than twenty-four or twenty-five, yet she dressed like she was a fifty-year-old crazy cat lady. She was wearing mom jeans, Chucks, and an oversized graphic T-shirt that had three cute big-eyed cartoon cats peering over a wall. She complemented that outfit with a long navy-blue cardigan with huge pockets and a hole in one sleeve. Because she’d been yanked from bed in the wee hours, her hair was pulled into a messy bun on top of her head. She also hadn’t bothered with makeup, not that she ever wore much to begin with.
When she returned to the table, she took off her glasses, rubbing her closed eyes. As she opened them again, her gaze clashed with his. He couldn’t help but notice the dark circles under her eyes, which were surprisingly a bright, light blue, framed by long dark lashes. He’d never noticed how pretty her eyes were, but that was hardly surprising, since they were always hidden behind those thick-framed glasses of hers.
Tank had never really paid a lot of attention to McKenna’s looks, beyond the entertainment value of her wardrobe. He was attracted to feminine women, a sucker for high heels and legs that went on for miles, preferring women with a healthy helping of flirty playfulness blended with sex appeal. Oversized cat T-shirts and a judgy attitude just didn’t do it for him.
Tank rose when the smell of her coffee hit him. He helped himself to a cup, needing the jolt if he was going to get through the next few hours. He should still be in bed nursing a hangover, not dealing with all this shit.
Once he returned to the table, Benny, who’d been flipping through several pages in a file folder, closed it and leaned back.
“As you know, we’re in charge of repairing your reputation. The three of us will be working together on this. Mac’s going to spin a more positive picture of you. Her social media posts help drive public perception of the players, and she’s proven herself very capable when it comes to influencing fan opinions.”
While Tank used Mouse, everyone else in the Stingrays organization simply called McKenna “Mac.”
“So you’re gonna make everyone believe I’m some choir boy in a bunch of Facebook and Insta posts?” Tank asked her, chuckling. “Good luck with that.”
McKenna didn’t share his humor, opening the folder in front of her. “We’ve scheduled several appearances for you over the next two weeks, since you’ll have some time on your hands.”
Tank took a couple seconds trying to figure out if McKenna’s quip was meant as an insult or if she’d just chosen unfortunate wording. When she met his gaze and held it, he saw a spark in her eye and found his answer.
Tou-fucking-ché, Mouse.
He could count on one hand the number of one-on-one conversations he’d had with McKenna Bailey that weren’t work related and still have all his fingers left.
Apparently, she had claws.
“The appearances range from a photo shoot with a local Pee Wee team that just won a state tournament, visiting veterans at the VA, and a ribbon-cutting for a new sporting equipment shop opening near the Inner Harbor,” Roger added.
Tank was no stranger to those types of appearances, but they ranked hella low on his list of what he considered a good time. He’d much rather be out on the ice with his teammates, practicing and playing hockey.
However, if there was one thing he’d learned today, there was only one appropriate answer.
“Fine.”
“Also, once the suspension is over, you’ll be expected to…” McKenna paused for a moment. “Curtail your victory celebrations.”
Tank scowled. “Curtail how?”
