Chapter 40
Josie
“ROMANTIC AFFAIR, OR DISASTROUS DISTRACTION?”
That was the headline of the TMZ article on the other passenger’s phone. I snatched it out of his hand and began scrolling.
At the top of the article was a series of photos from my dates with Grayson. And they weren’t photos taken by Manny and posted by the Surge’s social media team.
One showed us drinking mimosas at brunch, with a red circle around the bottle of champagne.
Then there was a photo of us at the Italian restaurant, a glass of red wine raised to Grayson’s lips.
The last photo was of us in the hotel bar in Edmonton, my head resting on Grayson’s shoulder.
“What the hell?” I said. “How did they get these photos of us?”
“You’re dating a famous hockey player,” the other passenger said, taking his phone back. “What did you expect?”
I immediately played the first voicemail on my phone. It was from Sharon.
“Uhh, Josie? Honey? You’re blowing up right now, and not in the good way. They just showed your photo on the local news. Call me when you get this.”
The second voicemail was from one of my cousins who I hadn’t spoken to in over a year.
“Hi Josie, it’s Mary. The weirdest thing just happened.
I was getting brunch in St. Paul with my sorority sisters and one of them started talking about hockey.
She showed me a photo of some athlete down in Texas, and I swear the woman he’s on a date with looks like you.
Anyways, if it is you, can you hook me up with a date with one of his teammates?
I’m single again, I don’t know if you heard from Uncle Jack, and I’m thinking of coming down to visit… ”
“Excuse me?” the man next to me said, gesturing at the aisle. “Can we please leave?”
I mumbled an apology, grabbed my bag, and fled from the plane. It felt like everyone in the airport was staring at me, though I knew it was just my imagination.
Except when I passed an airport restaurant, I saw one of the TMZ photos plastered on the TV above the bar.
Shit.
Shit shit shit.
I took an Uber home while scrolling through TikTok comments on my phone. There was a ton of engagement on my videos in the past three hours, and it was not the good kind.
“This is why you don’t sleep around before a playoff game.”
“THAT’S who Grayson’s dating? He can do better.”
“I picked the Surge to win last night. You owe me $100.”
“I hope you fucking kill yourself, you fucking bitch.”
I hastily closed the app after reading that last one. What the hell?
I quickly searched for the TMZ article. It wasn’t hard to find.
The article was a scathing criticism of Grayson, accusing him of partying the day before a playoff game.
There were more photos further down the page.
One of them was from the game, showing Grayson sitting on the bench, twisting around to look over his shoulder at me in the crowd.
“Where’d you fly in from?” the Uber driver asked me.
“Edmonton,” I said absently while reading the article. They had the nerve to blame me for the loss!
“Hope you didn’t fly there for the hockey games,” the Uber driver muttered.
“Glad we won the first game, but last night was rough. Shows how young and inexperienced this team is. Going out drinking, partying with hookers. I hope the coach tears them a new asshole. Gets them in line before game three.”
“Hookers?” I blurted out. “What do you mean, hookers?”
“Maybe not literal hookers. But they’re the next closest thing.” He put on his turn signal and changed lanes. “You know the kinds of women who go after hockey players. They’re only interested in one thing. I thought Steele was smarter than that.”
My phone rang. It was an unknown number, and I answered it to make the Uber driver stop talking. “Hello?”
“Josie Harper? This is Christina, I’m with FanDuel. The online gambling site. I don’t know if you received my voicemail from this morning, but I was wondering if you will be attending game three between the San Antonio Surge and Edmonton Oilers later this week.”
“What… why do you care?”
“Your presence is affecting the betting odds for the game. The Surge are currently favored by half a goal, but if you’re attending and sitting behind the bench again, we may choose to shift the odds.”
Oh my God. Did people actually believe this kind of bullshit?
I hung up, and immediately called Grayson. He didn’t answer, so I texted him asking if he’d seen the news. Although I don’t know how he could have remained ignorant unless he was still sleeping.
When I got home, I opened my laptop and began deleting comments on my videos.
The last thing I wanted was for my actual viewers—the ones who watched my channel for the makeup tips—to see all the hate I was receiving from rabid hockey fans.
For a while, my mouse moved back and forth on the screen. Select comment, delete. Select, delete.
But it was all too much. After spending half an hour deleting at least two hundred comments, I refreshed my metrics page and saw that I had a hundred new comments on various videos. It was like playing whack-a-mole, except the game was rigged against me.
I wondered how all of the hate would affect my views and sales. It was too early to tell, since the TMZ article had only been live for a few hours. Maybe it wouldn’t change anything.
