“Fucking hot,” Everly says.
“Rich as fuck,” Andi adds.
I nod. “Yes. Those. Also intimidating. And quiet.”
“He’s not sitting with Astrid,” Andi points out.
“I think it’s that Astrid isn’t sitting with him,” I say, glancing at our gorgeous owner, who’s sitting on the other side of Ruth and Thea, in the first row with us, straight across from the benches.
“Alex is aware that if he gets another penalty, he’s going to have to lip-synch all by himself, right?” Everly asks.
“Uh…probably,” I say, my eyes on the man who seems to actually be having the time of his life.
I’m not at all sure he knows what happens on his next penalty. It’s possible that Alex has just said fuck it and given up on trying to keep track of the rules and regulations of bonkers hockey.
It would be a definite moment of growth, of course, but he may have just decided to roll with it and do whatever they tell him when it’s time. He’s already smiling, laughing, and dancing with energy, which is a huge change.
That doesn’t mean he’s dancingwell. He’s just doing it energetically.
“It seems to me like he’stryingto get another penalty,” Sutton says. She looks at me. “Maybe hewantsto lip-synch by himself.”
I laugh. “There is no way Alex Olsen wants to lip-sync solo. I promise you.”
Alex skates up to Zeke Landry and throws an elbow. Zeke jerks back, almost comically, then falls to the ice.
“That was the fakest thing I have ever seen,” Ruth says.
“I thought you guys choreographed fights,” Everly says to Sutton.
“We have. And they’re way better than that. That is so obvious. I don’t think Alex even touched him.”
It doesn’t seem to matter. The referee skates up, blows his whistle, and indicates that Alex just received a second penalty.
“Well, you know what that means, fans,” I say into the microphone. “Time for another vote. Should Alex go sit on the bench and wear the giant crown that says Penalty King for four minutes, or are we gonna let him lip-synch for one minute and come back into the game?”
People immediately start voting on their phones, and within seconds, it’s obvious that everyone wants to see the big grumpy center at center ice, lip-syncing.
“Looks like someone needs to get that man a microphone,” I say.
Even though it’s lip-syncing, we have a giant plastic microphone for the guys to use.
Instead, however, I see Rougie, our mascot, skate out with what looks like a real microphone. That’s confirmed when Alex switches it on.
“Oh my God, he’s actually going to sing,” Andi says.
I’m frowning. “Why would he do that?”
As far as I know, Alex hates lip syncing, but obviously, he would hate singing even more.
Still, I do my part. “Okay, everyone, there’s a multiple-choice in the app. Pick which song you’d like to see Alex perform.”
But when I look down, no one is voting.
I frown and look up quickly. “Is the app not working?” I ask Sutton.
She grins and points.
Alex is at center ice in the middle of the spotlight. The music starts.
