When she winks suggestively, I descend into a full-blown panic.
“There’s nothing going on between us!” I declare way louder than I should have. Wincing, I cast my eyes around the bar, which is mercifully still quiet. “We know each other from the past, but that’s as far as it goes.”
“So, you’re friends?” Vesper clarifies.
Are Will and I friends? I think about the meal he treated me to for my twenty-first birthday and how it feels like there are two sides to his personality—one that cares and wants to help celebrate special days in my life and another that can’t even be bothered to reply to a simple email or show up tonight.
“We’re friends, but not close, and wedefinitelyare not romantically involved.”
She studies me for a second and then spins on her heel, heading toward a couple of customers who just approached the bar.
I take the chance to check my phone and find zero notifications.
You know what? Fuck this.
Opening Instagram, I click into Will’s account and load up the draft of the post I was going to have Will check over tonight before I sent it live.
It’s an action shot of him wearing a Rogues jersey. When a player joins a team, it’s standard practice for them to have professional images taken for promotional purposes. Often, they look stilted and premeditated. However, the file the Rogues’ media team sent me the other day was far from it. Will’s smile is bright, and the stick wind-back the photographer captured looks like he’s genuinely taking a shot on goal in a big game.
Will has always been a natural in front of the camera and, in theory, is perfect for marketing teams—the complete package, capable of selling out merchandise several times over.
If only he could get his head out of his ass and grow the fuck up.
Scrolling down, I look over the caption I wrote for any typos and double-check that it sounds like Will wrote it.
September has rolled around, and that can only mean two things: the regular season is only weeks away, and our first preseason game is coming up this Tuesday. Turning pro has been a dream of mine since before I set foot on the ice, and I could not imagine a better opportunity than to debut in the NHL wearing green and gold. The team and coaching staff here at the Rogues have made me feel incredibly welcome, and I want to thank you, the fans, for embracing my arrival with open arms.
To my parents and sister, who have helped guide me to where I am today, I want to say thank you. I wouldn’t be doing this without you all by my side, every step of the way.
Rogue for life.
Will #25
This reads nothing like one of Will’s captions.
Excellent.
I hit Post, and immediately, the guy Vesper just finished serving starts checking his phone, showing the screen to his friend as they begin talking about my client.
Jesus.Will really has the entire city eating out of his palm.
“I’ve been thinking.” Vesper’s voice pulls me back to reality.
Locking my cell, I drop it into my bag. “Shoot.”
Her face turns devilish. “I think you should lay down the ground rules with your client right away.”
“Oh, I did,” I explain. “We have a set of rules, which he’s already ignoring.”
Vesper shakes her head. “No, no. I’m talking about you becoming Muhammad.”
I look confused—I know I do.
“If the mountain won’t come to you, then maybe you should go to it,” she clarifies.
Taking the advice of a stranger is probably not the best idea, but I like this girl, and I’m pretty tipsy at this point. So, what the hell?
“I do know where he lives,” I muse.
