Chapter 12 Josie
Josie
As annoying as the situation was with Grayson, I was enjoying the side benefit of my TikTok channel exploding in popularity.
Aside from working or sleeping, I was spending every single minute of free time recording, editing, and publishing new videos.
My fifteen minutes of fame would probably end after our date tomorrow night, and I wanted to make as much money as I could before my life returned to boring normalcy.
It felt good to be succeeding at my side-hustle. Making some legitimate money rather than watching every video fizzle out with only a few views. For the first time in my life, I had a sense that I was actually progressing toward my goals, rather than just scraping by.
When the camera view showed Grayson, I reached for the remote and unmuted my TV. “You can tell he’s trying to rally the team,” the broadcaster was saying. “Not an easy task considering the hole they’ve dug themselves.”
Grayson skated off the ice and onto the bench, gesturing animatedly. He put his head together with one player, giving him encouragement, before turning to another. He pointed out on the ice and said something fierce, with a powerful intensity in his eyes. He looked like a leader.
“And that’s a five-minute major penalty!” the announcer said excitedly. “The Surge needed that break. They have to take advantage of the opportunity to score on this power play.”
I didn’t watch much hockey, but I knew that a power play was when a team had to play with one fewer man. The Surge had six players on the ice, while the other team only had five.
Grayson immediately went up to the coach and tapped him on the chest. The two of them spoke for a moment, then the coach gestured to the ice. Grayson shoved his mouth guard back into his mouth, then sprinted back onto the ice.
The camera stayed on him as the game resumed.
I leaned forward on the couch, transfixed by the scene.
Grayson looked so intense, like an animal that was hunting for its dinner.
A teammate passed him the puck, and he deftly weaved between two defenders before passing to another Surge player, who immediately shot at the goal.
The puck was a black blur, impossible to track until it hit the back of the net.
“GOAL!” the announcer cried.
I realized I’d been tensing all my muscles while watching the play.
I leaned back and relaxed. I didn’t really like hockey, I reminded myself.
It was just more interesting when I had a personal stake in the result.
The better the Surge did, the more ratings they received, which meant more views for my videos.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
“That’s a power play goal for rookie Mason Calder, with an assist from the captain, Grayson Steele,” the announcer said. “And you have to wonder what the captain said to the young rookie right before the play.”
“Whatever it was,” the other announcer replied, “it worked. That’s why he wears the C on his jersey.”
I watched the players celebrate together in a huddle, then I muted the TV and returned to editing videos. The period ended a few minutes later, the players exiting the ice to head down to the locker room. The broadcast went to commercials.
I had just gotten into a good groove on my work when I got a text message. It was from an unknown number, but it was immediately obvious who the sender was.
Grayson: What are you wearing for our date tomorrow?
I felt a tingle of surprise, and excitement. Was he really texting me right now, in the middle of the game?
I considered ignoring him, but curiosity got the better of me.
Me: How did you get my number?
Grayson: Magic.
Grayson: The marketing department gave me your info. What are you wearing tomorrow?
Me: Why do you need to know what I’m wearing?
Grayson: Can you just answer my question without getting all defensive?
Me: Sorry, I always act defensive around selfish assholes who spent our entire last date insulting me.
Grayson: For fuck’s sake.
Grayson: Bob the Marketing Dipshit wants us to coordinate our outfits. Our wardrobe department has to pick out my clothes.
Me: You have an entire department dedicated to dressing you? What are you, a toddler?
Grayson: You have no idea. Any time I’m at a public event, everything I wear is chosen for me. From my shoes to my shirt. Literally everything is sponsored. We have an official team necktie, if you can believe it. I get fined if I wear any other brand.
Me: Don’t you have a game to play right now?
Grayson: It’s intermission. And I’ve got an army of interns breathing down my neck about this because apparently you’re ducking Bob’s calls.
Me: Because I’m busy. Bob the Marketing Dipshit, as you so eloquently called him, is annoying.
Grayson: Hey, look at that. We finally agree on something.
Me: I’m probably going to wear a pair of low-rise jeans and my Tim Duncan jersey. Is that good enough, or do you need to know what bra and underwear I plan on wearing, too?
Grayson: It couldn’t hurt. Send me a few photos, just so I get the picture.
Me: Pervert.
Grayson: Prude.
I smirked at the screen. Our banter was still far from friendly, but it lacked the venom from our last few interactions. Granted, it was tough to gauge tone over text message.
I considered returning to my work, but it gave me a strange thrill to be texting the man I had just watched on TV.
Me: Good luck in the second period. Maybe you’ll score an actual goal, rather than just an assist.
Grayson: You’re watching the game? I thought you hated hockey.
Me: I have it on in the background in case they mention the contest or our date.
Grayson: Or you can’t keep your eyes off me.
Me: Don’t flatter yourself. I wish they would show your teammate more. That Mason guy. He’s cute.
Grayson: He’s practically a baby.
Me: He scores goals. They’re much sexier than assists.
Grayson: Clearly you know nothing about hockey.
Me: I know that everyone congratulated him after the goal, not you.
Grayson: Being a leader means helping my team, rather than hogging the spotlight.
Me: Spoken like someone who can’t score.
Grayson: I’ve got to go. Keep watching. I’m gonna steal the puck from number twelve and score in the first minute. And when I have a big grin afterward, I want you to know it’s because I proved you wrong.
A minute later, the commercials ended and the players returned to the ice. I put my laptop away and got a beer. I was now a lot more invested in this game than I was before, and I wanted to devote my full attention to watching Grayson fail.
One player from each team faced off in the middle of the rink, sticks held at the ready. The referee dropped the puck between them, and they scrambled for possession as the second period began.
The other team got the puck first. They passed it around while the Surge players went on the defensive, with Grayson gliding around the top of the screen.
Number twelve on the other team received the puck, and Grayson pounced like he had been waiting for it.
He deftly sliced his stick between the other player’s legs, stealing the puck so fast I could hardly believe it.
No way.
Before he could get far, an opposing player slammed him into the wall so hard that the crowd collectively gasped. Grayson crumpled to the ice, putting a hand on his helmet to steady himself.
Once he got up and started skating again, I smiled. Hah! Cocky asshole. I couldn’t wait to gloat about it during our date tomorrow.
Over a minute had passed in the second period, so his prediction hadn’t come true. I quickly shot off another text.
Me: I know you don’t have your phone on you, but I wanted to let you know I just watched you get absolutely smashed into the wall. You didn’t smile, but that hit put a smile on MY face! Thanks for that.
I almost felt bad gloating about it. Almost.
I reached for the remote control, but before I could mute the TV, the crowd roared with excitement. Grayson had the puck and was sprinting across the ice as fast as he could. He juked one defender, dribbled the puck two more times, then fired it at the goal with a loud SLAP.
Wincing, I didn’t need to see what happened. The scream from the home crowd told me he had scored.
“Shit!” I cursed out loud.
“That’s a goal from the captain, Grayson Steel!” the announcer exclaimed. “With an assist from Jerome Haskonen.”
“He looked determined to shoot the puck there,” the other announcer noted. “He had another teammate free on the breakaway, but never considered passing.”
“That’s the mark of a great leader,” the first announcer said. “Knowing when to pass, and knowing when to take the shot yourself. And he’s all smiles about it now!”
The camera zoomed in on Grayson as he celebrated with his teammates. Sure enough, he was flashing a perfect white smile like he was in a freaking toothpaste commercial.
I turned the TV off and grabbed my laptop. He was going to be insufferable on our date tomorrow.