Page 17 of The Fake Husband Play
My girl…
She’s not my girl. I’m being crazy. And an asshole to a teammate who’s done nothing to deserve it.
“Sorry,” I say with a sigh. “Guess I’m a little more uptight about the networking shit than I thought.”
“It’s cool,” Nix says, eager to forgive and forget, as always. He’s a chill guy off the ice, one of the reasons I’ve started to consider him a friend as well as a teammate. “Want me to introduce you to Simon, the Lava guy? I met him earlier, but I didn’t try too hard. I’m not what he’s looking for. He’s after established star power, not a rookie on the rise.” He runs a hand through his sandy blond hair as he adds, “Even if that rookie is exceptionally talented and an amazing lover, who’s probably going to convince both the gorgeous ladies after his cock to come home with him tonight.”
I huff. “You’re shameless.”
“Damn straight, I am,” he says, grinning. “Come on, dude, let’s go make you an even bigger star.”
But as Nix leads me toward the man in the gray suit and bright red tie with the Lava logo worked discreetly into the fabric pattern, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve made a wrong turn.
That I’m going to look back on this moment and regret the fuck out of not chasing Red Dress down that hallway, no matter where it leads.
Simon Strain turns out to be exactly what you’d expect from an energy drink executive—intensely enthusiastic, too loud, and convinced that his product is going to revolutionize human performance.
He’s got the kind of aggressive handshake that suggests he has something to prove—or did a few too many lines of coke in the restroom—and within thirty seconds of our intro, has launched into a well-rehearsed “We want you, and only you,” pitch.
I would be flattered if I didn’t suspect he’s given Winchester the same speech.
I can’t imagine why my teammate would be smirking at me as Nix joins him at a nearby table if thatweren’tthe case.
“You see, Grammercy, that’s why you’d be the best fit for Lava,” he says, gesturing toward me with his whiskey as he rattles on. “We’re looking for a player that has that mixture of speed and laser focus most people only get with a little enhancement, if you know what I’m saying. Even without our signature formula, you’re a force. Get a can of Lava in you? Who knows how far you’ll go?”
“Thanks, Simon, I appreciate that,” I say with a warm smile, slipping into the polished persona that’s gotten me through dozens of these conversations in the past year.
Rookie me had no idea how to handle the attention that started coming my way shortly after I joined the NHL, even though Grant did his best to prepare me. But my much older brother is a busy family man these days, with three kids and five dogs. I don’t like to bother him for advice unless I absolutely have to. I’d rather spend our limited time on the phone or in person having fun.
Luckily, several of the more established Badger players took me under their wing last year. They taught me how to nod, smile, and ask the right questions, all while mentally cataloguing everything I’ll need to share with my agent later.
That’sstill wild, too, the fact that I have an agent and someday soon, will probably have to hire a contract attorney.
Schwartz, my agent, has handled my contracts so far, but he’s not about to leave a dime on the table. He said when it comes to genuinely impressive money, we’ll need to call in an expert. The numbers Simon throws aroundaregenuinely impressive—a sum that could set me up for life and give Mom the option to retire from even part-time work if she wanted.
Still, my thoughts and my gaze keep drifting to the other side of the courtyard, wondering when my mystery girl is going to rejoin the party.
“We’re thinking a multi-platform approach,” Simon continues, pulling my focus back to his slightly sweaty face. It’s warm in the courtyard, but not sweating-through-your-suit warm. This man might need to lay off whatever’s got him so worked up.
Thankfully, I’m pretty sure it’s not his energy drink. I did my research before putting Lava on my short list. The ingredients aren’t healthy in large doses, but there’s nothing in the drink that would do consumers harm. I’m not about doing harm, not even in the name of seven-figure signing bonuses.
“Social media, traditional advertising, maybe some appearances at key events,” he continues. “The goal is to build an authentic connection between you and our target demographic.”
“That sounds great, man,” I say, meaning it. “I’ll tell my agent I’m interested, and that he should reach out to you on Monday, if that’s cool.”
“Very cool,” Simon says, looking pleased. “Very cool,man. I’ve already got a one-sheet ready. I’ll be waiting for that email on Monday.”
We shake hands. Simon’s palm is thankfully drier than his face, and I’m jazzed, I truly am, but even as I’m lining up what could be a life-changing opportunity, my attention is wandering. It’s like having an itch I can’t scratch, this need to see her again.
To makesureI saw her, that I wasn’t imagining things.
Then all of a sudden,there—by the champagne fountain, a flash of long legs and dark brown hair circulating through the guests. My pulse spikes, and the moment Simon excuses himself to get a fresh drink, I’m on the move.
I weave through the crowd, past conversations about investment portfolios and vacation homes in places I’ve never been, tracking the top of her head through the crowd like a man with a mission.
I’m halfway across the courtyard when Parker appears in front of me, a big, goody grin on his face. “Dude, you’ll never believe who I think I just saw waiting tables. It’s fucking crazy!”
“Who?” I ask, wondering if this coincidence is about to get weirder.
