Chapter 8 #2
“Hey! Are you Charlotte?” A twenty something blonde in a crop top with “TORRANCE IS THE GOAT” bedazzled across the front bounds in front of me with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever. “Torrance said Baylor’s new girl would be here, and I should be sure to say hi.”
“Hi. Yes, that’s me.” I extend my hand, mustering a smile. “And you are?”
“Sierra!” She clasps my palm in both of hers, her acrylic nails sharp against my skin. “Torrance and I have been together for eight months. Almost nine. It’s so crazy how time flies when you’re in love, right?”
“It really is,” I say, managing to suppress my middle-aged cynicism, but just barely. I do remember that time flew when I was in love, but mostly because Teddy was so hot and cold that it kept me in a constant state of anxiety.
“This is Luce.” Sierra gestures to the second woman—mid-twenties, dark hair in a sleek ponytail, wearing designer jeans and a Voodoo jersey knotted at her waist, showing off her toned stomach.
Luce’s smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes as she rasps, “Hey. I’m Zane’s girlfriend. He’s new. Offense. Just traded to the Voodoo this year. We saw the princess thing on Insta, by the way. So cute. Great publicity.”
“Thank you.” I glance around, wondering if I should find a seat or not. “It was for a good cause.”
“Come on, sit with us!” Sierra grabs my arm, bouncing us both to the closest couch.
“The couches are so much more comfortable than the other seats. And this way you can sit crisscross applesauce if you want.” She settles in beside me, kicking off her sandals before crossing her long, tanned legs.
“I have to get comfortable before I go live, or the vibes are all off.”
I blink. “Live?”
Luce settles on Sierra’s other side, pulling out her phone. “We’re doing a joint live story for the opener. Engagement has been insane this week, so we want to be sure to build on the momentum, you know?”
I make a vague sound of agreement. I have an active social media presence for the business—you can’t get away with ignoring social media these days—but it’s something I leave to my PR girl.
I have enough on my plate at work without worrying about creating content while I’m knee-deep in customer service and vendor wrangling.
Sierra angles her phone, checking her reflection in the camera. “Okay, so I’m thinking we chat about what it’s like in the WAG VIP room, show them the bar and everything. And then grab some of the warm-ups, especially the goalies humping the ice.”
Luce lets out a throaty laugh. “For sure. They can’t get enough of that shit.”
“What filter are you using?” Sierra’s lips turn down. “I feel like my usual is making me too pale. And my eyes look weird.”
“Yeah, that one doesn’t pop in this kind of light,” Luce says, scrolling through her phone. “Try the sun-kissed glam. We don’t want to look pale now that we’re bikini queens.”
“So true!” Sierra taps at her screen with a soft squeal. “I’m so glad One Hundred Degrees wanted us both! How perfect is that!” Seeming to remember, I’m alive, she glances my way with a smile. “We’re both influencers for our favorite swimsuit brand. I’m so psyched.”
“And it’ll give us a reason to stay bikini-ready through the season,” Luce agrees. “I’m determined not to let the holiday plump fuck me this winter. It cost me at least four figures last year, I swear.”
They dive into a conversation about engagement metrics, sponsored content, and ways to circumvent the new “bullshit algo that suppresses everything,” which sounds exhausting.
I work hard, but I honestly would rather be dragged naked across burning coals than have to worry about pleasing an algorithm.
Anyone who thinks the machines haven’t already won is kidding themselves…
I turn my attention to the ice, where the players are trickling out for warm-ups. I scan the jerseys, looking for Nix’s number.
My heart jerks as I spot him.
There he is, gliding across the ice with a mixture of confidence and grace that’s ridiculously sexy…
But then, mastery is always hot, and it’s obvious in the way he moves that he knows exactly what he’s doing on the ice. He knows exactly what he’s doing off the ice, too, a fact that has had me reaching for my vibrator more often in the past week than I have in months.
I wanted to go home with him Monday night with an intensity that was, frankly, a little scary.
Which is a problem.
I can’t afford to take my eye off the prize. Neither can he. And even when the reputation rehab and revenge portion of our arrangement is through, Nix and I are from two different worlds, a fact driven home by how uncomfortable I feel right now.
It’s not that Sierra and Luce aren’t nice—it was sweet of them to go out of their way to welcome me, when the other women seemed content to pretend I was a ghost—but I’m pretty sure we have nothing in common.
Aside from finding the guys we’re dating hot when they skate.
