5. You can’t pimp out your hockey players. That’s not how it works.
5
"You can’t pimp out your hockey players. That’s not how it works."
Marissa Martin
There are few things in life I love more than road games. It’s like we’re all embarking on a road trip together, and when you throw hockey into the mix, the journey gets ten times more exciting. Whenever I can, I try to make the away games, especially the ones on the East Coast, since I don’t have to miss too many days of work. Celia, Beth’s cousin, will be providing reinforcement in the mornings, but I don’t like to leave for too long.
Right now, we’re on our way to Philly for the first game of three this week.
“You can’t match a Draw Four with another one, Adler,” Caleb Hawthorne scolds, his deep voice booming in the bus.
“Says who?” James says, shrugging.
“Ugh.” Caleb sighs. “You always do this. What’s the point of playing if you can’t follow the rules? You’d think you’d be better at it, given your occupation.”
We all laugh.
“It’s Uno. Just for fun,” James says, shaking his head. “Fine, I’ll draw four.”
“My turn.” Aaron adjusts his Raptors cap and plays another Draw Four card, drawing a roaring laugh out of everyone.
“Gee. How many of those are there?” I ask, drawing. We keep playing for the next hour. The game gets pretty rambunctious, everyone in it for the win. That’s how it is when you play with athletes, no matter what the game is.
James wins today’s game, which means he’ll be choosing where we eat tomorrow night when they’re off.
As soon as we arrive in Philly, the guys go straight for their morning skate, and I watch from the stands while catching up on some reading. I never interfere with practice or any of the preparation. My dad comes to sit with me sometimes, but I mostly read, wat ch the players on the ice, or listen to my dad’s speeches.
When my dad started coaching for the NHL, I was still in college, and I didn’t get to see him often. Then, when I started working, I missed him more and more every day. That, coupled with the fact that I hated my job and had just ended a disastrous relationship, eventually spurred me to relocate to New York with him when he took the Raptors job last season.
At the time, Aaron was playing for Detroit, the city where we went to college and where I started my corporate job afterwards. He moved to New York as well, and I love having the two of them close to me again. I don’t want to take these moments for granted, so even if there’s a lot of waiting around, going on road trips with them is a real treat.
Sometimes, Hayley comes along, but with Emma out of town with her fiancé, she couldn’t leave Alice to run the bookstore alone. So I’m solo for this trip. But I have a new hockey romance I’m dying to start, so it works out perfectly. Even if I do spend half my time frowning at how inaccurate some of the technical details are, it’s still my favorite trope.
The Raptors played a fierce game against Philly that ended 3–1 in our favor, and we’re happy to bag the first win of the trip. After Aaron scored an amazing goal, I’m even prouder to wear his jersey. As if I’d wear anyone else’s. Plus, hockey jerseys are great for hiding all my extra curves.
After the game, I hang out in the bus with my dad, waiting for the guys to leave the arena so we can go back to the hotel.
Dad’s eyes sparkle. “Had fun tonight, honey? I love it when you come to our road games.”
“I had a blast.” I smile, nodding. Even after all these years, and my evident love for hockey, my dad always makes sure I’m having fun when I come along. “It was a good game. And it’s so cool how hockey has a way of bringing people together. Did you see all the families they showed on the jumbotron?”
“I didn’t, but I love that it’s a family outing.”
“Let’s just be grateful they can’t hear the players’ language,” I say with a chuckle. Some of these guys have a pretty foul mouth. As I sit back, picturing all the families who filled the bleachers tonight, I inevitably think about Mom. I wonder if she’d come to the games if she was here. Frankly, I don’t really know what her relationship with hockey was. I bite down on my cheek. I consider asking my dad, but one look into his eyes, and I decide otherwise. My mom was the love of his life—the fact that he’s never even looked at another woman is proof of that—and I don’t want to make him sad. The fact that I’m alive is already a constant reminder for him.
A chorus of screams erupts from outside, startling me.
“Oh, here they come,” Dad says with a chuckle.
Indeed, a throng of screaming women outside the bus means hot hockey players are in the vicinity. I press my nose on the window, refraining from gagging at the way women shamelessly throw themselves at the guys, hoping for an autograph, a selfie, or something more. It’s disgusting. Thankfully, security steps in, trying to keep them at arm’s length. I mean, some of these girls even shove themselves in front of the little kids who are trying to get a picture with their idols.
A tall girl with long black hair is posing for a selfie with Aaron, who has his “pro athlete” smile on. It’s like his regular smile, but it has an edge to it. Not exactly forced, but not fully relaxed either. She places an arm around him and does the duckface—my cue to look away.
“Big crowd tonight, huh?” Jenna, the PR manager, says with a soft laugh.
“Oh, yeah.” I roll my eyes. “They all want a piece of the players. The women especially. Just look at that one,” I say pointing to a woman who’s almost kicking a small girl. “They’re invested, like their lives depend on it. You want fans to spend money on charity?” I add bitterly. “Promise them a night out with the players, and they’ll spend top dollar.”
“Hmm,” Dad says, and I whip my head toward him.
“I’m kidding, Dad. Obviously.”
“It’s not a bad idea, actually,” he says, rubbing his chin with his thumb.
“Not bad at all,” Jenna says, opening her notebook and scribbling in it.
“Dad, you can’t pimp out your hockey players. That’s not how it works.”
He bellows a laugh. “I’m not going to pimp them out , but what about a charity auction for a night with a player?”
I arch an eyebrow before returning my gaze to the sickening spectacle outside. “Still sounds a lot like pimping.”
“Not like that ,” he says. “But a dinner, maybe?” He glances at Jenna, who nods. “Where the winning fans could have their favorite players to themselves, in public, to ask them questions and talk with them.”
My eyes blink rapidly. “Um, I’m not sure.”
“It could work,” Jenna says, still furiously writing.
“There are a lot of businessmen who are hockey fans and have money to blow, but they want something unique. Not another vacation package they can already buy on their own. We need to give them something priceless.”
My pulse quickens as I try to find a way out of this. “Dad . . .”
“Thank you, honey.” He kisses me on the forehead as players start flooding into the bus. “You have a brilliant mind.”
Crap . Why on earth did I suggest that? He’s got a good point, and this could be a real moneymaker for the charity, but businessmen will probably have to up their game to win the auction against all those puck chasers out there.