Chapter 3
Three
KAI
I don’t like being objectified.
Or underestimated.
And definitely not disrespected.
Especially by a head case with admittedly great hair, but the emotional depth of a bowl of Jello.
Hockey asshole, Bass Morelli, sauntered into my media seminar twenty minutes late, sunglasses on, coffee in hand, with all the swagger of a guy who’s never faced a real consequence in his life.
He cracked a joke under his breath, interrupted my presentation twice, and smirked through the entire Q&A like he was watching his favorite sitcom.
He didn’t care that I was there to help them.
He made it clear he didn’t take me—or the process—seriously.
And honestly? That pissed me off more than I want to admit.
This work-study assistantship I have is part of my capstone project in VCU’s Strategic Communication program. I’m one of three undergrad seniors selected to assist with athlete brand management and public media training for the university. In my department, this assignment is a big deal.
The only unfortunate part is that I had no say in what athletes we were assigned.
Rodney Jay (I have no idea why everyone calls him by his first and middle name) got the basketball team.
Jack was assigned to the baseball team. And I was given the hockey team.
VCU’s infamous Valencia Ice Mafia—Coach Dixon’s legacy players who skate like gods and act like frat idiots with helmets.
A part of me wonders if I was given the hockey team by the department as a challenge or worse…
as a set-up to fail. I know that’s horrible to say, but I was the only female candidate selected for this work-study project, and I revealed on my application that I didn’t know much about hockey.
I’m a Philadelphia-born Boriqua who grew up in a baseball-loving family.
While my parents have always held me to a high academic standard, the outside world has never expected much from a first-generation college student like me, which is why I’ve had to prove myself my entire academic career.
That’s how I’ve found myself here.
I’m building a thesis on how college athletes construct brand identities in the pressure cooker of competitive sports and social media. These hockey boys are now my case studies. And Bass Morelli may prove to be my most difficult one.
“Pound cake or brownies?” my bestie Sue calls from the kitchen.
“Both,” I say automatically, collapsing onto the couch with a groan.
She appears a minute later with a pretty blue-flowered plate piled with slices of warm pound cake and two brownies the size of my palm. She’s dressed in a classic VCU hoodie-and-legging combo, and there’s a streak of flour on her cheek and in her hair.
“I’m absolutely that bitch,” she declares, flopping down beside me. "Since I got home from class, I wrote half of my paper, painted my toenails, and still had time to make these from scratch. Where is my VCU husband? He's missing out."
“Agreed,” I chuckle. Sue and I are always joking about how the higher male-to-female ratio at VCU does not reflect our love lives. We'll be graduating soon and we still haven't met any serious “You are that bitch.”
“One day, I’ll open a bakery. Maybe call it ‘Sticky Situations.’ What do you think?”
I smile despite my mood, taking a bite of the pound cake first. “I think this cake is dangerously good, and I want to marry it.”
Sue presses a hand to her chest. “That might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said about my Nana’s pound cake. It’s flattered.”
She grabs a red gummy bear from the sleeve of her hoodie—seriously, how did that get there?—and pops it into her mouth. Her dark eyes scan my face as I chew.
“So. The seminar. You gonna tell me why you looked like you wanted to strangle someone with a lanyard when you got home?”
I sigh, sinking further into the couch. “He was late. Loud. Disrespectful.”
“He? That sounds like every jock on this campus. Who are you talking about?”
“That arrogant hockey asshole Bass Morelli walked in my presentation like he was doing us a favor by showing up. And of course, he knew he had the room the second he smirked.”
“Yeah, that’s classic Ice Mafia behavior,” Sue offers. “They have a reputation for a reason. And that one in particular likes to fight.”
“Honestly, I don’t understand it. He’s not just a violent idiot. He’s smart, too. Quick. Observant. He could’ve led the discussion if he wanted to. But he sat in the back making snide comments and staring me down like he knew the color of the panties I was wearing.”
She raises an eyebrow. “You’re wearing underwear today?”
