“Thanks, guys. That means a lot. I just…I don’t think this is gonna end well for me.” I exhale sharply. “I’m sure Coach Sawyer is gonna be pissed about this. I bet anything he’ll kick me off the team.”
Nick shakes his head. “No way. It’s not like you’re posting stuff about Hollis or the hockey team in your videos. He can’t punish you for stuff you do in your personal life.”
“He can if he thinks it reflects poorly on the team. And come on, we all know what Coach is like. He’s old-fashioned. Strait-laced. By the book. He’s not gonna be open-minded about something like this.”
No one says anything, like they’re silently admitting I’m right.
“I might lose my shot to play pro too because of this.”
Briar grabs my hand in both of hers. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s true though. You think a professional hockey team is gonna want a thirst trap playing for them? It’s only a matter of time before I get a call from them and from Coach Sawyer telling me I’m done with hockey forever.” My throat goes tight. “And it’s no one’s fault but mine.”
Briar squeezes my hand. “Blake, no. There’s nothing wrong with you having that account. And you’re making content for a wonderful reason. To earn money to pay off your parents’ house.”
The guys all look at me.
“That’s what you’re doing with the money you’re making?” Leo asks.
I rub the back of my neck. “Yeah. I wanted to pay off their mortgage. For all the money they spent on hockey for me.”
“That’s really awesome, man,” Travis says.
“I just assumed that you made that account so you could sext with hot chicks.” Nick looks at Briar, and his cheeks redden. “Until you guys became a couple. Sorry.”
She just smiles. “It’s okay.”
“But yeah, it’s cool that you’re using it to help your parents,” Nick says to me.
Just then, my phone rings. Coach Sawyer is calling me.
“Shit,” I mutter as I stare at my screen. “It’s Coach.” I tug a hand through my hair and contemplate letting it go to voicemail. But that’ll just delay the inevitable. I should just get it over with now.
I answer the call.
“Just saw the news break about your secret life outside of hockey.” His tone is hard and pissed off. I instantly tense.
“Coach, I’m sorry, but?—”
“What the hell were you thinking, Morrissey? Do you have any idea how bad this looks?” He’s on the verge of yelling. I wince as I hold the phone away from my ear. “Do you know what a joke you’ve made the Hollis U men’s hockey team look like? Like we’re a bunch of smut peddlers in our spare time. Fucking hell, I didn’t sign up to coach a male stripper.”
It feels like I’ve been punched in the gut hearing the cruel, dismissive things he’s saying.
“Coach, that’s not what I’m doing. This account has nothing to do with me as a hockey player. It’s totally separate.”
He lets out a bitter laugh. “Well, you did a shit job of separating your smut life from your hockey life. And now I’m fielding calls and messages from reporters asking about you. You think this is how I want to spend my time, Morrissey? Being a publicist for my player who moonlights as a nude model?” he barks.
“I’m sorry you’re dealing with this. That’s not?—”
“I want you in my office tomorrow afternoon,” he says, cutting me off. “We’re gonna have a serious talk about your future on this team. If you even have a future on this team.”
He ends the call before I can say anything. That sick feeling in my stomach intensifies.
I glance up at my teammates, who are all looking at me with shocked expressions.
“I’m guessing you heard what he said,” I say, embarrassed.
“He didn’t need to be such a dick,” Leo says.
