Page 72 of Make the Play

I toss the phone onto my bed, ignoring their ridiculous messages, and drag my heavy limbs into the kitchen. I need caffeine. Clarity. Possibly an exorcism.

While the coffee brews, I crack my back and open my Instagram.

Big mistake.

Tags. Reels. Headlines.

@sportsrumorsdaily:Power Couple Alert! Storm’s Chase Walton Makes It Official with PR Exec Zoe Carlson

@hockeyworld:Chaz Have Their First Public Kiss!

@puckbunniesunite:This has enemies-to-lovers energy and I, for one, support women winning.

The last notification isn’t a tag, though. It’s a DM. Blank profile, no picture.

@fridayseatrow4:Didn’t take you for the PDA type

I blink and read it again as my stomach tightens.

Weird. Creepy. Whatever.

Probably some loser troll in a basement with a burner account and too much time. This happens when you date someone famous. People get weird.

It’s not like I’m new to all this, either. I’ve stood next to players during press scrums. Smoothed over scandals and sat beside the team in VIP boxes. I’ve ended up in the background of enough photos to know how fast people notice patterns and turn them into stories. Some fans follow me just for the glimpse they think I can give them.

Some fans treat the wives and girlfriends like collectibles. They catalog outfits and count interactions. Screenshot who’s sitting where andwhy.

I’ve seen accounts with entire spreadsheets dedicated to who spoke at who during post-game drinks.

So yeah, I know weird. And I know how fast attention can turn into entitlement.

I make my account private, then I close the app and toss my phone aside thinking that’ll keep the world out.

It doesn’t.

Because the thud in my chest hasn’t gone away. I still hear the click of camera shutters and feel the weight of Chase’s hand curling against my waist.

And for a second, I forget it was fake.

***

By the time I make it into Pulse, I’ve run out of shits to give about that weird message. I’ve compartmentalized it and filed it away to deal with later, if ever. Right now, all I can think about is the train wreck waiting for me in Conference Room B. The first follow-up PR meeting with the Storm front office to discuss how our first public outing was received.

The elevator dings, and I step into the office, heels clicking against the polished floors of the foyer, and I’m instantly hit with a wave of excited energy as I enter the office floor.

“Zoe!” one of the junior execs calls from the bullpen, practically bouncing in her chair. “We were just talking about you! Youslayedlast night.”

Another voice chimes in, Jason from the digital team, half-hanging over the divider of his cubicle. “I’ve got three influencers already shipping you and Chase. One called it a redemption arc. The other said it gave her hope for love again.”

“Glorious,” I mutter, offering a weak smile as I head toward my office.

I don’t even have time to sneak down to Charlie’s office to debrief, because my inbox is a war zone. My Pulse team chat is on fire, and the ten a.m. debrief is glaring at me on my calendar.

Subject:STORM PR RECAP

Location:Conference Room B

Attendees:Zoe, Rachel Cohen (Pulse), John Raines, C. Walton (Storm)

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