“God, that man,” Sierra murmurs, her gaze on the ice. “Torrance is so fire when he’s in uniform.”
I watch Nix take a shot, the puck flying past the goalie’s shoulder at roughly the speed of light. Yum.
“Okay, we should hit it,” Luce says, leaning forward to meet my gaze across Sierra. “You want to join us, Charlotte?”
Sierra squeals and claps her hands. “Oh, yes! You totally should! Give us your handle. Our followers will love you. You’re totally Posh Spice.
” She giggles. “I’m Baby Spice, and Luce is the sexy one, even though she has black hair instead of red.
I love Y2K-era girl bands, don’t you? I wish music were that awesome now. ”
“Um, yeah, they were fun,” I say, not quite ready to confess that I was in middle school when The Spice Girls were big.
Or that I wasn’t really a fan. Even in seventh grade, I was suspect of anyone marketing “girl power” in a short skirt and a baby tee.
But my mother was an advertising major with a minor in gender studies.
I was raised to be suspicious of advertising and wary of supporting any cause that I didn’t fully understand.
“But I’ll just go sit on the other side and stay out of your way,” I say, gathering my purse and pendant.
“Why?” Sierra asks, looking truly stumped.
“I’m not really active on my personal account,” I explain.
“Then use your biz account,” Luce says, with a shrug. “That’s fine.”
Sierra brightens. “Yeah! We have a huge local following, and a lot of them love to party. I bet you’ll get loads of new followers and new business, too.”
“It’s really okay,” I say, standing with a wince of apology. “I don’t do this kind of social media. I hate it, honestly. For me!” I hurry to emphasize. “I totally respect and admire what you’re doing, I just…can’t. I don’t have the patience for it.”
The temperature in the box drops twenty degrees.
Sierra and Luce exchange a look.
“That must be nice,” Luce says, her voice going silky-sweet in a way that makes it clear I have stepped in it. Royally. “To have the luxury of not having ‘the patience.’ For some of us, this is our livelihood. How we take care of ourselves. We have to keep posting, even on days when we hate it.”
“I’m sorry, that didn’t come out—” I start.
“And it’s not cringe. It’s really not,” Sierra chimes in, her golden retriever enthusiasm taking on a sharper, slightly manic edge. “And even if it were, sometimes you have to be cringe to succeed and like, escape the trap of late-stage capitalism and stuff.”
I nod, feeling worse with every word out of her trembling lips. “You’re so right. I didn’t mean to diminish you, Sierra. I promise.”
But she’s clearly past being able to hear me.
Unshed tears shine in her eyes as she says, “I used to work fifty hours a week bartending and barely made enough to pay rent. I went home every night exhausted and cried myself to sleep. And then I got sick with this horrible cold and got pneumonia, and they fired me. Fired me! Just because I was too sick to come in. If my mom hadn’t floated my rent until I got better, I would have ended up living in my car.
And if I hadn’t built this platform, I’d still be living like that, and it sucked. It really sucked.”
My throat squeezes tight. “I know. It’s awful. People shouldn’t be allowed to treat their employees that way. I’m so sorry.”
“Do you know?” Luce challenges, her hard smile fixed in place.
“If Sierra or I take a day off to just enjoy life and watch our boyfriends play, our engagement drops. Our value drops. And we don’t have a brick-and-mortar business.
We are our business and our product and everything else.
And we were offering you our trust and a draft from our social capital, and you just… sneered at it. Like, what the hell?”
I lift my hands in surrender. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I clearly need to be more thoughtful. I understand where you’re coming from, I really do, and…I’ll just be over there. Please, do what you need to do, with my full admiration and support.”
They turn back to their phones, and I slink away, cheeks burning.
None of the other women are looking my way, but I can’t fight the sense that they heard everything. And that they’ll be gossiping about it at their earliest convenience…
My phone buzzes. I grab it like a lifeline.
Makena: Update: Raccoon is now giving birth on the counter.
Makena: Elly is crying because she feels bad that it’s becoming a mom without a raccoon midwife to hold its hand.
Makena: I’m crying because birth is gross and scary, and I’m once again pretty sure I never want children.
Makena: ETA to the stadium: Never. This is where we live now.
In this parking lot. With the moaning raccoon and her afterbirth and her slimy little babies.
Waiting for the animal control guy. From now until the end of time.
Again, I am so sorry. How are you? Have you made friends?
Frederica is really nice. She’s the one with the really curly brown hair and fantastic laugh.