Chapter 1 #3
Tank knew both Roger and McKenna. Roger was perhaps the biggest Stingrays fan on the planet, something that served the team well, considering the guy did a lot of their publicity. His press releases were always glowing and practically likened him and his teammates to gods.
McKenna was also familiar, though definitely less of a fan—at least of him. She was a nerdy woman, with an awkward sense of fashion and glasses that never managed to stay on the bridge of her nose. Tank had started calling her Mouse, which probably hadn’t helped endear him to her.
The nickname was the result of her appearance during their first introduction.
He’d been on his way to Hugh’s office for one of his usual slaps on the wrist. Benny had been showing McKenna around, and he’d stopped Tank to introduce them.
McKenna had been wearing a Mickey Mouse T-shirt, her hair pinned up in two high buns that had reminded him of those Mouseketeer hats with the ears that people got at Disney World.
Between that and the fact she was a tiny little thing, he’d taken to calling her Mouse.
Despite her small size, McKenna was a hell of a lot better at her job than the team’s former director of social media marketing, an out-of-touch woman who thought TikTok was the sound a clock made.
Since that first meeting, McKenna had made it clear she didn’t approve of him and his playboy ways with more than a few sideway scowls—which was, of course, a red flag to someone with his personality.
So he tended to go full-on Tank whenever she was around, because her narrowed-eye glares amused him.
Tank followed Benny into yet another conference room. He’d expected the atmosphere in this room to be less tense, but damn, was he wrong.
The pressure was even thicker, as McKenna and Roger turned and looked at him with the bleary-eyed expressions of two people who hadn’t gotten much sleep—and they were grumpy about it.
“Hey, Rog.” Tank claimed the empty chair next to the affable guy.
Roger offered him a tired smile. “Hey, Tank.”
“Mouse,” he said to McKenna, who was sitting directly opposite.
McKenna blinked twice, before flat-out ignoring him, turning her attention to Benny, who sank down in the seat at the head of the table.
“Tank’s been apprised of the press conference at three,” Benny said. “Have the lawyers looked over the statement he’s making?”
Roger nodded and slid a piece of paper over to Benny. “They made a couple of suggested changes.” He pointed to them as Benny scanned the paper.
“Those work.” Benny handed the paper to Tank. “Familiarize yourself with this.”
Tank glanced at the paper and sighed. “Fine.” He had a feeling that was going to be his standard response to all this bullshit.
“You’ll need to shower and put on something more appropriate,” McKenna said, taking in his too-small clothes as she pushed up her glasses.
“I know how to dress for a press conference, Mouse,” Tank retorted with more heat than he intended. He shouldn’t be taking things out on her, but he was literally at the end of his rope as far as patience was concerned.
McKenna bit her lip. Tank got the sense her response wasn’t driven by nerves, but because she was trying to hold her tongue. She managed to swallow back whatever she wanted to say by rising to walk to the coffeepot in the corner. She refilled her cup, adding creamer and a shit-ton of sugar.
He took a moment to study her outfit, amused despite his bad mood.
She was younger than him, probably no more than twenty-four or twenty-five, yet she dressed like she was a fifty-year-old crazy cat lady.
She was wearing mom jeans, Chucks, and an oversized graphic T-shirt that had three cute big-eyed cartoon cats peering over a wall.
She complemented that outfit with a long navy-blue cardigan with huge pockets and a hole in one sleeve.
Because she’d been yanked from bed in the wee hours, her hair was pulled into a messy bun on top of her head.
She also hadn’t bothered with makeup, not that she ever wore much to begin with.
When she returned to the table, she took off her glasses, rubbing her closed eyes.
As she opened them again, her gaze clashed with his.
He couldn’t help but notice the dark circles under her eyes, which were surprisingly a bright, light blue, framed by long dark lashes.
He’d never noticed how pretty her eyes were, but that was hardly surprising, since they were always hidden behind those thick-framed glasses of hers.
Tank had never really paid a lot of attention to McKenna’s looks, beyond the entertainment value of her wardrobe.
He was attracted to feminine women, a sucker for high heels and legs that went on for miles, preferring women with a healthy helping of flirty playfulness blended with sex appeal.
Oversized cat T-shirts and a judgy attitude just didn’t do it for him.
Tank rose when the smell of her coffee hit him. He helped himself to a cup, needing the jolt if he was going to get through the next few hours. He should still be in bed nursing a hangover, not dealing with all this shit.
