Page 52 of Zero Pucks Given
Grayson: I’m good. Post away.
Great. So that’s how this was going to be.
I didn’t sleep.
The video went live the next afternoon. It was an immediate hit, receiving five times as many views in the first hour as my previous best video.
Then I got an email from the Social Media Manager for the Surge, notifying me that they loved my April Fools video and were reposting it to all of their channels.
By evening, I had a handful of private messages and emails from people who wanted to work with me. One makeup company even wanted to sponsor a video!
I was officially an influencer.
But my joy turned sour in my mouth. The success felt shallow.
All I could think about was the star player for the Surge, and the kiss we had shared.
26
Grayson
I was standing at my locker after a short hockey practice when Bob the Marketing Fuckhead ambushed me again.
“Don’t you have anything better to do than bother me?” I was disappointed that I had already put my pants on—it would have been nice to linger with my dick out to make him uncomfortable like last time, but I suspected he had waited until I was dressed before approaching.
“We’ve scheduled your next date with Josie,” he said. “It’ll be the last one before the playoffs. We’ll probably have you do the third date once the season is over.”
I felt a thrill at the news. It had been a week since our date on the River Walk, and I had wondered when the next one would be. I’d avoided asking because I didn’t want to seem eager.
Because, deep down, Iwaseager to see her again.
“What’s the plan?” I asked.
He tapped on his stupid little iPad. “I just emailed you the details. Meet here tomorrow.”
“Here?” I asked. “In the fucking locker room?”
“Here at the Frost Bank Center,” Bob said while walking away. “Read the email!”
The email that just popped up on my phone had a PDF attachment that was six pages long. For once, I wished Bob had stuck around longer to explain it to me. The PDF felt like homework.
Following the instructions from the email, I returned to the Frost Bank Center at nine o’clock the next morning. I didn’t put on my pads or jersey, but I did lace up my skates and went out on the ice. The arena was totally empty—when I coughed, the noise echoed in the cavernous room without thousands of bodies to absorb the sound.
To warm up my legs, I skated around the ice for a few minutes. I didn’t realize Josie was standing by the bench until I heard her speak.
“I’ve never seen this place so empty before.”
I skated over to her, suppressing a smile. She was wearing tight jeans and a Surge jersey. I couldn’t tell what was different about her hair, but the sight of her stirred something inside of me. She lookedgood.
“It’s downright peaceful without all the fans screaming at me,” I said, skidding to a stop in front of the bench. “Whose jersey are you wearing? If it’s Mason Calder’s, I’m going home right now.”
She narrowed her eyes at me in a wicked grin. “I’ll wear his jersey on our next date. The intern who let me inside gave this to me. It’s a custom jersey.” She turned around to show me the back: it was her last name, Harper, but my number 11 beneath it.
I spared a moment to admire the way the jeans hugged her perfect ass, then asked, “Have you ever skated before?”
“Believe it or not, I never learned how.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you grow up in Minnesota?”
