Chapter 4
TOTAL BALLER MOVE
Ryker
I hate this shit. More than I hate when someone writes could of instead of could have.
But there are worse things than a sloppy they’re or their.
Like, say, PR events. Followed by press interviews after games I’ve lost. And topped by fan meet-and-greets that are actually more like probation for being bad.
Don’t get me wrong—I love fans. But I detest public appearances.
I blame my ex Selena, who soured me for the press for all time. Which means I don’t like the media or anything related to it. Like…tonight.
Trouble is, my agent said I need to be nicer.
Outside the locker room before a game last month, Josh’s exact words were, “Lately, you’ve been coming across like a world-class asshole in the press.
Maybe use your words once in a while rather than acting like a caveman.
It helps the team. It helps the public image. It helps, gasp, you. And your family.”
That night, when hockey reporter Bryce Tucker asked me to talk about how I felt after a bad tripping call, I used my words all right. One word. I said, “Shit-tastic.”
And I stalked out of the pressroom.
Trouble is that sneaky fucker turned my comment around, reporting that I had called the officials shit-tastic. And then he dubbed me the King of Grunts. That was fun.
The Avengers PR guy, Oliver, called Josh, and Josh told me I needed to work on my rep, stat, starting by doing a fan event with the star of the Sea Dogs when we played our enemies on the ice, and ending with a photo op with the same VIP winner at the Hockey Hotties calendar kickoff a few weeks after that.
“It’s the fastest way to show you’re not a dick. By consorting with the rival.”
I believe my words to Josh were kill me now.
But Chase loves fan events. Chase loves the press. Chase loves everything. Hell, the Golden Retriever even loved high school, and no one loves high school.
So, here I am, slapping on my smile as I hold open the door to the limo for the woman we’re entertaining tonight. “After you…”
I trail off because I don’t remember her name. Guess I am an asshole.
“Trina,” Chase corrects with an eye roll, sliding into the limo right behind her.
Dick.
Besides, I thought some hardcore fan named Jasper won the tix.
That was what Oliver told me a couple weeks ago, so I was expecting an amateur hockey analyst type to show up at the bench for the pre-game photo op, giving me super-useful advice, like “Dude! Why didn’t you get that goal in the second period in the game the other night?
I totally could have gotten that goal. Shoulda skated faster. ”
But I didn’t expect a woman who’s fit.
A woman I stared at for far too long before, during, and after that photo shoot, so much so that I didn’t pay attention when Gianna said her name.
But damn, as she scoots into the limo, takes off her jacket, and sits in the back seat, Trina’s hard to look away from with that heart-shaped face and those cat-eye red glasses. Is that a tiny cherry drawing on the frame? That’s adorable and sexy at the same time. Translation: my downfall.
Plus, she’s got a spray of freckles across her nose. And don’t even get me started on those pretty lips.
Except, I fell for Selena right away because of her looks. Where did that get me? Getting crushed by a woman who stabbed me in the back and slashed my heart.
Relationships suck. Romance is a lie. The human race is doomed. Case closed.
But I suppose Josh is right. Can’t hurt for me to be un-surly now and then. Un-surly pays the bills much better than surly does, and that helps me take care of my mom and sisters—something I intend to do always. I will never put my mom in a position where she has to make hard choices ever again.
“Trina’s a nice name,” I mutter, but I’m not sure she hears since she’s busy whipping her head back and forth, seemingly hunting for the seat belt. Then, she finds it as I take the long seat along the side of the stretch limo.
“I didn’t expect to see this,” she says, strangely delighted at the presence of a…seat belt. She doesn’t put it on though. Just kind of regards it. “I didn’t think limos had seat belts.”
“They weren’t required to for a long time,” I answer.
That piques her interest. Tilting her head, she asks, “How did they get out of that before? Having a seat belt?”
I strip off my suit jacket and set it on the leather seat. “Technically, a stretch limo was considered a bus for a long time. If it seated more than ten people, or had backward-facing or sideway-facing seats, it was a bus.”
“Even if it didn’t quack like a bus?” Chase counters.
“But the California Seat Belt Law came along, so here we are,” I say, not taking his joke bait.
Trina looks at me like I’m an oddity found in a parlor of the weird. “How do you know the California Seat Belt Law?”
“Looked it up when I got my youngest sister a limo for prom a few years ago. Had to make sure Katie and all her friends were safe, even if the guys they went with were little shits,” I say, shaking my head in remembered annoyance.
