Chapter 4
Ronan
“What the hell would I need that sponsorship for? I have plenty of money.” I say into the phone, a grimace on my face as I grab my bag from the locker.
I’m ready to get home after the grueling morning skate.
Dante sighs.
“It’s not about the personal check. They’ve been trying to get you signed for months.
” Dante says, his voice gruff and deep. Over the phone you would think he’s a big meathead from the sound of his voice.
In reality he’s tall and lanky and the smartest dude I’ve ever met.
He’s the only one I trust with Sandy’s Happy Donuts.
“They’ve offered to match the current student athlete scholarship funding and host the charity gala this year… with their guest list.”
I stop in my tracks. Ryan bumps into my back with an oomph but I don’t move.
“You’re saying this could make what… millions of dollars for the foundation if I just… pose in my underwear for a photo shoot?” My words are slow, my brain still trying to understand them as I speak.
“Well, I won’t lie, Ronan. It will be a little more than posing for one photoshoot. It’s going to be an ongoing campaign that will earn them as much money as they’ll be willing to donate, probably twice as much.” Dante says through a crunch. He’s always eating those damn almonds.
I’ve had plenty of sponsors. Sports drinks and hockey gear.
I guess underwear does fall under the umbrella of what is technically appropriate for athletes.
Alli has warned me not to dilute my brand, since goalies can generally have longer careers than other positions.
The benefit for the foundation alone is enough to make me sign.
“I’ll make sure their entire offer is in writing before we sign anything.” He adds. I hear the clicking of his pen as he waits for my answer.
“Alright, fine. I’ll do it.”
“Thank the Lord. I’ll tell your agent so he can stop hounding me to convince you.” Dante laughs.
“Ah, I’ll tell Ford to leave you alone.” I chuckle.
“It’s a good move. You’ll be happy with the results, I’m sure.
” He reassured me again. We say goodbye and I hang up.
Immediately sending three huge gift baskets of almonds to his business address.
It’ll annoy him to have a big display but he’ll eat them regardless.
I shove my phone in my pocket. Ryan and Fitz stand there with their arms crossed, wearing matching smirks.
“What?”
“Posing in your underwear, huh?” Fitz says and bounces his brows. I roll my eyes.
“You’re just mad they didn’t ask you. Not my fault they have impeccable taste.” I grin and lift my shirt to show off my abs.
“Hey, my abs are great.” Fitz shows off his own. We both turn our heads to Ryan to be the decider. Just as Coach King comes out of his office. He glances between the three of us. Fitz flushes from his neck to his fade.
“Uh, we were just—“ Fitz stutters through his sentence, embarrassed. Fucking delightful.
“It’s exactly what it looks like.” I interrupt just to make Fitz turn even redder. He does. Like a little tomato.
He shoots me a glare.
I wink at him.
Ryan just hides his laugh behind his hand.
“I don’t need to know what you all do in your own time.” Coach waves an inked arm through the air and heads down the hall in the opposite direction.
As soon as he turns the corner, Ryan and I double over in laughter.
Fitz throws his slide at me. It hits my back with a loud thwack.
“Ow! Hey, only Emalyn gets to throw shoes at me.” I manage to say through my laughter. It only intensifies when Fitz flips me off and stalks off.
Ryan and I take our time collecting ourselves.
“Want tacos?”
“Lower your voice.” I shush him with a finger to my lips, glancing around for Coach or the team nutritionist. Ryan looks over my shoulder, not even trying to be inconspicuous. I swear, he still acts like a rookie. “But yes.”
“Cool. Do we need disguises? I really want to go to Sebastian’s. Like, I don’t even care if Coach is there, I’ve been craving it so bad.” Ryan says, patting his stomach in emphasis.
Normally, if I got caught doing something I wasn’t supposed to, I’d just own up to it. But disguises seem like more fun. Especially since he’s still scared of Coach King and won’t take much convincing to wear the wig in my trunk from last Halloween.
“Absolutely.”
****
Ryan looks ridiculous. And I'm here for it. He glances around as we approach Sebastian’s. It’s a popular spot and people from the Bruisers come here all the time. Hopefully, no other players will be there since we are in the playoffs.
“Name?” The hostess asks from behind her desk. I see her fighting to keep the smile off her face as she glances at Ryan.
He can’t stop shaking his head when he talks, making the shoulder length pink wig wiggle and shift. My hat is pulled low over my sunglasses as Ryan gives the name we reserved a table under.
“Emalyn Espinosa.”
The hostess blinks twice at him.
“That’s… you?” She glances between us. I snort when her gaze lands on him again. Somehow, he keeps a straight face as he brushes a strand out of his face.
“Yes.”
I roll my lips together as we are led to a table in the private room.
There are a few other tables in the room but thankfully they’re empty.
I didn’t think to reserve the whole room.
All of this for tacos… worth it. Ryan sits with his back to the door and I keep my hat and glasses on.
His wig hits him in the face as he scoots his chair forward.
“Why did I need the wig again?”
“Because everyone knows I wouldn’t be eating with any other girl besides Emalyn or Alli.
Especially here. This way no one would put two and two together.
” I say slowly like he’s not getting it.
In reality, I just wanted him to wear the wig.
As he lifts a queso loaded chip to his face, I snap a picture of him before he protests.
“Bro! You did not!” Chip crumbs fall from his mouth. I tsk.
“Not very lady like of you.” I chide. He rolls his eyes and slurps his drink.
The hostess comes back with what sounds like a small group of people behind her.
“I’m telling you, there was no need to order ahead. It’s not like anyone you know is going to be here in the middle of the playoffs.” A familiar voice says lightheartedly.
“You never know, Alli. We should’ve ordered it to go.” I hear a distinct Texas accent say. Ryan’s wide eyes snap to mine. Tate. Shit.
“Uncle Ronan?” My nephew, Matty, asks his voice an octave higher with confusion as he glances between Ryan and I. Ryan’s head is turned away so they can’t see his face.
“Uh, hey Matty.” I say. Emalyn, who just entered behind the group, whips her head toward me.
“Hey, Sunshine.” I grin.