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RILEY

I look like a penguin. Like a rare, all-black penguin. That’s what runs through my head as I stare at myself in the mirror in the hallway of my small apartment. All the email for this event said was that it’s “Black Tie Not Optional” so that forced me to pull out my best suits. I went with an all-black James Bond appearance but I still manage to appear like myself, what with the tattoos creeping up the side of my neck and the hair that refuses to stay combed back no matter how much pomade I use falling over my forehead.

Luckily I don’t have to worry about getting cat fur off my suit. I made the choice to leave the girls at home with Momma going over to check on and feed them. I’m lucky to have parents who will check on my girls when I’m out of town. If you can classify as being in the next big city over from where you live out of town, then sure. I’ve never voluntarily visited Cincinnati. But the more I’m here, the more I like it. I wonder why that is , I ponder.

It’s been a month since my first event and I hate to agree with Sarah’s plan that it’s helping my reputation amongst sports fans. Tonight we have a benefit to not only gain sponsors for the teams in Cincinnati, Columbus, Cleveland, and Akron; but to gain and keep our current fanbase. It’s said that fans stay loyal to the teams they grew up watching. Like a sort of bloodline that they need to keep pure. But with the performances of all of our teams unfortunately on the downslope, we need to do whatever we can to reignite the spirit. And if I can get some new fans out of these events, then I’ll continue parading in said penguin suit.

Thank goodness some of my team will be there tonight to hopefully help my schmooze some big money players. My being vocal on the ice does not translate to off the ice.

Baby Pucklings

Me: *1 image attached*

Max: Thanks for the new lock screen photo

Me: Dick.

Logan: I didn’t even know you owned a suit.

Me: I’ve worn suits to the arena before.

Noah: Not suits that’ll make the girls throw on a white dress and say “meet me at the altar”

Max: Did Noah make a joke?

Me: I’m leaving.

Logan: See you there, buddy.

Looking at the time, I pocket my buzzing phone and swipe my keys off the counter before heading out to my car. I could have ordered a car service, but I want the option to leave early. Plugging the address into the GPS, I make the short drive to Hotel Cincinnati. I did some research on the space (closet nerd) and found that this is a relatively new boutique hotel.

What should be a fifteen minute drive to the hotel turns into an almost forty-five minute drive due to the Friday traffic. Whoever decided that the cocktail event needed to happen an hour before the main event, should be arrested.

When I finally pull up to the hotel, the valet comes to greet me. He gives me a ticket when I climb out of my car and make my way inside. This hotel is spectacular and if Momma were here she would fawn over everything. I make a mental note to try and book her a room here for Mother’s Day.

The lobby is littered with patrons in fancy dresses and three-piece suits. Couples not much older than me and couples decades older than me flit from one side of the room to the next and it hits me that I’ve never seen so much money in one space. I’ve never been in the wealthy crowd myself. And despite the money I make from hockey, I’m still that young boy who’d rather be at home with his cats than schmoozing it up with the rich and elite.

I make my way through the crowd with hopes of finding an open-bar. I don’t want to get too loose, but maybe a little liquid courage will lighten me up. Sarah didn’t specify what tonight would entail besides getting more sponsors to open their wallets and support our teams. When I spot several people with champagne flutes and tumblers that must indicate I’m headed in the right direction.

“Riley!” I hear from the right of me, stopping my quest for the bar.

With my height, I tower over some of the guests and see my guys huddled in the corner waving me over. I scoot past guests as I make my way to my team.

“How long have you been here?” I ask when I reach them.

“About twenty minutes,” Logan tells me and takes a sip of his drink. Of all the guys on the team, I’m closest to Logan. We started at the same time in the league playing in different positions and moving up at the same speed, but never once playing on the same team. When we both got drafted to Columbus it took us about a day to mesh together on the ice and when it came time for the game that made us an unstoppable duo.

The guys fall into small talk while I continue to take in the space. We’ve not even gone into the banquet hall and if it’s anything like the lobby, we’re in for a long night. A wave of auburn hair catching my attention on the other side of the lobby by the bar, my saving grace, and I excuse myself to head over to Sarah. I hear the tail end of her ordering a French 75, the bartender is about to turn away when I interrupt, “I’ll take one of those too.”

I lean one arm against the bar and see Sarah stiffen next to me. While she avoids eye contact, I give myself permission to check her out. Her hair is in what Momma calls a low bun with pieces framing her heart shaped face. The dress she’s wearing is a deep maroon that’s backless and ends right above the curve of her back. I get a sniff of the sweet vanilla scent of her perfume and have to control the inner beast because the scent mixed with her natural body odor does something feral to me. The bartender sets our drinks in front of us and I watch the flex in her bicep as she picks up her glass takes a sip from her drink.

Sarah looks over at me expectantly and I follow suit. My head rears back at the flavors hitting my tongue. “Is that gin?”

“Can you not handle it?” She asks as a smile graces her burgundy painted lips.

“Oh, I can handle it,” I play back. “I’m just surprised. I didn’t peg you for a gin girl.”

“There's a lot you don’t know about me.”

I open my mouth to question what she means when someone announces it’s time to head into the banquet hall. I’m not sure what all is about to entail so I down my drink in one swallow and place the empty back on the bar top.

“Are you nervous?” Sarah gently asks.

I blow out a breath and turn, placing my back against the bar. “I’m not the biggest people person. So these events you have me going to are pushing me out of my comfort zone.”

