“I know all the teams care about family life and all that shit, but the Foxes? It’s to the extreme. Not only did the team have the first contracted pack, but have since done more to allow players to bond and have packs and lives off of the ice. Coach Applegate himself is a big family man, so this slutty little image you have has got to stop, or you can consider yourself canned for next season.”
“I’ve already met with PR.”
“And I’m sure they gave you the typical rundown to lay low and not get tangled in the press. What I’m telling you is you need to not just have no bad press, you need to make yourself some good press.”
“What? Like find a pack?”
Ethan breathes through his nose heavily and sighs like I’m stupid.
“No, man, do some charitable shit. You need to shed away this playboy image; you need people to forget about it all together. Do something good.”
“They never notice the good shit. It’s not like I’ve been just some sex-crazed asshole running around. I donate money and time, but that’s not the story they want.”
“Then find a way to create your own story,” he says simply.
“How would I even do that?”
He rubs his chin; he has a soft scattering of stubble that I bet feels great against his fingertips.
“Sloane offered to help me improve my image as the mascot. Maybe she can help you too. She’s great with all the apps and shit. She made people obsessed with Alexi last year. Literally, there are so many memes of that man circulating the internet.”
“You really think she’d be willing to help?”
“She loves an underdog. Plus, it doesn’t hurt to ask. We’re meeting at the arena before practice tomorrow. You should join us.”
I take a sip of my refilled drink and look over this Beta who is too attractive and kind for his own good.
“Why do you want to help me?”
“I don’t know, maybe Sloane helping me made me feel like I need to pay it forward or some shit. Or maybe I know what it feels like to be a part of something but also disconnected at the same time.”
I nod my head, wondering if I ever truly had a conversation with any of the mascots of my previous teams. The answer is a simple no, and guilt looms around me for a moment before I outstretch my hand.
“You help me with my image, but what do you get?”
He looks down at my hand and then up at my face.
“You invite me to a team event and include me in other team shit.”
His response makes me feel like a dick, but I hold my hand closer to him.
“It’s a deal.”
“So it is,” he replies, smacking his hand into mine as we shake on our agreed upon terms.
Ethan stands up and is about to head away from my table, but he stops.
“There’s one other thing you should know,” he says.
“What’s that?”
“Bram Nilsen is never going to come around to being friends. That motherfucker holds a grudge like no other.”
“Why? Do you have personal experience?” I ask.
Ethan laughs and shakes his head. “Me? No. He doesn’t even know I exist. But I’ve heard his pregame meetings with other teammates. When he doesn’t like someone, he holds a grudge, and he never lets it go.”
“How reassuring,” I say, digging my fork into my eggs.
