3. A Usual Practice
A Usual Practice
Olli
Brooker ran up to the ball, paused for the briefest of seconds to flash me a shit-eating grin, then aimed for the far left corner.
It was my weak point, so while I knew Brooker was doing this to be a pain in the ass, I appreciated that this practice would be actual practice and not just a run of drills I’d done thousands of times before.
I dashed to the left, throwing my body and arms out to block where I expected the ball. But apparently Brooker was being an exceptional ass today and angled his kick to place the ball a good foot over my weak spot, so my hands didn’t even graze it as it flew into the net.
Out in the field, Brooker pumped his fist and I flipped him off.
“Fucking asshole,” I muttered under my breath as I fished the ball out of the net and tossed it towards the next player in line.
“Don’t be mad you were bested, Kean!” Brooker shouted back and I suddenly wished I hadn’t already tossed the ball so I could chuck it at him instead.
“Watch the feet, Kean,” Coach Boyd yelled and I gritted my teeth.
Half of goalkeeping was reading your opponent.
More than the feet, their eyes were what I really paid attention to.
But when it came to my teammates, maybe Coach had a point.
They knew I tracked their eyes, so they knew how to play me.
“Yes, sir,” I shouted back, repositioning myself back in the center of the box as Ricci came up to the ball.
Practice went on as usual. Goals were blocked, passes were made, and we ended with sprints across the field before we crashed to the ground to stretch.
“Wanna know what I heard?” Brooker asked, knocking my head with his sweat rag before he sat in front of me, bracing his feet against mine. I rolled my eyes, but situated so we could help each other stretch.
“Not particularly,” I grumbled, taking his wrist and slowly leaning back.
“They’re trying to hire somebody to do our socials. Which means your ass is gonna have to smile for pictures.” Brooker grinned at me, some sick pleasure dancing in his hazel eyes. Everybody knew social media wasn’t my thing. As far as I was concerned, it wasn’t a necessary part of my job.
“I hate to say it, mostly for your sake, but he’s right,” Christenson said, standing next to us while downing his water.
“Seriously?” I asked, looking to our captain with unease. Brooker took the opportunity to yank my arms forward, my muscles stretching with a sharp sting.
“Fucker,” I hissed, but leaned farther in to it.
“You know what? I’m glad they’re putting money into socials. The world needs to see this face,” Sosa said, joining the growing crowd around me. He threw his head back, flipping his long hair out of his face and flashing what he called his ‘pantie-melting’ smile.
“Uh-huh,” Christenson said skeptically. “Just remember your public pages are public. Don’t drop into anyone’s DMs on those profiles.”
“But what if they’re dropping into our DMs?” Brooker asked, wiggling his eyebrows and sharing a laugh with Sosa.
“Christenson, please tell me I don’t have to participate in this nonsense.” I shifted my weight back, pulling Brooker to fold in half. Christenson just clapped a hand on my shoulder.
“It’ll help sell tickets.”
“And more ticket sales means more money for us,” Gallagher said, his Irish accent thicker than anyone else’s accent on the team. And given that most of my teammates' first language wasn’t English, that was saying something.
“I wouldn’t mind more money,” Brooker said with a laugh. “But what I’m really excited about is that most social media folks are babes. I hope Hansen hires a good one for us.”
I yanked at Brooker’s arms a little harder than necessary.
“All right, fuck off,” Brooker said, yanking his arms out of my grip to get up.
“Don’t give whoever is hired a hard time,” Christenson warned Brooker before holding out a hand to help me up.
“I won’t. Not unless she asks for it nicely.” Brooker nudged Sosa and they had a little laugh together.
“Brooker,” Christenson warned again, his voice going to that low level that meant Brooker was one misstep away from doing another set of sprints.
“You’re right. Sorry. There will be no flirting at work, no matter how hot the girl may be.” Brooker held up his hands in deference.
“Good,” Christenson murmured.
“Ooo, you got told,” Sosa whispered to Brooker, nudging the other man. Christenson and I rolled our eyes at them and started towards the locker room, the others slowly following behind us.
“You’re going to need some sort of social media presence eventually, Kean. You put in a request for a PA, right? Maybe Hansen can find someone who can do that for you, too.”
I hummed just so he knew I heard him, but I wasn’t about to use the person I was hiring to do something I considered a waste of time. I had plenty of other things I needed done that I’d put off in order to get more practice in.
Besides, I’m sure in the long run, the owners would prefer a player who puts in the hours and does well on the field over a player who has a big social media following.
“Kean, can I talk to you for a minute?” Hansen called as we stepped into the hallway that led to the locker room and the rest of the stadium offices.
I nodded, patting Christenson’s shoulder before walking over to Hansen.
“I think I’ve got a PA for you,” he said, handing me a folder.
I opened it and flipped through the contents.
The resume included a handful of assistant work, mostly in an office setting, but the focus was their social media experience.
Whoever’s application it was, they even included a couple full social media plans, all of which gave me the chills when I thought of having to participate in them.
“I think you grabbed the wrong folder,” I told Hansen, moving to hand it back. But Hansen pushed it right back.
“No, this is the right one. She interviewed for the social media manager position, but … she doesn’t have enough professional experience.
She does, however, have good assistant experience.
And when we do get our social media program up and running, she’s got enough experience with that to get your ass set up. ”
I looked back at him with a grimace.
“Don’t give me that look. You have to do it eventually, for the good of the team.” He pushed the folder at me again. “Just look over her resume and let me know if you think she’ll be a good fit.”
With a grumble, I flipped the folder back open as Hansen started to walk away, actually reading the resume this time.
And when I read the applicant’s name, my decision was made.
“Hansen! Hire her.”