She finishes her drink and places it on the bar next to my empty glass. Sarah places her hand on my arm in a comforting gesture and my eyes laser in on the contact. “For what it’s worth, I think you can charm the pants off just about anyone.”

My eyes move up to hers and I can’t stop the smile from forming. “Like I did with you?”

“There you go ruining a sweet moment between us,” she scolds me with a laugh and then turns serious. “Riley, I know our working relationship is just beginning and we don’t know each other all that well, but I am here for anything you might need.”

I place my hand over top of hers and give it a soft squeeze. “Thank you, Sarah.”

“You’re welcome.”

With a final squeeze to her hand I shove my hands in my pockets and walk off towards the banquet hall. My retreating form burns from her stare. I will myself not to trip over air and make it into the banquet hall. All I have to do is schmooze enough people and then I’m free to leave. How much time do I have left?

Three hours later as I’m standing outside at the entrance and I groan out a long exhale while I wait for the valet to bring my car around.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Sarah says as she walks down the short flight of stairs.

My voice gets stuck in my throat when I see the shoes she’s wearing peek out from the thigh high slit of her dress. “For a shy guy like me it was like pulling teeth.”

A soft laugh breaks through the noise from the hotel and I want to ask her to repeat that so I can record it and listen to it over and over.

“What are you about to do?” I ask but shouldn’t as it’s clear she’s trying to keep respectable boundaries clear between us.

“I’m planning to head home and soak my feet. I love heels but I don’t think I’m made to wear them for the long-term,” Sarah explains. “My Uber should be here soon.”

Be bold , I tell myself. “Cancel it. I wanna take you somewhere one of the locals at the block party suggested.”

She eyes me with skepticism, wary of crossing the line between professional and personal. “Riley…”

“Just as friends–acquaintances. I promise.”

A beat passes before she’s pulling up her phone and canceling her Uber. At the same time the valet brings my car around. I move to open the passenger door and Sarah thanks me before I’m rounding the car, tipping the valet, and sliding into the driver's seat.

“This isn’t where you take me to a frat party, is it? Because I did that in college and I hung my hat up six years ago.”

A laugh barks out of me. “I promise no frat parties. Although I would like to see photographic evidence of that.”

“Over my dead body,” she jokingly threatens.

A comfortable silence takes over in the car as I make the short drive to a small wine bar. It turns out the block party proved very useful for getting to know the locals. Some were generational families who’ve owned restaurants since long before I was born.

I park a little ways down the street and get out of the car, rounding the back to the passenger door to help Sarah out. She hesitantly puts her hand in mine and uses me as leverage to get out.

“Where is it you’re taking me?” she asks when I’ve moved her to the building side of the sidewalk, with me on the street side.

I hover my hand on the small of her back as I lead her down the concrete path. “I met this couple at the fourth of July event and they own Memories Wine & Jazz Bar. They said I could come by anytime and that I always had a table.”

“I knew going to the event would work out for you,” Sarah gloats.

“Is this where I get on the ground and kiss your feet? Because I have no problem getting on my knees for you.” I move around her and open the door after saying that.

She gives me a scathing look before walking through the door. I stop right behind her when I enter and the heat from her body soaks into mine and I have to tamp down the urge to wrap my arm around her and kiss her temple .

This space is a moody person's dream. Black and white tiled floors with botanical wallpaper. The black marble-top bar is paired with a dark wood bottom and is occupied by a few couples as sommeliers dressed in black whip up drinks. It’s a place where I could see myself occupying frequently when I’m in the city.

“Take a seat anywhere,” one of the sommeliers instructs from behind the bar.

I survey the space from over top of Sarah’s head. The patio is open and for a summer night, it’s strange to find the space bare. The owners did mention that they have live music a few times a week and I was hoping we could catch something. Unfortunately it looks like we were a little too late.

I step around Sarah and grab her hand as I lead us to the patio. The outdoor area is spacious with several tables and loveseat couches for more intimate gatherings. I lead us to an isolated area before settling at one of the loveseats.

“Oh. It’s a little cold out here,” Sarah says when she settles in her seat.

She’s not wrong. The breeze from the water blows in and with no buildings to act as a barrier cool air whips right in and bounces off the building. But I’m used to the cold, what with spending most of my time on the ice. I take my suit jacket off and rest it along her back. Making sure that it’s secure, I turn and make sure the patio heater is turned on as well.

“Better?” I ask.

“Mm-hmm,” she murmurs without making eye contact and I can’t help but gaze at her with a smile on my face. “This isn’t a date.”

“Didn’t say it was,” I respond and pull my phone out to scan the QR code that’s on the table in front of us .

We order our drinks and for the rest of the night, we talk. As friends. Because that’s all Sarah will give me. But I understand it as she technically works for me now. Our talk doesn’t squash my hunger for her. No. It slowly burns it until I’m ready for the next hit she can give me.

Sarah is unlike any woman I’ve met before. When she talks about something she’s passionate about, her whole face lights up. When she laughs, not a fake laugh to get me to move on, but a real laugh. One that starts in her belly and lights up her whole body. It makes me want to take an ice pick to the brick wall she’s put up to keep us firmly in our place. And when I drop her off at home later that night, I make another promise to myself to abide by the rules to get my reputation in shape.

And hopefully get Sarah to see me as more than a screw up.