Page 42

I check my phone one last time before following the Rangers players out the front door.

I miss you too.

#43:What are we going to do about it?

I don’t answer him.

Because I don’t know the answer.

Pretending just feels…safe.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Alex

Idon’t knowwhether to fire the middle-aged man who handles all of my deals or give him a raise for convincing me to come back to Pennsylvania rather than driving up to Vermont. The jury is still out as he slides over the paper from Gilette. “I already sent you the e-contract that I need you to sign online,” Kyle tells me, not even looking up from his phone.

The man has so much gel in his hair that I’m concerned about how close he’s standing next to the open flame that the kettle is on. There isn’t one day since I met Kyle as a junior at Lindon University where he hasn’t applied a copious amount of that shit in his hair, making me wonder if he has stock in it. He reached out after watching a few of my games and saw the same thing a lot of people did—potential.

Especially potential to make money.

When the kettle starts screaming, I push up from the stool and grab two mugs from the cupboard above the oven. “Milk and honey?” I ask, pouring the hot water over the tea packet.

He makes a thoughtful noise that I take as a yes. After preparing both of our drinks, I set his down in front of where his eyes are still plastered to his cell and sit back down in front of the printed contract. “Why Gilette?”

“Because people are always talking about your jawline,” he answers plainly. “And if these online influencers can get a deal with the company and get featured in commercials, then so can a rising NHL player. It’s a good fit.”

I don’t get online much, but I have seen the odd videos that have gone viral about my “sharp, masculine jawline” that women seem to deem lickable. It’s flattering, I guess. Strange, but flattering.

My eyes scan the contract until it meets the number they’re offering me. “Is this foronecommercial?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He sounds offended as he lifts his eyes from his phone. “That’s for a commercial they want to run during pre-seasonandan online campaign. Which includes a photoshoot that we’ll schedule as soon as you sign your name. It’ll run for the next year.”

I hate getting my picture taken, but I know that’s par for the course. And the number staring back at me is a good ass number. A substantial one that could fix a roof. Maybe even replace the whole thing, which my childhood home desperately needs.

“See, this,” he says, shaking his phone with a grin on his face, “this is what you need. A gimmick. Something to make people love you.”

My brows pinch. “What are you—?”

He shows me his screen, halting my words. I stare at the picture of Bodhi Hoffman with his arm wrapped around Olive’s waist. She’s squished between him and her older brother in front of a line of claw machines. The image is posted to Hoffman’s Instagram page and already has three-hundred thousand likes and an ungodly number of comments that range from sweet to fucking ugly.

“This is gold for Hoffman,” my agent tells me, looking impressed. “He’s only ever been photographed with models or bottle blondes that look like the only thing they eat are ice cubes.”

He chuckles at his own joke, not seeing the lack of humor in my face. Has that gel gone to his head or has he always been a jackass?

“Maybe you need to—”

“No,” I cut him off before he can finish that thought, shoving the phone back at him. “Absolutely fucking not. And Henderson’s sister isn’t a goddamn gimmick. Have some fucking respect, Kyle.”

His eyebrows dart up his forehead. “Christ. I didn’t mean to strike a chord. I forgot you went to school with them.” I’m silently still shooting daggers at him. “Look, I meant no offense. All I’m saying is that this guy is all over the media right now. People are talking about him, and there’s no such thing as bad press.”

He might not have meant offense, but he didn’t mean anything good by it either. “I’m not using anybody as a gimmick to gain followers. I don’t do that bullshit.”

My eyes go back to his phone, fighting the urge to twitch. Does Olive hang out with Hoffman often? I’m surprised Henderson would even allow the guy to touch his little sister. He’s always been overprotective when it comes to her, not that I blame him. If I had a sibling, I’d be the same way.

Kyle shakes his head. “Fine. Let’s just forget that I said anything. If you’re good with that agreement, sign the papers and I’ll move forward with the Gilette campaign. I may have even got something brewing with Celsius.”

My nose scrunches. “I hate Celsius.”