7. He’s my piece of meat.
7
"He’s my piece of meat."
Marissa Martin
We’ve been back home for a couple of days now, and with the Raptors having lost their first game in seven, I know it’s going to be a tough morning for Aaron. Especially since his penalty gave the opponents the necessary advantage to score.
“Hey,” I say as he shuffles out of his room. Thankfully, he’s wearing a T-shirt in addition to his usual boxer shorts this morning.
“Hey,” he grumbles. “What do you want for breakfast?”
“It’s alread y waiting for you,” I say, stepping aside to reveal the kitchen bar fully set up. “I’m going in a bit later today so we can have breakfast together.”
His shoulders fall, and a faint smile teases his lips. “Marissa Martin, you’re the sweetest girl on the planet.” He draws me into a hug, and I temporarily escape into his deep, woody scent. I love how he smells in the morning, like fresh linen and cedar. Like home.
“You played well last night,” I say. “I’m still proud to wear Number 4.”
“Thank you.” He kisses my forehead—effectively blinding me for a minute. “Let’s have some breakfast. I’m starving now.”
I baked a fresh batch of blueberry muffins—his favorite—and whipped up some eggs, bacon, and hash browns to help him recuperate.
But when I place the plate in front of him, he doesn’t eat heartily, probably still sulking over their loss and the thousands of reasons he blames himself for it.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I say, looking him in the eye.
He scoffs, playing with his food. “Of course it was.”
Called it.
“It’s not. You were already one man down.”
“So were they!” he exclaims, his lower lip trembling. I guess that was true. A scramble in front of the goal resulted in double holding penalties on the s ame play. “If I hadn’t tripped Kolov behind the goal right after, they wouldn’t have had a four-on-three power play. This loss is on me, one hundred percent.”
“It’s part of the game, Aaron. You di—”
He balls his fist and slams it on the table. “I let my team down. It was impossible to defend like that. Good defensemen defend without ending up in the box every ten minutes.”
I know there’s no point in arguing about this, so I change the subject. “Read anything good lately?” Aaron is a bookish nerd like me, although he prefers thrillers to romance—and of course, he loves his mystery sleuths.
He lifts his head, his eyes now sporting a tiny glint. “I can’t believe I didn’t tell you. The new Jasper Inglewood came out a few days ago. Binged it. Loved it.”
And just like that, he’s back. Rambling about his favorite author, forgetting about his loss with every sentence. That’s the power of books, right there.
“Hey,” Beth says as I walk into Rise & Grind, eager to escape the cold. “How’s it going?”
The shop is empty, but most of th e pastries are gone from the window, which means she had a busy morning.
“Good. Sorry for coming in late. I’ll cover for the rest of the week.”
She waves a hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry about it. You’re always great when I need to help out my parents too.”
Beth’s parents own a catering business. She worked for them until we started this venture, but she still helps them from time to time.
“How is he?” she asks as I’m tying on my apron in the back room.
“Fine.” I sigh. “You know Aaron. He blames himself for the entire game, but it’ll pass. The charity auction will help get his mind off it.”
“Oh, fun. What are they auctioning?” she asks, her gray eyes sparkling.
The front door opens, interrupting our chat.
“Hey, guys,” Emma calls, stepping through the door. She’s the third owner of No Shelf Control and as much a coffee addict as a bookish girl. “Did you miss me?”
We both chuckle. “For sure,” I say with a smile.
We step out from behind the counter and give her a hug.
“How was Hollywood?” Beth asks while I start Emma’s coffee. “We saw Auston’s big win. He must be ecstatic.”
Emma’s fiancé is a big-time ac tor who starred in the movie they shot on our street last summer. Emma and Auston actually knew each other in high school and reconnected after over ten years apart.
“He is,” she says, offering one of her rare full smiles. “It’s not an Oscar, but it’s still a prestigious prize. He’s more determined than ever to go back on stage. And we had fun. We spent some time with his mom, and he showed me around the city. But honestly, LA is way too big for me. Besides, I missed you guys. And Mr. Darcy.”
Mr. Darcy is the bookstore’s resident cat, also known as the cutest creature alive.
“I bet.” I place her coffee in her hand.
Her blue eyes widen in anticipation as her gaze falls on the cup. “And I missed this coffee. Trust me, they don’t do it like this on the West Coast.”
