2. Jocelyn
2
JOCELYN
Emergency calls to fix a client’s overnight blunders —or in this case, over-the-weekend errors in judgment— aren’t my favorite thing in the world. They’re panicky, reactive sort of deals where I spend half my time battling the person embroiled in the scandal and the other half debating with people who want me to fix it.
Not this time.
The Alpine Sports Entertainment Group handed over full control and offered me a massive paycheck. Enough to get me out of the big debt hole my jackhole ex left me with when he cleaned out our shared accounts a few years ago.
After that horrific experience venturing into the cutthroat world of content creation, I pivoted back to public relations and put my college degree to good use as a consultant specializing in fixing social media snafus. While I don’t love it the way I love dance, it pays the bills and I’m so close now to my savings goal.
All I have to do is restore the wider community’s faith in their fan favorite, Maddox Davies, the Colorado Frostwolves’ forward who went “buck wild” while crashing a bachelorette party.
That’s how I ended up spending my entire Sunday reviewing the footage and feedback of his foray into mild adult entertainment.
It was definitely professional research and not personal fascination that had me playing the clip on repeat, in slow motion, and from every angle I could find. I certainly didn’t enjoy noting the definition of his biceps and deltoids. And I didn’t get thirsty at the sight of his tight abdomen clenching and releasing with a faint sheen of sweat glistening on each crevice. I simply required refreshment. Especially when the flashing lights of the club outlined his half-hard chubby in full, shadowy, grainy glory for two-point-three seconds as he performed a rapid hip-thrusting and spanking motion.
It was work.
Though, clearly, not such a good look for a family-friendly brand. Still, I have to admit, the man can move.
And look damn good doing it.
Not the point, though.
My job is to restore faith in the wholesomeness of the Frostwolves’ brand. In Maddox’s brand, really.
Before the influx of inspired fans re-christened the left winger as “Mad Dong” thanks to the rather… ah, sizeable beast in his gray boxer briefs, Maddox’s public-facing social channels were a mix of dynamic highlight reels, golf course porn, and outings with friends and family. Occasionally, there were friendly shit-talking messages to other hockey players, but it seemed in all good fun.
I’ve definitely had more problematic clients to deal with in the past, so on the surface, this shouldn’t require too much spinning on my part. All I have to do is remind the public of who Maddox presents himself to be, but this time, with a twist.
I blink up at the hulking hockey player who’s gaping at me as I slide the fan-made sign onto the conference table and avoid staring too hard at him. The man is even more heart-stoppingly handsome in person with a lock of dark hair peeping out of his backwards ball cap to hang in those thundercloud gray eyes and a five o’clock shadow gracing his strong, square jaw. The rest of his hair curls out from under the back of his hat and I wonder briefly what it would feel like to slide my fingers through it.
Gosh, how long has it been since I last?—
No. Work. Job.
Many zeroes in my bank account.
Focus!
“Mad Dog,” he chokes out, correcting my usage of his new nickname. “But I’d prefer if you called me Maddox.”
“Maddox,” I say, testing the way his name rolls off my tongue.
He closes his eyes briefly, swallows, and nods once.
I’m trying to decide if the pained expression on his face means he’s going to be a pain in the ass about this process or not when the general manager stands.
“Nice to see you again, Jocelyn.” GM Anderson extends a hand to me, which I shake. “Maddox here understands what’s required of him and has agreed to do what’s necessary. You’ve got a week to do with him as you please.”
Maddox coughs. I press my lips into a firm line and blink.
“Care to go over the plan?” Ryan asks, leaning back in his seat.
“Plan’s simple,” I say, turning back to Maddox.
He stands with his massive arms crossed over his broad chest and his gaze firmly locked on the four-inch heels I specifically wore to bring me up to a respectable five-foot-five.
I continue, “We embrace it.”
Victoria blanches. “You can’t mean that.”
“I do.” I snatch up the remote and push play on the paused clip on the conference room TV.
Every head in the room turns to watch Maddox’s grinning face as he chucks his jeans into the crowd, lets out an enthusiastic whoop, and proceeds to make the seated woman scream in ecstatic glee.
“Not the strip tease portion so much, but the love of dance. We talk about the benefits that it’s had on his conditioning, flexibility and coordination. Maybe we do a spot on how his interest in dance got started. We showcase more clips of Maddox dancing, but while dressed, of course. In other words,” I spin on my heel as the clip ends. “We lean into it.”
