Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
Remington
“What about that one?” Smitty asks, pointing to one of the marshmallows. I have a few options to pick from, but none of them are giving me the right vibe.
Choosing the wrong marshmallow can ruin my day, so it has to be right.
“I don’t know,” I say, heaving out a sigh.
Resting both hands on the countertop, I lean forward, hoping that if I get closer, one of them will talk to me.
I assess each one carefully, putting a few unsuccessful contestants back into the glass jars I store them in, and soon, my selection is narrowed down to four.
I bend at the waist and rest my chin on the back of my folded hands, making me eye level with them.
Come on, lil’ ’mallows. Who’s it gonna be today?
I can feel Smitty watching me, but I tune him out. I don’t need any distractions right now. He knows this is part of my daily ritual. We’ve been living together for close to two years. He’s used to me by this point.
“So, who’s that one?” he asks after a beat, pointing to the only remaining jumbo marshmallow.
“Barbara, but Babs for short,” I answer. “She has a hair salon off the Vegas strip, and she specializes in perms and those big poofy ’80s hairstyles.”
“Wow,” he breathes out, almost like he’s mystified.
I tilt my head toward him. His eyes are so wide I’m worried his eyeballs might fall out of his face.
“Dude, don’t be dropping your eyeballs in my marshmallows.”
Thankfully, his face returns to normal, and when I feel more relaxed that there’s not going to be any rogue eyeball incidents, I return my attention to the contenders.
Babs is the one giving me the biggest vibes right now. I think she’d be good for my morning hot chocolate. Big and fluffy. But then there’s also Shirley. She’s a twisty marshmallow in four different colors.
“Shirley because she’s twirly,” I murmur under my breath, but I don’t think the retired showgirl is the right one for my morning beverage. She deserves to be on the top of a whipped cream mountain. Maybe with some rainbow sprinkles too.
“We need to buy sprinkles on the way home,” I tell Smitty, because if I don’t tell him, I’ll probably forget, then be sad about it when it’s Shirley’s time to shine.
“Yeah, sure, whatever. But dude, I don’t wanna ruin your voodoo mojo marshmallow sacrifice, but we’ve gotta leave in, like, two minutes. Coach will have our asses if we’re late, and I don’t wanna hit the traffic.”
I roll my eyes. He knows this can’t be rushed, but I know we’re pressed for time. Practice waits for no one, and if we’re even one minute late, Coach Hanson will kick our butts, and I already had my ass handed to me last night when we lost to San Jose.
My pride is still stinging a little about it too.
“Okay, okay.” I stand back upright and pick up Babs.
I give her a slight squeeze, testing her voluminousness.
She has the perfect amount of pillowy squishiness for a jumbo marshmallow, and she will give me the sweet kick I need to start my day off right.
I drop her into my hot chocolate and watch as Babs floats around.
Little chocolate bubbles cling to her as she begins to slowly dissolve.
When she starts to sink, I bring the thermos to my lips and take a sip.
The sweetness bursts on my tongue, and I let out a happy hum.
“Oh, yeah! That’s good!” I flash a wide smile at my roommate/teammate/best bro.
Smitty’s watching me with a weird expression on his face, like I’ve suddenly grown three heads.
“What?” I ask, twisting the lid onto my thermos, and then I let out a defeated sigh. “Do I have toothpaste on my face again?”
It wouldn’t be the first time, so I wipe my face with my palm just in case.
He shakes his head a few times and grabs the keys to his Jeep from the counter. “I’ve never met anyone like you before.”
“Aw, my dude!” I slap his shoulder with my free hand. “Are you hitting on me, Smitty? Because you know I love you, but not like that. I may be pan, but I draw the line at hockey bros.”
“No, I’m not hitting on you, dude,” he replies, a little too quickly for my liking.
I clutch my chest, as if his words have caused me physical pain. “Ouch, hurt my feelings, Smitty! I thought we were besties.”
“We are.” This time, it’s him who rolls his eyes as he turns on his heel and heads toward the door. I follow him out to the car and climb into the passenger seat.
“You’re one of a kind, Remi,” he murmurs.
I grin proudly. “Obvs! There’s only one of me.”
“Technically, there’s three of you. The clue is in your name. Remington McRae the Third.”
“Technically,” I mock, “only in name. My Grampy and dad aren’t as cool as I am. I’m rare. Like a unicorn. Limited edition.”
“But unicorns aren’t real.”
“Maybe we’re not real,” I argue. “You ever thought about that?”
His brows furrow, and he casts me a quick, confused glance out the corner of his eye. “What are you talking about?”
“How do you know we’re not currently starring in some alien’s dream?” I slap his bicep with the back of my hand. “Or we could be in a reality show!”
“Uhh… Do you know how dumb that sounds?”
I make a pfft sound. Smitty lacks imagination. Sometimes I feel sorry for the dude. “You sound dumb.”