We both laugh. As long as Emma Sterling lives, we’ll never go out of business.
“So, what’s up with you guys?”
“All good,” Beth says, chasing a blonde strand from her face. “Marissa was about to tell me about this charity event the Raptors are doing tonight.”
Emma sips her coffee. “Oh, what is it about?”
“Yeah, they’re auctioning off the players. Winners will get a supervised date where they can chat with their favorite players. It’s for the Creating Smiles Foundation.”
“Wow.” Emma nods. “That’ll draw in some big money for sure. Sounds pretty cool.”
“Or disgusting?” Beth frowns, pausing to apply some lip balm. “Feels a little weird, right? Or is it just me?”
I twirl the ends of my hair. “Maybe. We’ll see how it plays out, but I think it could be good for the charity, and that’s what matters.”
“Right.” She nods reluctantly.
“Do you guys want to come? I know Hayley will be there. It could be a fun girls’ night out.”
“I can’t.” Emma shakes her black hair. “Deacon and Alice are doing their monthly scavenger hunt date tonight. I said I’d take Lola out, and I don’t think a human auction is appropriate for a fourteen-year-old.”
I chuckle. “Maybe not.” I turn to Beth, arching my eyebrows.
She sighs. “Fine. I’ll come, but I’m not sure I’m fully supportive of this thing yet. Just FYI.”
“Ah, come on. It’ll be fun.”
I know my dad wouldn’t associate the team with anything sketchy, and if the PR departments from both the charity and the team agreed on the e vent, it’s sure to be fine.
Okay, I was wrong. Dead wrong. There’s nothing fine about what I’m seeing. Hundreds of people are gathered into a large event space, their paddles at the ready as they gawk at the long runway decorated in Raptors colors. Yes, a runway. On which the players walk, dance, and pretty much do anything to get their bid to go up. It doesn’t help that they have an inside bet going on over who will fetch the highest price tag.
Maxime just ended his round, and I don’t know how Hayley managed to stay calm given it was mostly women bidding on him—even just for a trip to a batting cage—each more gorgeous than the next.
“Are you all right?” I ask, turning to her. We’re sitting at a table toward the end of the runway.
She scratches her pink hair. “I’m not gonna lie. Seeing your boyfriend dancing on stage—even with his goofy moves—in front of screaming girls isn’t the best feeling in the world, but it’s for charity. And I know Max. I’m secure enough in our relationship to know that he only loves me. Frankly, it’s not that different f rom a regular game night. Girls are constantly throwing themselves at them.”
She’s got a point, and it’s a solid reason why I’ll never date a player. I can’t exactly compete with the beautiful women who seem to make up the majority of the Raptors’ fan base. I love eating way too much to match their tiny figures. And I do run a coffee shop with one of the best bakers in town.
“Well, I’m glad Lucas isn’t up there,” Beth says, crossing her arms as she leans back into her chair. “I’m definitely not secure enough in my relationship with him.”
Hayley and I exchange a glance, but we don’t say anything. No need to stir the pot. When I said I wasn’t a fan of her boyfriend, it wasn’t only because he plays for the Sharks. The guy has already cheated on her once—at least that we know of. But Beth is in love, and everyone knows how complicated relationships can be, especially when you’re dating a charismatic sweet talker.
“All right, Raptors fans,” the announcer says from the stage. “It’s time for our next player. Your number eight, left winger, also known as ‘The Hug’ by the fans. Give it up for Jaaaaames Adler.”
The music starts, and James struts onto the stage with his usual swagger. He’s wearing a dark blue suit that brings out his eyes, and both women and men are cheering him on, clapping as he makes his way down the runway.
“Last season, he scored fifty-two goals and did seventy assists,” the announcer says, and the crowd goes wild. “And let’s not forget he won the Art Ross Trophy three times during his career. If you win this bid, James will take you out to a nice dinner at one of his favorite restaurants.”
James encourages them by raising his arms up, and I can hear him saying, “come on.”
“All right, we’re starting the bid at one thousand dollars.”
James plays the crowd well, pointing to the bidders, throwing them kisses and dancing to bring the bids up.
“He’s a natural at this,” I say, turning to my friends, still clapping my hands.
Hayley nods, laughing, but Beth has her arms crossed so tightly, you’d think she was trying to smother herself.
I give my head a little shake, shooting her a curious look.
“It’s disgusting. Just look at them. Ugh.”