Once he returned to the table, Benny, who’d been flipping through several pages in a file folder, closed it and leaned back.
“As you know, we’re in charge of repairing your reputation.
The three of us will be working together on this.
Mac’s going to spin a more positive picture of you.
Her social media posts help drive public perception of the players, and she’s proven herself very capable when it comes to influencing fan opinions. ”
While Tank used Mouse, everyone else in the Stingrays organization simply called McKenna “Mac.”
“So you’re gonna make everyone believe I’m some choir boy in a bunch of Facebook and Insta posts?” Tank asked her, chuckling. “Good luck with that.”
McKenna didn’t share his humor, opening the folder in front of her. “We’ve scheduled several appearances for you over the next two weeks, since you’ll have some time on your hands.”
Tank took a couple seconds trying to figure out if McKenna’s quip was meant as an insult or if she’d just chosen unfortunate wording. When she met his gaze and held it, he saw a spark in her eye and found his answer.
Tou-fucking-ché, Mouse.
He could count on one hand the number of one-on-one conversations he’d had with McKenna Bailey that weren’t work related and still have all his fingers left.
Apparently, she had claws.
“The appearances range from a photo shoot with a local Pee Wee team that just won a state tournament, visiting veterans at the VA, and a ribbon-cutting for a new sporting equipment shop opening near the Inner Harbor,” Roger added.
Tank was no stranger to those types of appearances, but they ranked hella low on his list of what he considered a good time. He’d much rather be out on the ice with his teammates, practicing and playing hockey.
However, if there was one thing he’d learned today, there was only one appropriate answer.
“Fine.”
“Also, once the suspension is over, you’ll be expected to…” McKenna paused for a moment. “Curtail your victory celebrations.”
Tank scowled. “Curtail how?”
“We know the team occasionally goes to a local pub after games. You can go out if you choose, but only for a beer or two,” McKenna explained.
“No more drunken orgies,” Benny muttered. “And stop bringing two dates to team events.”
McKenna chimed in, glancing down at some printout in her hands. “A lot of the comments on that viral video of yours involve fans’ concerns that perhaps you’re an alcoholic or an addict. The word ‘rehab’ has been bandied about by more than a few people.”
“I’m not an alcoholic,” he snapped.
McKenna shrugged. “Public perception is what matters here. Not the truth.”
“Oh, really,” he replied, his patience all but gone. He didn’t mean to keep snapping at the woman, but dammit…this whole fucking thing had been blown out of proportion.
“Yes, really,” Benny responded angrily. “While you were tucked in a warm bed, sleeping off last night’s revelries, Mac, Roger, and I have been in the office since five a.m., reading comments on social media and coming up with a plan to restore your reputation.”
Tank was slightly chastened by that. “How the hell did this get so big, so fast?”
McKenna answered. “TikTok’s algorithms pushed it out hard when it got uploaded around nine-thirty p.m.”
Yesterday’s game had a two p.m. start time, which meant he and the girls had started their celebration earlier than normal.
“The video got well over a hundred-thousand views in the first hour,” McKenna explained.
“Jesus.”
“And that number continues to grow,” she pointed out. “You’ve pissed off several Christian mothers’ groups, who are calling you everything from a bad influence on young boys to an amoral misogynist who abuses women.”
Tank suddenly felt ill. “That’s not true.”
“Perception,” she said, reminding him again that no one cared about the truth.
“And you think a bunch of photo ops are going to restore my reputation?” Tank asked.
“It’s a start,” she replied softly. “Are you, um,” she paused, “dating one of the women from the video?”
Tank shook his head.
McKenna seemed disappointed by that. “So, neither of them is your girlfriend?”
“No.” He grimaced. “They’re just hookups.”
Roger rubbed his eyes wearily. “That’s a shame.”
“Why?” Tank asked, confused.
“Mac and I were talking while you and Benny were in with the GM, thinking that it would be easier to restore your reputation if one of them was your steady girlfriend. If you were in a relationship, it would help us overcome your current playboy status.”
Benny perked up. “That’s a good point.”
Roger nodded. “But since you aren’t seeing either of the women…”
Tank got an uneasy feeling when Benny’s gaze rested on him consideringly. He had a good idea where this was headed, and he was not down for it. “I’m not interested in dating Emily or Lara.”