Page 20 of The Puck Contract

CHAPTER 7

GROOVER

"YOUR PLACE IS fine, but we need more couple content in a domestic setting," Sophia declares over the phone, crushing my Monday morning peace faster than a blindside hit. "The gala photos are great, but the Kingsport wants to see stability, remember? Nothing says stable like matching coffee mugs and arguing over whose turn it is to do the dishes."

I glance around my apartment, mentally cataloging the embarrassing shit I'd need to hide before letting a camera crew in for a proper shoot. "Can't we just photoshop ourselves into some stock photos of happy couples making pancakes?"

"Very funny." Sophia's voice drips with the special brand of sarcasm reserved for PR people dealing with difficult athletes. "We're not talking magazine spread here. Just some casual shots for social media. Make it look like Mateo spends time at your place."

"Fine," I concede, knowing resistance is futile. "When?"

"Tonight. I'll be there at seven with the photographer."

I hang up and immediately start panic-cleaning. It's not that my place is dirty, but there's a difference between "clean enough for me to live in" and "clean enough for photographic evidence that will live on the internet forever."

By six, I've vacuumed, dusted, and hidden anything potentially embarrassing (goodbye, Captain America boxers hanging in the bathroom). I've even changed my sheets, though I'm not sure why since I doubt we'll be taking photos in my bedroom.

The thought of Mateo in my bedroom sends a jolt through me that I quickly suppress. That's not part of our arrangement, and besides, he's straight. Probably. We haven't actually discussed it explicitly, but he mentioned an ex-girlfriend once, so I'm operating under that assumption.

Not that it matters. This is business, not pleasure.

My phone buzzes with a text from Mateo:

Mateo:On my way. Should I bring anything?

Me: Just yourself. And maybe a convincing boyfriend face.

Mateo:I'll practice my adoring gaze in the Uber. See you soon.

I smile despite myself. Over the past couple weeks, we've developed an easy rapport that makes this whole charade less awkward than it could be. After that first game and the team celebration that followed (where Mateo surprised everyone bykeeping up with Becker drink for drink), he's attended two more home games and three night outings.

He's fitting in better than I expected, charming my teammates with his random anthropological observations and genuine curiosity about hockey. Even Coach has taken a liking to him, constantly asking when "that smart boyfriend of yours" is coming to the next game.

The doorbell rings precisely at 6:30, and I open it to find Mateo balancing a takeout bag from my favorite Thai place.

"I know you said not to bring anything," he says, "but I figured we'd need sustenance to survive the photo shoot."

"You're a lifesaver," I say, taking the bag. "I was so busy cleaning I forgot about food entirely."

He steps inside, glancing around. "Wow, it's even cleaner than last time. I didn't think that was possible."

"I may have stress-cleaned," I admit. "Sophia has that effect on me."

Mateo laughs, shrugging off his jacket. He's wearing a simple blue sweater that brings out the gold flecks in his hazel eyes. Not that I'm noticing things like that.

"So, what's the plan?" he asks, following me to the kitchen. "Sophia just said something about 'domestic couple photos' and to dress casual but nice."

"Your guess is as good as mine." I start unpacking the food. "Probably wants shots of us doing stereotypical couple things. Cooking together, watching TV, gazing lovingly into each other's eyes over coffee."

"Ah yes, the three pillars of modern romance," Mateo says. "Food, Netflix, and caffeine."

We're halfway through our pad thai when the doorbell rings again. Sophia enters like a tiny hurricane, followed by the same photographer from our previous shoot.

"Perfect, you're already eating," she says by way of greeting. "Zach, get some shots of this. Natural, candid moments."

Zach starts circling us like a documentary filmmaker tracking rare wildlife, the camera clicking rapidly.

"Could you maybe feed each other a bite?" Sophia suggests. "That always plays well on Instagram."

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