“What? I’m enthusiastic,” Dex says, then stage-whispers to the room, “That’s one of the rules. Smile.”
The PR rep’s smile twitches but holds.
“Great,” she says. “Yes. Smile. Light banter. Friendly. This is for charity, for the city, and for the organization’s image.”
Mason’s voice drifts from his stall. “So we’re doomed.”
The other PR rep coughs like she’s choosing her words carefully. “The three of you selected for the dating-game segment will be on stage. Microphones. Live audience. Please remember: no… questionable jokes. No references to…” she glances down at her tablet like it’s going to save her… “bodily fluids. No profanity. No flirting that could be interpreted as a promise.”
Dex lifts his hand. “Define promise.”
Coach’s stare could freeze the ice.
Dex lowers his hand. “I’m learning.”
PR continues. “Do not say anything lawsuit-adjacent.”
Dex leans toward me. “Is ‘lawsuit-adjacent’ like… ‘trial-curious’?”
I don’t even turn my head. “If you say that on stage, I’m volunteering you for an exhibition game in Antarctica.”
Gregory raises a finger. “Technically, Antarctica is not part of any professional hockey league.”
Dex looks delighted. “So it’s an international incident.”
Coach claps again. “Focus.”
“This is not a roast,” she says. “It’s not a locker-room interview. It’s a cute Valentine’s dating game. You’re charming. You’re warm. You’re safe.”
Mason mutters, “I’ve never been called safe in my life.”
Dex nods solemnly. “Same. I’ve been called a lot of things. Safe isn’t one of them.”
Gregory lifts his hand. “I’ve been called safe.”
Dex looks at him, genuinely impressed. “Congratulations, man. You’re like… a beige couch.”
Gregory considers that. “Beige is a calming color.”
The PR rep finishes with a bright, terrifying smile. “Any questions?”
Dex shoots his hand up like he’s in fourth grade. “Yes. Are we allowed to wink?”
“No,” PR says instantly.
Dex’s face collapses. “What are we, Puritans?”
Coach points at the showers. “Dex. Go finish washing the audacity off.”
Dex takes one step, then pivots right back to the center of the room like he’s been handed a microphone.
“Okay,” he announces. “Since the grown-ups are here and the vibe is ‘don’t get sued,’ I will be your official rehearsal moderator.”
“No,” Coach says.
“Yes,” Dex says.
“No,” Coach repeats.