But I couldn’t shake this feeling of dread.
In between deleting batches of comments, I continued texting Grayson. By mid-afternoon, it was obvious that he was ignoring me. A thought came to me, one that sent a chill up my spine: did he believe what everyone was saying? Did he blame me for his poor performance in the game?
No. He’d explicitly told me that it wasn’t my fault. He was probably just busy. After all, he was the hockey player in this situation. If the media shitstorm was bad for me, it was probably much worse for him.
While I deleted more angry comments on my videos, I considered my options. I could release a video on my channel defending myself. Or I could apologize. I had nothing to apologize for, but it was worth doing if it stopped the firehose of hate that was currently blasting me in the face.
Before I could make a decision, it was time for me to go to work.
The Spurs had their own playoff game tonight against the Lakers, and I had to be at the arena two hours before the game.
Sharon gave me a long hug when I got there.
For once, I was looking forward to shutting off my brain and serving beer to customers for several hours.
I was afraid some of the fans would recognize me and call me out. Fortunately, nobody did.
But after an hour of working, I was back to obsessing over what had happened. I told my boss I had to use the restroom, then went upstairs to the suite level. One of the security guards tried to stop me from entering the owner’s suite, but then one of the employees recognized me and let me inside.
Bob Trent was sitting at his desk by the wall. He glanced up at me, then continued typing on his laptop. “There she is. The internet’s newest punching bag.”
I strode over to him and said, “This is not my fault. Those photos were from dates that you made me go on. You’re the one who scheduled them between two playoff games.”
“And the photo of you two snuggling at the bar?” he asked without looking up. “Did I make you do that, too?”
I held my head up high. “None of this is my fault. I didn’t even want to go to Edmonton. How do I fix this?”
“How should I know?”
“You’re the head of marketing. Can’t you do some, I don’t know, damage control?”
Bob sighed, then leaned back in his chair and faced me. “I know this sucks for you. I’m sorry. But the best thing you can do is nothing.”
“Nothing? I’m getting fucking death threats online, and you want me to just ignore them?”
“Yes,” he said bluntly. “Ignore them. Lay low for a few days. Outrage culture has a famously-short memory. The internet’s attention will move on if you let it.”
Everything he said made perfect sense, but it wasn’t satisfying. “Grayson has been ignoring my texts.”
Bob snorted. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re in the middle of a playoff series. Grayson Steele is a busy man. Don’t read into it too much. Unless there’s more to that photo of you two cuddling than you’re letting on.”
His eyes bore into mine, daring me to deny it.
“Lay low,” he repeated. “Do your job, turn off your phone notifications, and wait for all of this to blow over. I promise you, it will. Then you’ll be able to go back to your regular life.”
He bent back over his laptop, forgetting all about me.
I thought about his advice while walking downstairs to my beer station. Back to my regular life. A month ago, that’s all I wanted. To put all of this bullshit behind me. But now, the thought filled me with profound sadness.
My old life was boring. I was a fucking beer girl with a TikTok side hustle, who was lucky if I got a hundred views on a video.
Even though I had resisted it at first, winning that contest was one of the best things to ever happen to me.
The past couple of months had been exciting, giving me a taste of something better.
I couldn’t go back. Not now.
Sharon gave me another hug when I returned. “I’m sorry. I know this sucks. I promise it will blow over in a few days. Just put your head down and try to ignore all the negative attention you’re getting.”
“That’s more or less what Bob just told me.”
“It’s good advice.” She sighed. “This reminds me of when my entire high school found out I kissed Lacy Johnson’s boyfriend.”
“Except I didn’t do anything wrong!”
“Hey, neither did I!” Sharon replied. “I was single. I didn’t cheat on anybody. Besides, he was the star quarterback, and super hot. What was I supposed to do? Not make out with him at Ariel’s Halloween party?”
In spite of everything, I laughed.
There was a rush of customers right before the game started, and then it slowed to a trickle. For the first two quarters of the basketball game, I got into a groove serving beer to fans. I even managed to stop feeling sorry for myself about everything.
But during halftime, the TV mounted on the wall near our station switched to coverage of a press conference.
There was a podium set up with a bouquet of microphones, with the Surge logo on the wall in the background.
It must have been the training facility where the team worked out when the Frost Bank Center was in use.
My heart skipped a beat when Grayson approached the podium. He was wearing a suit.
“Hey, it’s your boyfriend!” Sharon said. “See? I told you not to worry. He’s probably going to defend you and set the record straight.”
For a few seconds, I believed her.
But that’s not what happened when Grayson began to speak.