By the time we arrive at the practice facility twenty minutes later, I’ve finished my hot chocolate, and I’m energized for practice thanks to Babs.
I head to the gym to do my pre-skate warm-up.
This is my third season playing for Seattle, and I fucking love it here.
The team. The city. The fans. If I could meet someone, it would be even better, but dating is hard when you’re a professional athlete.
And some people don’t understand my marshmallow hobby.
They call me weird, and I don’t need that kind of negativity in my life.
After I’ve finished up with my workout, I’m strapping on my leg pads in the locker room when Nolan comes in, a clipboard clutched to his chest.
“Listen up, boys,” he calls out, standing almost in the center of the room but making sure not to stand on the logo.
Dude knows not to bring the bad juju upon us.
“We have our annual fundraising gala on Friday for sponsors and long-time season ticket holders, and I need some volunteers for the bachelor auction.”
I groan, tilting my head back until it hits the wall behind me.
Don’t pick me, please don’t pick me, I inwardly plead.
“Sorry, Nolan, but you’ll have to count me out this year,” Mikey says, all smug because he got himself a girlfriend over the off-season. “But Remi’s still single. He loves the bachelor auctions.”
I shoot him my best what the fuck, dude? face.
He knows I do not love the bachelor auctions.
Nolan spins around to face me, a wicked, evil grin lighting up his face. “Remington McRae, what do you say? Want to make some sponsors and season ticket holders very happy?”
I huff, kinda shocked he’d even ask that. “I do that every night I’m in front of the net, thank you very much.”
Okay, so, maybe every night I win, I make them very happy, but the nights I lose? Eh, I doubt it, but then I’m not too happy with myself either.
“I don’t wanna do the bachelor auction this year,” I tell him, slicing my hands through the air.
“But you’re a bachelor, right?” He tilts his head to the side. “Ergo, you need to be a part of the bachelor auction.”
I cross my arms over the top of my chest pads and jut my chin out defiantly. “But how do you know I’m a bachelor?”
“Well, do you have a partner?”
“No, but I could have.”
His face goes all scrunched up. “That doesn’t make sense.”
Throwing my arms out wide, the real reason I don’t want to participate pours out of me in a whine. “I don’t wanna do it because I always end up with the grandmas who like to touch my butt!”
The room bursts into laughter, and I give my teammates the double bird. Assholes.
It’s become an ongoing joke because I seem to end up with old ladies who like to pat my butt.
I don’t know if it’s unintentional or the fact that my ass is so damn peachy.
I told myself it’s like I’m doing my part for the elderly because it’s not like they get to pat a non-saggy butt very often at their age.
It’s a nice butt, if I do say so myself, but still.
“Okaaay,” he drawls, eyes bouncing around at my cackling teammates before landing back on me. “Well, how about this? If you can find a date before Friday, you can get a free pass out of the auction,” he suggests.
“Yeah, okay,” I agree quickly before he can change his mind.
Standing up, I hold on to my pads as they aren’t fully attached to my legs yet and waddle over to where he’s standing. I hold out my hand for him to shake.
“You have a deal. I’m going to find the best partner that ever partnered and let them touch my butt in front of all the old ladies to make them jealous.”
Nolan snickers, taking my hand. “I simply cannot contain my excitement for that, Remington.”
Once he leaves the locker room, I spin around to face my teammates and let out a panicked cry. “Guys, you’ve gotta help me find a date!”
There’s more roaring laughter, but I ignore it.
I need to finish getting dressed for practice and figure out how the fuck I’m going to find a date in less than a week.
I’m not good on apps, and I struggle in person because for some reason, it’s not socially acceptable to carry marshmallows in my fanny pack in public.
“I overheard Brittany talking to one of her friends about this new app. Heart2Heart or something, I think it was called. It’s a matchmaking app, but it covers all kinds of things. Finding love, plus-ones for events, even someone to accompany you while you walk the dog,” Mikey says.
I blink at him, confused. “But I don’t have a dog.”
He gives me a patient smile. Something he does a lot, I’ve noticed.
“You’re missing the point. It’s an app where you can find someone to be your plus-one.” He emphasizes the last two words by widening his eyes slightly. “And if you have a plus-one, then you’re not a bachelor.”
It takes a few seconds for it to click in my brain, and then I let out a loud gasp.
“Then the senior citizens of Seattle won’t touch my tushy!”
He slaps my shoulder. “Ding ding ding! We have a winner!”
I stumble back to my stall, fishing my phone out of the pocket of my sweatpants.
I quickly download the app and skim through the profile setup.
I’ll complete it properly later, as I’m vaguely aware of our assistant coach telling us to be out on the ice in five minutes.
But before I finish getting ready, I type out a short bio and hope for the best.
Remington: HELP! I need a date to help protect me from grandmas touching my butt!