Page 5 of Zero Pucks Given
Sharon pointed at the television. “She won the contest! She won a date with Grayson Steele!”
My boss’s eyes widened. “You won? I thought employees weren’t allowed to enter contests like those.”
“They’re not allowed,” I agreed, glaring at Sharon. “Someone else signed me up against my will.”
My boss looked confused for a moment, then flashed a smile. “Forget about section 118. Carter will clean it up. Go talk to someone about the contest! I’m not even gay, but if I won a date with Grayson Steele…” He stared off wistfully.
“I’ll be back in ten minutes,” I told Sharon. “And when I am, I’m expecting the world’s most sincere apology from you. Or our friendship is over.”
“You don’t mean that. Youloveme.”
“We’ll see in ten minutes,” I warned, then left the concession area.
I felt deeply embarrassed by the whole thing as I walked to the customer service desk. Even though it wasn’t my fault, I doubted the people in charge of the contest would care. They would blame me for it. I might even lose my job over it.
Sharon wouldn’t be smiling then.
The man at the customer service desk called someone on his walkie-talkie, and then a security guard escorted me through the arena to one of the employee booths up on the club level. “You must be pretty excited,” he said while scanning his security badge at a door. “Grayson Steele… wow. I meanwow.”
“So excited,” I muttered.
I had worked in the club-level suites a few times before, but this one was larger and more elegantly decorated than the others. A buffet of food covered two tables against the wall, with a dedicated employee standing there ready to serve any of the handful of people in the room. There was also a bartender mixing a drink for two older women in the other corner. The far end of the room opened up to the arena, with two rows of seats for people who wanted to watch the game.
Two men were seated on a leather sofa inside the room. One of them immediately got up and approached as we entered. “You must be Josie Harper, the lucky winner. Congratulations! I’m Bob Trent, the Director of Marketing for the Surge.”
He extended his hand, but I didn’t shake it. “I’m sorry, but there’s been a mistake. Someone else signed me up for the contest. I’m not interested in a date with any hockey player.”
“Well, it’s not justanyhockey player. It’s Grayson Steele!” He glanced down at my clothes. “Your uniform… do you work here?”
“I sell beer, yeah,” I answered. “So I’m probably not even eligible for the contest. Like I said, someone else signed me up. If you can go ahead and pick a different winner and announce it on the screen, I’ll go back to my job.”
“Oh. Oh no.” Bob’s face twisted in a frown. “This is not good. Your name was already announced. It’s been posted to social media.”
“Along with my face. I know. My friend uploaded a photo of me against my will. Pick someone else.”
“Ah. Yes. Well, team employees are indeed ineligible for any team contests or giveaways. Let me see what we can do.” He pulled out his phone.
I let out a sigh of relief. This was all just a big misunderstanding, one that was about to be righted. Then I could go back to my job and never think about this again.
The other man sitting on the couch cleared his throat. “She is not an employee of the team,” he said in a soft, but firm, voice. A voice that was used to giving commands and having them followed. He looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t figure out why.
Bob’s eyes widened. “You sell beer. That means you’re a contractor through the Frost Bank Arena. Technically, you’renotemployed by the team!”
“That seems like a technicality,” I said. “Pick someone else. I don’twantto be the winner.”
“You don’t want to go on a date with Grayson Steele?” Bob asked, incredulous.
“That is what I said, yes.”
“She’s perfect,” the man on the couch said.
Bob looked at the man on the couch, then back at me. That’s when I realized how I knew the older man.
He was theowner of the San Antonio Surge.
“She’s perfect,” he repeated to Bob. “Think of the marketing angle. A beer girl working in the stands wins a date with our star player. It’s a real Cinderella story. The two of them have been in the same room, each doing their jobs without realizing fate was sending them toward each other!”
“Beerwoman, not girl,” I corrected. “And I want tokeepdoing my job. So if you could stop talking about me like I’m not standing in the room, that’d be great.” Remembering who the man was, I quickly added, “Um, sir.”