“Funny.”
“I’m just saying,” Sue snorts. “You tend to go commando when wearing your power suits.”
“You’re way off topic as usual,” I huff. I love Sue like a sister, but sometimes she drives me crazy.
“Sorry, I just never met a girl who has something against a pair of good ole’ granny panties like you do. My old school southern mama would kill me if I went commando. You know— the whole what if I get in a car accident thing.”
“Then the doctor would see your bare ass! Who the hell cares? The point of my story is that if that guy spent half as much energy on protecting his brand as he does on pretending like he doesn’t give a fuck about anything, he’d probably have a killer NIL deal by now.”
“I thought NIL deals were only for the basketball and football guys.”
“No, they’re for all college athletes. There’s a female gymnast in Louisiana making 4 million dollars.”
“No, shit!”
“Part of making those college NIL deals sweeter or their pro contracts even better when they graduate is how marketable they are. It’s a no brainer that they have to be good athletes but if your brand is strong—you can make money long past your time in your sport.”
“I see why you were selected for this assistantship now.” She gobbles another gummy bear. “You know your shit.”
I groan and swipe a brownie from the plate, ripping off a corner and letting the chocolate calm my pulse. Bass’s voice is still ringing in my ears—sarcastic, low, edged with something I don’t want to define.
“He doesn’t take this seriously,” I say. “He doesn’t take me seriously.”
“But you’re there for all of the players, not just him.”
“I realize that, but I can’t afford to have another disruptive day like I did today.”
Sue shifts beside me, her teasing expression softening. “Because of the thesis?”
“Because of everything.” I tap the screen of my laptop, which still displays Bass’s messy IG profile.
“This isn’t just about a grade. It’s my portfolio, my recommendations, my chance to show real consulting work with a high-profile athletic program.
If I want a shot at graduate fellowships or sports media internships after graduation, this is my proof. ”
She nods, and I know she gets it. Sue and I don’t always chase the same dreams—she’s more passionate about boutique hospitality, small businesses, or community-driven events—but she knows what it means to be working for more than a diploma.
We’ve been friends and roommates since freshman year, and while we’re from very different backgrounds, she knows me better than anyone.
She knows what it means to need everything to count.
“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” she asks, reaching for her own brownie.
“Well, I think the coach is definitely testing me.”
“Him too? Why?”
“Bass is my first one-on-one consultation.”
“Good gravy,” Sue sighs.
“I know, girl, but it’s fine," I assure her. "I’ll run through the standard baseline assessment—verbal strategy, brand perception, social media behavior. Ask a few questions, then see what he does with silence.”
“Bet he hates silence.”
“Exactly.” I grin, but it’s a tired one. “He thrives on reaction. I’m going to give him none.”
Sue leans back, chewing thoughtfully. “Is it weird that I’m kind of excited for this?”
“You’re not the one who has to sit across from him while he tries to charm his way out of taking this seriously.”
“Was he charming? Be careful. I heard he sleeps with anything wet and warm.”
“I bet he does, but I would never,” I say in an exaggerated Philadelphia accent.
I roll my eyes for effect, but I can’t deny it—Bass is attractive. Objectively speaking, he’s built like a comic book hero and moves like he knows it. But the second he opens his mouth? Disaster. A walking, talking, smirking, beautiful disaster.
But God knows that if I can make even the slightest progress with him, my professor will be super impressed, and I will have aced my assignment.
Tomorrow, the real work begins.
“And Kai–”
“Yeah?”
“Wear the red suit I like.”
“Why that one?”
“You know why. Bass might exude a certain power when he walks into a room, but so do you, girl. Wear that suit and I guarantee you'll shut him the hell up for once.”
I grin to myself. Sue is the epitome of the "hype your bestie up" philosophy, but honestly--I really needed that today.
"Red suit it is," I agree with her.
"Oh, and one more thing." She shoves another piece of brownie in her mouth.
"Yeah?"
"Go commando."