“Why were they little shits?” Trina asks. She can’t stop asking questions. Maybe she’s a secret reporter. Ah, hell. I really hope she’s not.
I stare her down. “Are you actually a reporter?” I ask, not answering her question. “Because you ask a lot of questions.”
“Dude. Settle down. She’s not a reporter. And don’t be such a sore loser,” Chase chides.
I narrow my eyes. “You hate losing too.”
“No shit. But not the point. Anyway, Trina works at a bookstore.”
How does he know that? Also, cool. “Yeah? Which one?” I ask, intrigued.
“At An Open Book over on Fillmore,” she says, a little defensively. “I’m a manager there.”
Love that store. Frequent it a lot. But I’m not gonna tell her. I don’t want to let on that I am an oddity. The defenseman who got all A’s in school. Who listens to grammar and word podcasts. Who reads all sorts of fascinating shit on how the world works.
I had to do that. I didn’t know if hockey would pay the bills, and I needed a way to take care of my mom and sisters.
“And while I may not be a reporter, I am just naturally curious. I’m an investigator. And I bet you’re the challenger.”
Great. She’s one of those personality-test people. Which means she’s a people person. Which means she’ll try to actually understand why I’m a such-and-such personality. Which means she’ll want to know who fucked me up as a kid.
Like I’m going to tell anyone about my dad.
Easier just to answer her question. “Here you go. Teenage boys are little shits because they’re horny bastards. Like the guy who took my sister to prom and stared at her chest the whole time.”
Chase drops his head in his hand, laughing. “I remember him. You called him Boner Boy.”
“He always had a pillow on his lap when he came over,” I grumble.
“Well, at least he was trying,” Trina says, seeming to fight off a smile.
Chase raises his face. “Also, not all teenage boys are little shits. My little brothers aren’t,” Chase says, pride in his tone. He looks out for those turkeys like they’re his own.
“But I bet they’re horny for all the girls. And you’ve had to give them the ‘no means no’ and consent talks,” I point out, since his dad isn’t around to do that either, though for vastly different reasons than mine.
“Well, Jackson is gay, so he’s not horny for teenage girls.”
“I know, man. But you get my point,” I say, exasperated, turning to our VIP guest. “I just don’t trust anyone around my little sisters. Ergo, the seat belt law.”
“I don’t think a seat belt was the protection they needed at prom,” Trina stage whispers.
Cracking up, Chase offers her a hand to high-five.
Clenching my jaw, I yank my seat belt as hard as I can and put it on. “Put yours on too,” I bark at my friend.
With his charming smile that wins over fans, women, and reporters, Chase pats Trina’s shoulder.
“Don’t worry about him. He has the manners of a Rottweiler.
But I can translate Ryker speak. What he means to say is, ‘I’m secretly a softie and I don’t want a thing to happen to you especially while you’re out with us, so would you please put your seat belt on? ’”
With an amused shake of her head, Trina complies. “Only because Captain Bossy asked nicely,” she says to Chase, flashing him a cute grin.
I look away.
“We have nicknames already? Nice. Also, accurate.” Chase rubs his palms together, then points to me. “What’s his? Please tell me it’s Big Bad Wolf.”
She lifts her chin a little defiantly as she stares me down, just like I did to her a few minutes ago. “It’s Mister Grumpy, but I think Big Bad Wolf works too.”
Her boldness is fuck hot too. This is a problem. “Yes, yes it does,” I say, staying stone-faced. I tip my chin at Chase. “You too, golden boy. Put it on.”
With a sigh, Chase takes off his suit jacket and tugs on the seat belt. “Sure thing…Big Bad Wolf.”
Then I tap on the glass and tell the driver to take us to Sticks and Stones, a bar with pool, Ping-Pong and other games.
It’s the place Jasper picked—which reminds me…
As the car cruises through the arena’s players’ lot, I turn to Trina.
“You still want to go there? Some dude named Jasper picked it.”
She grins a little wickedly. That’s annoying.
She’s too damn pretty when she smiles like that, kind of devilishly.
“I actually picked it. Jasper asked me for suggestions. And it was my idea since I want to learn how to play both. They sound like fun, and I’ve been dying to give them a try,” she says.
“His only idea was to go to a strip club with you two.”
I sneer. “Like I said, little shit.”
Chase snorts. “That’d have been a no.”
“Also, that’s weak,” I add. “Does this Jasper have zero creativity?”