Page 2 of Meet Your Match
This was my first event as the newest addition to the Tampa Bae Babes.
Despite the rather cheesy name, the TBBs were well known throughout the city for their social channels, and for the most listened-to podcast in the Bay. They covered everything from where to shop, dine, and stay, to interviewing the most influential players in the city — whethertheir game be politics, medicine, science, history, real estate, or pop culture.
After working tirelessly building my own online brand in the city, I was now the newest member of the team, with my specialty centering around Tampa Bay sports — which was hilarious, considering I’d rather read the dictionary front to back ten times than watch a single baseball game.
It wasn’t my end goal. For me, that would always be covering what really mattered in Tampa Bay and our communities — the people giving back, every day, quietly and selflessly and without recognition.
But for now, this was my way in, and I was happy to take it.
“I need a refill,” Livia said, waving her empty flute in illustration. “And I should also probably make an appearance at the VIP tables. Our general manager loves to show me off like a prized pig.”
“Youdomake a very pretty pig,” I cooed, running my fingers through a strand of her silky straight hair with a doting expression.
She swatted my hand away with a roll of her eyes. “Be right back.”
“I’m going to get some shots of the silent auction items,” I said. “Meet you there?”
Livia nodded, and then she was splitting the crowd of people like Moses split the sea, every head turning to watch her as she passed.
I took my time ambling over to the tables of items up for bid, mentally planning out the video and photo content I’d put together of the night. I made sure to take multiple video angles and transition options, knowing I wouldn’t be able to come back and re-do any of them later. My parents often laughed at my job — not because they were mean,but because they genuinely didn’t understand it. Not many did.
You tell someone your job is in social media, and the first reaction is almostalwaysa staunch laugh.
But as confused as I was about where my life would go next, I loved what I did. I especially loved that I’d built an audience online who cared about the same things I did, who wanted to meet the game changers in their community who were the unsung heroes. I’d built a loyal following on that mission — one I wanted to take to greater heights with the Tampa Bae Babes.
But first, I had to do my time as the sports girl.
When I made it to the tables, I held my phone steady and walked slowly down the line of items up for bid. The Gibson Gala was hosted by the athletic teams in the Bay, a rare coming together of our hockey, baseball, and football teams as they raised money to benefit the many charities they supported. As such, most of the items were sports-related, everything from signed balls, pucks, and jerseys to suite tickets and player experiences.
I wished I found it impressive, that I could look at the outrageous bids already scribbled on the books in front of each item and find it awe-inspiring. Instead, I fought the urge to roll my eyes at every person in the room who felt so generous just by attending this event, never knowing what it really felt like to give back, to be face to face with those in need and extend a hand out to help them.
When I came to a rather ugly and oversized vase that stood out from the sports memorabilia surrounding it, I paused, frowning and letting my eyes assess it. It was oddly shaped, the mouth of it warped like a watch in a Dalí painting, and the body was misshapen like it had been melted instead of carved to perfection. It looked likea pottery piece made by a child trying their hand at it for the first time, the whole thing devoid of color and a proper finish. It was just a gray, weeping heap of clay posing as something of value.
“Fan of art?”
“Is that what this is supposed to be?” I asked before even looking at the person behind the low, smooth voice that asked me the question. When I glanced back over my shoulder to place a smile with my joke, it fell flat at the sight of Vince Tanev.
I didn’t have to be even mildly interested in hockey to recognize our hotshot rookie, the one who had been taking the city by storm since he burst into headlines this preseason. He caught everyone’s attention with all the goals and assists he racked up early in the regular season soon after, and he held that attention with his activities off the ice — namely partying, stumbling into his condo with three girls on each arm, and becoming known for randomly showing up in popular shops and restaurants, hanging out with fans like he was a regular person.
Which hewas, I reminded myself, as I let my smile slip farther off my face.
I knew him not only because of all that, but because he was frequently spotlighted in the local news for being a community hero. But from what I could tell, the events were all a public relations sham, and he was all too happy to pretend like he gave a shit long enough to have his picture snapped before he was back to being a playboy.
Vince Cool.
Tampa had bestowed the affectionate nickname upon him, inspired by Snoopy’s alter egoJoe Cool, and the rest of the nation had been quick to jump on board. He washot, young, cocky, and, worst of all, the kind of player who backed up his shit-talking effortlessly.
Because he just kept getting better and better with every fucking game.
I didn’t have to study him long to note that his usually messy hair was tamed tonight, styled in a sleek wave that accented the lines and edges of his handsome face. Those cheekbones were enough to make a poet dedicate their life’s work to him. Coupled with his thick lashes and lips that always remained in a rich boy pout, Vince was impossible not to find delectable. Those attracted to the male variety went especially apeshit over the little scar on his right eyebrow, the one that gave that pretty face just enough edge to make you wonder if he’d tie you up in bed.
He was stoic and severe, the kind of man who exuded power without ever having to say a single word.
His pouty lips crooked just a little at the corner the longer I stared at him, especially when my eyes flicked to the column of his white throat exposed by the top two buttons of his dress shirt being carelessly left unfastened. No neck had a right to be that hot.
Finally, I met his gaze, his hazel eyes simmering the longer we stared at each other. I couldn’t tell if they were more green or gold, the two colors battling for dominance as his lips quirked up a bit higher.
My smile flattened as I turned back to the vase, and Vince sidled up beside me, his posture confident and relaxed as he slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks.
