Mute buttons are a good thing. Otherwise, this video would include the sounds of me fighting for my life after the trip up here. You’d think I just finished a long uphill sprint.
The guys are skating now. I make sure to capture the last names on as many jerseys as I can. Our fans love seeing CarterStanton on the ice. He’s letting me film him with his pet pig, and I’m ridiculously excited about it.
It’s not the players who are close to my age that my eyes keep wandering to, though. It’s the cranky coach with jacked arms. The way he chastised me was honestly hot, and I’m not sure what that says about me.
Once I finish filming, I sit down in a nearby seat to check the team’s social media pages and comment back to people. It allows me to cool off, since the rink area is colder than my office and I’m no longer running like a fucking jaguar chasing prey on the Savannah.
No one will ever mistake me for a fitness fanatic. I hate getting sweaty unless it’s between the sheets. I like my size-fourteen body. Since I love fashion, finding clothes that flatter my figure is one of my favorite things to do. I also love doing my hair and makeup. The comments I get on my social media pages from women who feel beautiful and empowered by my advice and the photos of myself used to make me cry, but I’ve gotten used to it now, and it’s one of the reasons I keep working to grow my reach. If I can make women feel better about themselves and their bodies, that’s a gift to both me and them.
When I get to the end of the new comments on the team’s IG, I put my work phone in my equipment bag and take out my personal one, hoping I have a new message from Mark.
I do. My heart pounds when I see it in my inbox.
We’ve been communicating on a dating app called Charm. For the first two weeks, you only exchange messages with people you’ve matched with. Any identifying information or attempts to speed up the process are blocked by the app’s software. After two weeks, if both people want to, you can exchange photos.
Mark and I hit two weeks today. When I open the message in my inbox, I find a photo of a good-looking guy with his headshaved bald. He has a nice smile— it fits him. He’s an engineer who loves the mountains and live jazz.
I don’t usually send personal messages during work time, but I don’t want him to think I saw his photo and didn’t like it, so I quickly type one back to him.
Jules: Love it! Great smile. Hope that afternoon meeting doesn’t last all afternoon again. My pic is incoming.
I choose a photo I took before my first day of work here. I’m wearing a one-piece charcoal jumpsuit with wide legs and a V-neck. My long hair was on point that day, freshly blown out.
After I hit send, I put my phone away and head down the stairs, my shoes still in hand to avoid tripping and falling to my death.
I can’t wait to get back to my desk and edit the video. Once again, I don’t even want to leave the building for lunch like my coworkers do. Instead, I’m going to order delivery to the office so I can keep working on new content.
Metrics are everything in social media, and Deb and I created some growth numbers that will earn me a very nice bonus if I can hit them. I’ve already picked out the Max Mara coat I’m going to spend part of it on.
CLOSER
CHAPTER THREE
Noel
I put my glasses on,pen in hand and notebook on the table as the footage from our last game starts up in the film room. It’s after four p.m. and the players and staffers have been gone for more than an hour, but I don’t have any reason to go home. There’s nothing waiting there for me but leftover chicken and rice.
I miss my kids. And my dog. My ex-wife, not so much. Our relationship shifted a couple years before I found out about her affair. She wanted a vacation home in Aspen and I said no. We already had a place in Malibu, which she spent a fortune having remodeled and redecorated.
She was used to getting everything she wanted, and she never got over my refusal to buy another vacation home. I was happy to give her the Malibu house in the divorce because I didn’t want it.
“Hey.” The door is cracked open, and Talia opens it farther, looking at me. “You need anything?”
“No, I’m okay. What are you still doing here?”
“I needed to finish inventory.” She waits for me to hit pause on the remote control. “You’re still planning to come tomorrow, right? Two p.m. at Templeton?”
“I’ll be there.”
The Templeton Center is our practice facility, and Talia arranged for me and ten players to meet up with some kids who have disabilities and teach them modified ice hockey.
“Have you eaten today?” she asks.
“I had lunch with Caroline.”
Her brows arch with interest. “Caroline? Was that business or pleasure?”
I flick a glare at her over the rim of my glasses. “Business.”