I can see that they’re not convinced, so I splay my fingers on the table and lean forward.
“If we ignore it, this clip is what they’ll remember. Mad Dong is a name that will stick and you’ll be confiscating signs like this one—” I hoist the poster up again, “propositioning him for the rest of this season. Maybe into the next.”
“Are you sure about this?” Victoria directs her question to Ryan and GM Anderson.
GM Anderson drags a hand over his tired face. “It’s worth a shot. She’s the expert.”
“It’s smart,” Maddox says, lifting that storm-filled gaze to mine. “It may never fully override this clip, but it’ll normalize my dancing as simply something I enjoy doing and tie it into my on-ice performance.”
I ignore the funny feeling building low in my belly and offer him a wan smile. “Exactly. It’ll be normal. Not salacious.”
“And in a week, it’ll all blow over.”
“Sounds great. We’ll leave you to hammer out the details.” GM Anderson heads for the door and points at Maddox on the way out. “Remember, this woman is your shadow for the next few days.”
Ryan stands. “After this, we can get you back in the lineup where you belong.”
“Yes, Coach.”
“Don’t blow it, Davies.” Victoria adds, following after them.
“No, ma’am.”
I take in the way Maddox rises to answer, inclining his head as he answers the directives he’s been given. I like it. The respect and deference he shows tells me one thing.
Maybe he won’t be so troublesome after all.
I was wrong.
As soon as the doors shut, Maddox collapses into his seat, tucks his arms behind his head and spreads his legs wide. The languid, casual stance immediately sets me on edge and my eyes drop to his lap. Right to the space where his enormous thighs fall open and the outline of his?—
Nope. I pull out my phone and feel my face heat up as I try to find the plan ASEG already pre-approved. It’s in my email. Somewhere.
Clearing my throat, I curse myself when my voice comes out louder than I intend. “We’ve got a lot to cover today before we get started on public appearances and creating content for your personal channels. We’ve already started the campaign to restore your good standing, but we’ll be doubling down by incorporating dance into your local community service appearances and making clips and highlights out of them to share on social media.”
He makes a non-committal noise and runs his gaze over my breasts and belly, moving down, down, down. I’m not sure if he’s paying attention to what I’m saying or just studying my form.
Either way, my body flushes with heat and I grit my teeth. This is a job. He’s a… well, he’s not the client —ASEG is— but he’s still a no-go zone.
“You’re going to have to stop that,” I say, swallowing hard and refocusing on finding my proposed strategy document for tackling this particular problem. “It’s not appropriate.”
“Stop what?”
“That. The staring.”
“I’m just trying to figure you out.”
“Okay.” I stop scrolling through my phone and peer at him.
With him seated, we’re nearly eye-to-eye and I ignore the way my pulse picks up at his proximity.
“Let’s get this out of the way. I have rules against getting involved with clients,” I pause and my gaze drifts down to his firm mouth. “Besides, it’s creepy.”
“Is it?” His mouth quirks up and I catch a flash of a dimple in his right cheek. “I don’t have rules like that. And I didn’t think it was creepy when you were checking me out.”
God, I’m a sucker for a deep dimple.
No. No sucking nothing.
“I wasn’t checking you out,” I lie and feel the tips of my ears burn as I straighten.
“No? My mistake. Thought you were trying to get an eyeful of my goodies and I took it as an invitation to do the same.” He stands up and flashes that dimple again.
My thighs squeeze together, and I fight against the ache in my core. The quirk of his lips tells me he noticed.
Crap.
He draws close enough for me to get a whiff of him— breezy mountain air with a tinge of something spicy. Maybe aftershave?
“Fair game, and all. You’ve seen mine, so I thought I’d check out yours.”
I tip my head back, swallowing. Suddenly, I’m parched. I need a tall glass of water. Or a cold shower.
Or better yet, my magical magenta bunny vibrator.
“Y-you showed yours to the world. My seeing what you so proudly displayed is part of the job.” Words are flying out of my mouth. Are they making sense? Why am I admitting to having checked out his parts at all?
I shake my head to clear it and take a small step back, bumping against the table. What little distance exists between us isn’t enough for me to claw back control and my breath hitches.
“You don’t have to lie to me, you know. I can tell you’re curious.” His lips tip into a half-smile, but that divot still appears in his cheek as his voice drops into a low timbre. “It’s okay. I’m curious, too.”
“About what?”
“Where have you been for the last three years, Juicy T?”