9. Violet

Chapter 9

Violet

“ I can’t believe this is your idea of fun. Isn’t there some rule in your contract about playing sports outside of hockey?” I secure my seatbelt in the backseat, glaring at Obie in the driver’s seat.

“I’d hardly consider bowling a sport. More like a hobby.” Obie turns and frowns. It’s a week and a half into the season. The team has gone on their first road game stretch, with tonight free before a game tomorrow. When Obie texted earlier saying I should come by his place to “hang out,” I didn’t realize it would consist of the most embarrassing activity known to man.

“Careful now,” Gus interjects from the passenger seat. As Obie gave me a tour of their place, Gus invited himself along to play a few games. Once word traveled that I worked upstairs in the team’s facility, Gus showed up in the entry of my cubicle, hands in his pockets and head low. He apologized again for how our first interaction hadn’t been the smoothest start. He explained he can get a little excited sometimes, running with a thought or idea before really thinking it through. I told him there were no hard feelings. “There are plenty of people who would disagree about that.”

“I don’t see how there would be an argument,” Obie faces off against his roommate and teammate as we drive toward the highway. “Rolling a ball down a lane at a target isn’t exactly athletic. Most five-year-olds manage it just fine.”

“The definition of the word sport: an activity involving physical exertion and skill in which an individual or team competes against another or others for entertainment,” I recite from the Google results. Obie lobbies a dirty look over his shoulder at me. I stick my tongue out in return. “According to that, bowling counts.”

“So does my sex life,” Gus cracks.

“Who exactly are you competing with?” Obie asks. “When we go out, you’re with a married guy, a single dad, a twenty-one-year-old who doesn’t like to talk to people, me, and Crosby. I’ve told you I don’t date or sleep with anyone during the season, and I think Crosby might be interested in someone.”

I don’t miss the way Obie’s eyes cut to me in the rearview mirror. My best friend is about as subtle as a check into the glass during a game. Before the blush paints my cheeks or I try to refute him, Gus carries the conversation forward.

“You’re right. There is no competition, and there have never been any complaints. Crosby’s going to meet up with us. Maybe we can get him to spill who he has a crush on.” He half-turns in his seat to look at me.

I’m fighting to show no emotion, aiming for impassive and nonchalant. But if Gus’ eyebrow waggle and soft smirk are any indication, I’m not doing a good enough job. Saving me from any further discussion, he reaches over to turn up the music, arguing with Obie about what to listen to.

I sink back into the leather seat, turning over the idea that Crosby might be interested in me. It’s not my ego talking when I think it isn't a surprising development. He and I connected the night we met, even if I kept it brief. There was no shortage of attraction. Crosby has a congenial, sincere charm that puts people at ease. Coupled with his tousled, curly hair, beautiful eyes, and strong jaw it would be difficult for any woman to resist feeling drawn to him.

But I’ve been through this before. I met the charming hockey player who made me feel like the only person in the room. Who had me so blinded by his attention I let my guard down almost immediately, and I paid the price.

I really want to believe I wasn’t left so jaded by the experience that I can’t find the good in the men that I work with. In fact, as I sit listening to Gus give a TEDTalk on why the Star Wars prequels might actually be better than the sequels, it’s hard not to want to give them a chance. I don’t have to close myself off from spending time with them. Getting to know them. Even becoming friends with them. Including Crosby.

The bowling alley is oddly busy for a Tuesday night, but one glance down the rows of lanes explains it’s league night for the over sixty-five crowd. At the counter, Crosby leans casually, a row of two-toned red-and-blue bowling shoes lined up next to him. He shakes hands and hugs Obie and Gus before smiling in welcome to me.

“I have a good idea what size to get these guys, but I wasn’t sure about you. It’s all paid up, you just have to ask for a pair,” Crosby tells me before turning around to wave down the teenager currently spraying a returned pair of shoes. I try not to think about how many pairs of feet have been in the footwear I’m about to acquire.

“Size seven, please,” I tell the employee. Lazily, he reaches behind him for a neon-green-and-pink pair with yellow laces. I lift them up and look back at the kid.

“Only pair I have left. Cosmic bowling style,” he offers the explanation with a shrug.

“Great.” I smile, hooking my fingers into the shoes and laughing under my breath as he returns to the far end, continuing to sanitize shoes.

“At least you’ll stand out in the crowd?” Crosby teases from beside me. His smile is lopsided but kind as he takes in the obnoxiously bright shoes.

“Just what I always wanted: all eyes on me as I roll gutterball after gutterball.”

“It couldn’t possibly be that bad,” Gus says, looping an arm around my shoulders, steering me toward our designated lane.

“Oh, it really can be that bad.” Obie chuckles. Our group sits in the uncomfortable plastic seats to change our footwear. I glare at my best friend because I know he’s about to recount something from our childhood that’s going to leave me embarrassed. “She once managed to land a gutterball two lanes down.” Obie’s laughing full out now at the memory. “Just don’t stand too close to Letty when it’s her turn. Especially if you value your toes.”

Gus gives me an uneasy smile before looking down at his feet and back to me. Crosby looks thoughtful but offers a shrug.

“It’s just for fun. I’m not worried,” he says kindly. He ties off his shoes and stands up. “Be right back. Gus, can you get everyone typed into the machine?”

Gus nods. Obie comes over to sit next to me as I finish changing shoes. He bumps my shoulder. I lean back. There’s never any hard feelings between us, and this little silent communication reminds us of that.

