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You’re a tool. Did you say something like that to the press? ~ B
No. Totally not. Never spoke to press. I did kind of talk shit to the guys but not to the press. ~ M
I paused, lowered my phone, and watched that heron circle and then land on a short stretch of shore in front of a multimillion-dollar summer home, all closed up for the winter. I pondered why I gave two shits about what this man said to his teammates about me. Was I any different? Given the chance, I’d do the same, and had, many times. Another ping rang out, pulling me from the bird standing still as a statue as the water lapped over its feet.
Seriously, I said nothing to the press. ~ M
Okay, I believe you. About this. Not buying your other claim. Prove me wrong. ~ B
I can recite the entire speech that Aragorn gives to the Army of the West outside the Black Gate. ~ M
Damn. Okay, that was pretty cool. Still, he needed to have that ego checked, and it was up to me to do it since no one else seemed to be willing.
Meh. I can recite the entire speech that Picard gives while defending Data in “Measure of a Man.” ~ B
There, let him chew on that for a second. Three dots appeared, stalled, and then reappeared as my toes—and my coffee—grew progressively colder.
Kirk is the better captain. Prove me wrong. ~ M
Holy shit, this guy was a first-class shit stirrer. Shaking my head as I smiled down at the screen in my hand, I had to marvel at the size of his hubris. How the man could stuff his swollen head into a mask was a mystery. Good thing they’re custom made or he’d be out on the ice with only his bravado to protect his smug, handsome face.
Next time we play, I’ll do more than prove you wrong about many of your bloated notions. ~ B
He replied with about five dozen laughing emojis.
I quiver in anticipation. ~ M
“Asshole,” I muttered to the gentle winds blowing over the warming lake.
Got to shower and catch the bus. Sorry about press. Not sorry you lost. ~ M
I hurried to change his name in my contacts from Marcus Newley to Grand Asshole of the Ice. Yeah, that fit.
***
“Baskoro, thanks for coming up so quickly. Please sit down.”
I nodded at Marlene Blass, a very pretty, slim brunette woman of about forty or so, wearing a sleek pair of rust-toned trousers and a white blouse.
“I would have been here sooner but Coach wanted to work on special teams drills,” I explained, lowering my bulk into a chair that looked like it would have trouble holding my nephew, the pudgy cutie that he was.
“PR concerns always come after Coach concerns.” She smiled over her desk at me and then removed a tiny pair of glasses that had been sitting on the tip of her nose. “So, it seems you’ve become quite the sports sensation of late. This little spat between you and Marcus Newley has given our season ticket sales a nice boost. All home games against the Comets are already sold out!”
“Oh, well, that’s good,” I commented, unsure of what she wanted from me.
“It is. We all love the sport, but asses in seats keeps our doors open. Since the pandemic, it’s been hard to stir up interest in minor league hockey. Many teams have folded, so this boost in sales makes everyone up here,” and she waved a hand in a circle to indicate management and the owners who had offices looking down on the players and fans, “incredibly happy. So happy, in fact, that we’ve been working on some ad ideas to stoke the flames a bit.”
“Flames?” I asked, hands resting on the knees of my jeans.
“Yep, flames. The fire that you and Marcus have ignited. Our fan base is riled up. Something that can only be good for ticket sales. So, what we’d like to do is push you into the limelight. Let the fans get behind you and possibly razz the Comets a bit on social media. Nothing too outrageous of course but good-natured poking back. To that end, we’d love to have you and Liam star in a short booster video, something that we can share online to keep the fans involved.”
“Oh, uhm, well, I guess that’s okay by me, but Coach will want—”
“The owners are firmly behind this. Memos were sent to the coaching staff asking for their full cooperation, which we’ve already secured.”
“Oh, okay. I’m not great at acting or anything,” I confessed, feeling oddly out of sorts with this whole thing. I was a hockey player, not a sales rep.
“You’ll be fine. Honestly, with your face and Liam’s on the screen, people won’t be paying much mind to acting skills. You two are adorable.” I blushed to the tips of my hair. “Our first project won’t require acting, anyway.”
