He groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Oh, no. Don’t remind me.”
But the rest of the team was already buzzing with excitement. “The mascot!” someone shouted. “Jay’s going to be the mascot!”
I nodded, trying to keep a straight face. “That’s right, Jay. You’ll be donning the Wildcatters mascot costume for home games for the first half of the season.”
The color drained from Jay’s face. “You can’t be serious. I…I was just joking around.”
I shrugged, turning to Zaila. I wouldn’t punish my staff, but I wasn’t going to make this easy for him either. But even before I could ask Zaila how she felt, Tim said, “You shook on it, Jay.”
“So? It was just a silly joke.” Color appeared in his cheeks, and he clenched his fists.
“But you told me yesterday how much you were looking forward to Zaila sweating it out in the costume. You laughed,” Noelle said, narrowing her eyes.
“Me? In that...that thing?” Jay sputtered.
I pulled up a picture of Gusher, the Texas Wildcatters’ mascot, and sent it to the screen. The oversized, cartoonish oil derrick with a hockey stick and a mischievous grin stared back at us.
“I’m holding you to your word,” Tim said. Noelle gave a firm nod, and more people crowded closer, offering their support.
“Starting next month, you’ll be bringing Gusher to life for thousands of fans,” Noelle said. “What a gift you’ll give them.”
Tim grinned. “You can post about it, complain good-naturedly, too. I bet those posts will get a ton of engagement.”
Jay groaned as he sat and buried his head in his hands, muttering something about regretting his life choices. But I couldn’t stop smiling. This unexpected turn of events might actually be good for our in-house team and the Wildcatters on the ice.
As everyone separated and went to their offices, Jay lingered, so I did, too—though I stayed behind him. “They love you now, Zaila Monroe,” Jay muttered at her doorway. “Hope you can keep it up when the spotlight shifts.”
Zaila
That evening, after my big win in the social media challenge, my coworkers dragged me to the Frozen Puck, a karaoke bar across the street from the arena. I’d never been before, and Noelle insisted I needed to unwind after the stressful month. She wasn’t wrong, but my worry wasn’t for the reason she assumed. I wasn’t overly stressed about Jay or work; I was concerned about my mother and my inability to stop thinking about Gunnar Evaldson.
He was my boss—actually my boss’s boss’s boss, and my little crush embarrassed me almost as much as it annoyed me. Gunnar was good-looking. He was suave and confident, and those eyes seemed to laser into my soul and pull out yearnings for cuddles and kisses I hadn’t known I had inside me. But nothing was going to happen between us.
Because he was the team owner. And the wielder of immense power…that I found so sexy.
The moment we walked through the door of the bar, some of the younger Wildcatters players—including Jeff Cross, that troubled one who’d caused the social media storm a couple of weeks ago—raised their voices and glasses toward us.
“The winner is here,” Jeff shouted.
I rolled my eyes. So much for him toeing the line. Though I guessed as long as he met the criteria laid out by the rest of the team—namely, not posting about his partying and attending the PR events—his current beers with teammates weren’t a problem. It just felt like one, and I sighed as I noted his glassy eyes and too-wide smile.
“Hey, it’s your PR savior!” one of the other players called out, waving us over.
I hadn’t learned his name yet, mainly because he wasn’t on the first line and had done nothing noteworthy. I had a strong suspicion I would remember his name—ah, he just said it was Brady—after tonight, especially when he spoke up again.
“Let us buy you ladies a drink!”
“I’m okay,” I said, hands up, trying to back away. I wasn’t much of a drinker. My father always said alcohol rotted the mind, and the one time I’d had a few hard seltzers in college, I’d learned I did not like being hungover.
“C’mon, have a drink with us,” Jeff wheedled. “We’ve gotta say thanks.” A waitress dropped off twelve shots, and Jeff shoved one into my hand. “On three!” he called.
Brady counted down, and they slammed their shots back, Noelle following suit. She widened her eyes and darted them to the glass before she grimaced.
I looked down at my shot. Gunnar would probably sound like my father, telling me shots were a terrible idea. And I needed Gunnar Evaldson out of my head. I was so tired of batting away thoughts of him.
So I picked up the glass and slammed it back.
The burn of the liquor seized my lungs, making breathing impossible. Noelle shoved a second glass in my hand, saying it would chase the drink. I took a long sip before realizing it was some other form of alcohol.