A few minutes later, Crosby returns just as Gus finishes setting up the scoring system.

“Vi, I put you first, that okay?” Gus spins around, indicating the lineup. I’m first, Obie’s second, then Crosby, and Gus put himself last.

“Want to get the wrecking ball out of the way?” I laugh as I search for a bowling ball I can hold comfortably in one hand. The sparkly orange one has swirls of white, making it look like a creamsicle. I wiggle my fingers into the holes and grip. As I step up to the top of the lane, I exhale, focusing on the white pins at the end. Suddenly, there’s a clanging noise, and the metal bumpers pop out of the sides of the gutters. I spin around to the group of guys.

Gus and Obie are smiling, but Crosby is looking anywhere but at me, busy sifting through bowling balls. I wait a beat to see if he’ll look up. When he does, he gives me a wink.

“Show us what you can do, Violet,” Crosby says.

The other guys cheer me on as I spin back to the lane and hurl the ball. It bounces against the bumpers before gliding smoothly into the far corner, knocking a single pin down.

The next night, I’m waiting in the arrivals tunnel for the team to show up. It’s my turn to get some walk-in content to go with the still photos. But waiting for the team to trickle in has sent me scrolling, and I latched onto a trend we haven’t filmed yet. It settles in my brain, and I immediately know who I want to pull aside for it. As soon as I see Charlie and Gus walk in together, I flag them down. I explain my idea, with Gus agreeing gleefully before Charlie frowns.

“I understand if you’d rather get on with whatever pre-game you need to do, Charlie,” I say patiently. He takes a moment, running his hand through the shock of red hair on his head before he slowly nods.

“I’m doing this once, Vi,” he tells me, the frown softening slightly when he says my name. I smile and nod. “And only because you asked.”

“Thank you,” I say, reaching out to touch his arm. He tenses a little but gives me a hesitant smile that flickers and fades from his face. I take a step back and pull out my phone, swiping open the camera and adjusting the settings quickly. With one shot at this, I want to make sure I don’t waste it. Gus and Charlie arrange themselves in front of The Midnight’s logo. I line up Gus in the frame, press record, and point at him.

“Do you think they’re going to play ‘HOT TO GO?’” Gus asks excitedly. I hit pause and turn to Charlie. He sucks in a deep breath, and I hit the bright red button.

“This is a Midnight hockey game.”

Charlie’s delivery is so deadpan, so unflinching in its severity, I barely stop filming before Gus and I collapse against each other in a fit of giggles.

“This is perfect. Thank you, Charlie,” I say sincerely. The video is going to look so great when I cut in footage of the team skating out to their unofficial anthem of “Back in Black” by AC/DC later. Charlie gives me a sharp nod and moves down the hall on the way to the locker rooms. Gus gives me a little salute as he spins on his heels, heading directly toward one of our team photographers.

I’m not looking where I’m going as I make my way back up to the arena to scope out the perfect spot to film the ice introduction. I slam into a body, an apology falling from my lips as I try to hold onto my phone and not end up on my ass. A steadying hand squeezes my bicep.

“All right there, Violet?” It’s Ethan. He pulls his hand away and offers a concerned frown.

“Great!” I chirp, even as I take a few extra steps to balance. “Hey, it’s okay if I made a different video for the walk-in tonight, right? Charlie and Gus were really funny doing that Chappell Roan trend. Charlie is so serious people are going to die of laughter.”

I’m flicking open the screen on my phone to show him when Ethan speaks.

“You mean you didn’t film the answers for ‘What’s your favorite pre-game snack?’” In our weekly department meetings, Ethan has only ever presented himself as someone who appreciates creativity and trying new things. He encourages us to be adaptable, make adjustments in the moment and for the current trends. But as he looks at me, I can’t tell if he’s upset I changed the plan. I scramble to make things right.

“I can do that. There’s still time to grab some of the guys.” I shove my phone in my back pocket, intent to turn around and make things right. “I’m sorry, I should have asked.”

Ethan waves a hand in between us, literally clearing the air as he gives me a tight smile.

“No, no, it’s all right,” he begins, shoving his hands in his pockets. His voice sounds calm, but there is a tightness around the corners of his mouth and eyes that makes me think maybe everything isn’t all right. “I think the ‘HOT TO GO’ trend is a good change. Just wish I had thought of it myself.”

I press my lips together in a forced smile. It still doesn’t feel like all is well, but maybe Ethan is just upset he didn’t think of the idea. I still feel too new, too unsure in this job, to let it go, so I push a little harder to make sure I haven’t messed up.

“So you’re not mad I changed direction and filmed something else?”

“I’d be kind of a terrible boss if I spent every week telling my team to go with their guts, only to turn around and get mad when someone actually does, wouldn’t I?” Ethan pushes his glasses further up his nose, and I see the way he shakes off the tension of the last moment. “I think it will be a great video, Vi. I’m excited to see how it performs.”

“Okay.” I breathe a sigh of relief. I start to move past him when he nods.

I wasn’t sure how I felt joining the social media department and working on anything other than analytics, but making this choice tonight felt empowering. It made me feel connected to the work and the team in an unexpected way. Having Gus and Charlie’s help—even if Charlie looked like a root canal would have been more fun—felt good. I felt supported, like maybe the guys on this team could be my friends.

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