I smile, looking back at James, who’s clearly having fun. He’s well on his way to scoring the highest auction of the night. Two women are now battling it out. A forty-something redhead and a brunette whose updo is now completely disheveled. She doesn’t bother to adjust it, probably afraid to lose the bid. The bidding match continues for another ten minutes until the redhea d drops her paddle, leaving the brunette victorious.
Loud cheers and applause fill the room—except for Beth, who’s still screwed to her seat with her arms crossed—and James gives the winning woman a high five before exiting the runway.
Next, it’s Caleb Hawthorne’s turn. As the captain and most senior member of the team, he brings the bids way too high for an afternoon tea date.
The funniest is, no contest, Noah Wilcott. He just ambles on the stage in his Raptors gear, then stares into the distance, wearing his perpetual frown. He doesn’t play the crowd or encourage them to bid higher. He just stands there, occasionally glancing at people, clearly eager for this nightmare to be over. Unfortunately for him, the battle is raging once again. Everyone seems to like his cool-as-a-cucumber attitude. Not to mention his impressive goalie stats with several Vezina trophies and a 0.921 save percentage. Or maybe it’s the helicopter tour over New York that really does the trick? Although I’m pretty sure he only chose that activity because it requires so little talking.
Once the bidding closes, the announcer tightens his grip on the microphone. “All right, Raptors fans. It’s time to bring some defense to this game. What do you say?”
The crowd erupts into pandemonium , clapping and cheering.
“Give it up for your number four, Aarooonnn Miles!”
“Woo-hoo!” I cheer, standing up and applauding with pride.
Aaron struts onto the stage wearing jeans and his jersey, his Raptors cap on backwards, as usual.
He waves at the crowd and encourages them to clap and cheer louder.
“Another trophy holder last year for his first season with the Raptors, winning the James Norris Memorial trophy for Best Defenseman and a plus-minus rating of fifty-six!”
Aaron turns around, thumbs pointing down to the number on his back.
“If you win, you’ll get an exclusive ice cream date with Aaron. We’re starting at one thousand dollars. Do I have one thousand one hundred?”
Immediately, a tall girl with long black hair hops to her feet, waving her paddle. She’s followed by a bearded guy who’s already won one auction tonight. Another guy enters the mix, plus three other girls. The bidding continues for a while, Aaron encouraging the participants to up their bids, and I’m starting to understand what Beth was saying earlier. It is disgusting. These people are bidding on him like a piece of meat at the market.
Eventually, they start dropping o ut, and it’s now between Bearded Guy and Black Hair Girl. They go back and forth for a while. Then, it’s Bearded Guy’s turn, and he hesitates.
“Going once,” the announcer says, pointing at the girl who’s now squealing in excitement. “Going twice.”
I swallow hard, eyes fixed on the guy as sweat beads under my shirt. No, come on, man! Raise your paddle! But he doesn’t.
I fly to my feet, raising mine. “One thousand three hundred dollars.” He’s my piece of meat.
“Oh, we have a new entrant,” the announcer says, and all eyes are now on me.
“What are you doing?” Beth whispers, tugging at my shirt.
“I’m the coach’s daughter,” I whisper back. “I have to represent.”
“Do you even have that kind of money?” she hisses, and I choose to ignore her. That’s totally beside the point.
My opponent hasn’t said her last words yet, and the battle is on. I fix my eyes on the announcer, afraid I’ll lose the bid. In my peripheral vision, I can see Aaron’s head moving between the girl and me like he’s watching a tennis match. I don’t even know what amount I’m bidding on now, and I don’t care. All I care about is winning.
I finally risk a glance toward hi m. His brows are furrowed, and he doesn’t look too happy about the situation. My mouth goes dry. Of course he’s not happy. He’s probably wondering why his friend is sabotaging him. What am I doing? Hoping to win the date. And then what? Going out for ice cream with Aaron won’t change anything. Except maybe break my heart a little more.
I glance at the other girl. She’s gorgeous. Tall and thin. Everything I’m not. And even if we made it clear this wasn’t a matchmaking auction, they would look good together. What if she’s the love of his life, and I’m ruining his chance with her? The look on his face certainly conveys that.
“Going twice!” the announcer bellows, bringing me out of my thoughts. He’s looking at me intensely, and I suck in a breath. This is my last chance to bid.