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It turns out if you drunkenly bang one identical twin thinking she’s the other, the other – who you actually wanted to bang because you might secretly be in love with her – is way less likely to ever bang you.
Arden Hoss defiantly folds her honey, brown sugar skinned arms across her Dalvegan Dragons business polo at the same time she viciously bites, “I’d rather shave my cooch with a dull skate blade than pose for a pic with you, Snowman.”
Or in my case…ever even bloody like you.
You know.
As a living, breathing, being of the human race.
I do my best to laugh off the hurt and lean back in my signing table chair. “That’s a bit harsh, aye?”
“But real unlike your fake Theo James accent.”
“It’s not fake . And I’m not English . We’ve been over this at least a hundred times.”
“And you’re about to make it a hundred and one.”
“ I’m Doctenn. ”
“Clapper, slap-shot shit.”
There’s no stopping the bright beam that overwhelms my tan face practically every time I talk to her. “No, gorgeous-”
“ Gross. ”
“-they are not one in the same.”
“Yet having to talk to you and thinking about having to talk to you manage to conjure the same throw up in your practice bucket sensation.”
“My practice bucket that you drew a dick on?”
She poorly pushes away her smirk before redirecting her attention to Nate Khurana, the footage expert who’s her second in command whenever she’s got our crest on her chest. “Let’s move on. I think I wanna do a live streaming of the season ticket holders coming through the west entrance doors for autograph night – that’ll handle our main soc’ feed while simultaneously reminding fans of why they should purchase their own season ticket packages, which I overheard Callie complaining about how they saw a small dip in renewals after the Becks scandal and Zhilkin having to be placed on LITR.”
Lemieuxhavemercyonmysoul… I love to watch her work.
Everything is so fucking flawless.
Bloody effortless.
It’s how I imagine people felt watching the GOAT in his prime, except he worked the rink.
She works in public relations.
“We’ll make sure we drop a link for them,” Hoss continues, unaware of my admiring, “people don’t like having to work too hard for what they want-”
“Some of us quite enjoy that.”
A gagging motion is made at me with her middle finger prior to her preceding, “After that, we’ll grab a few candid shots to use for collage style season opener graphics to counter their roster photos – fans feel a more personal connection to the boys when they can view both.”
I casually lean my forearms forward to rest on top of the black tablecloth. “Why is that?”
“It has something to do with what we call the dating profile method,” Hoss sweetly informs as she removes the lid to her sharpie. “I went to a semi on cross creative techniques,” the tip is placed against the side of my reusable 3P water bottle, “which highlighted the mindset similarities of going from being a potential fan to a die-hard,” one curve flows into another, “and going from a casual dating site snipe,” she begins a long, more cylindrical like path, “to engaged,” her drawing connects, “married,” a straight line is drawn coming out of the tip, “and starting a three league franchise,” two more marks are made near that one, “she never knew she wanted.”
Hoss proudly admires her handiwork, an action that leads to me shaking my head. “Is there a reason this dick is blowing its load?”
“To fill your mouth with something, so you stop interrupting me with questions.” She sassily slams the cap back on and yet again resumes directing Khurana. “The last thing we’re gonna do is focus on grabbing player-by-player footage. The signing spans for about three hours, so that should be plenty of time to capture snap shots of personalities like Groffee playing with his suspenders or Lagunas wearing his Taz hat-”
“Or me appreciating your… abstract style of art,” my hand motions to the juvenile drawing.
“It’s not abstract,” she defensively argues. “You know exactly what it is.”
“I know exactly who drew it, which is why I know what it is.” Turning the green object to better face her is accompanied by a smirk. “Otherwise, it could be a spaceship.”
“No.”
“Or perhaps a sneezing nose.”
“Double minor.”
“Should I stop then or go for a major?”
The waggling of my eyebrows threatens to make her smirk.
God, I don’t even think I worked this hard when I knew there were agents in the crowd scouting me my senior year in college.
“There she is,” Harlow “Hot Rocket” Hennington, Owner and GM of the Dalvegan Dragons ice hockey franchise I’m signed to, states to Hoss upon her arrival. “Just the woman I needed to see.”
Hot Rocket would be redundant – since that’s what a rocket is by definition – if it weren’t for the fact hot was in reference to her temper rather than her smoking hot body .
Although…for a woman who had twins early this year…you sure the fuck cannot tell.
Not even in the Dalvegan green business jacket she’s somehow passing off as a full-on dress.
Great Eight Have Mercy.
She has the longest, second most wrap around my body brown legs I’ve ever seen in my entire life.
The first of course being the woman she’s here to talk to.
How the fuck Brendan “Bricks” Brickley, one of our assistant equipment managers, not only landed her but knocked her up is still the type of gino I simply cannot fathom.
A lot like Peck and his woman.
That too is a, where grandma hides the cookies, mystery.
Hell, even our yeti-sized skates leader has managed to land a snipe, marry her, and expand his family, joining the increasingly long list of relationship champions.
Huh.
Perhaps it’s just me that can’t find anything but bunnies to hop into his lap.
Which I would appreciate the media not photographing all the bloody time.
I cannot say that I love the cheeky man whore headlines I’ve been making since last season.
Honestly.
One terrible dinner with a “bikini influencer” should not create two weeks of “bikini bunny” subject lines.
Hoss clips her sharpie onto her collar, shifts her hands to her back jean pockets, and flashes the woman who controls our careers a professional grin. “What can I do for ya, Hennington?”
“I actually have a brand-new PR project for you.” She folds her fingers together directly in front of her and swivels her face in my direction. “ And you, Frosky… ”
I’m not sure I like where this is going.
Then again, I’m not sure that I don’t.
At this point in my unwanted – although not necessarily unwarranted – barn burner against the most incredible woman to ever exist, it’s hard to say until we’re actually on the verbal ice going skate to skate.
“Our biggest sponsor and foundation donor , Loca Mocha Casabloca, has agreed to partner with us to provide the fans with a more in-depth look into the life of their favorite player.”
“What’s that got to do with Snowman?” Hoss swiftly snips, prompting me to shoot her a narrowed stare.
Hot Rocket noticeably fights the urge to grin as she replies, “He received the most votes.”
“Can I request a recount?” asks our social media expert.
“His postgame interviews are always the most watched.”
“That could easily be an algorithm issue.”
“And his autographed, specialty jerseys always rack in the highest bids.”
“People are probably just pressing the wrong button.”
“Why is it so difficult for you to believe people like me?”
“Because I’ve met you.”
“You adore me.”
“You mean annoy ,” she swiftly snips, on a sardonic cock of the head. “An easy American to Doctor Who miscommunication.”
“ Doctenn. ” I shake my head in minor amusement. “I am from Doctenn. ”
“You wish you were a ten,” Hoss spitefully sneers.
“According to our fans, he is ,” Hennington announces, recollecting our attention. “His autographed stills go for three times more than the league average.”
I knew I was a fucking beauty, but I didn’t realize I was a fucking beauty.
I mean, yes, I obviously do fairly well with the broadskies – blond hair, blue eyes, tattoos, and one of the sickest shots in sweaters makes that shit easy – but I had no fucking clue fans liked me that much.
Especially not with some of the shit I’ve read through my spy account regarding my performance on the ice as much as off.
And for the scoresheet?
Yes.
Most of us across the league fucking have a dummy account.
We wanna know shit.
But we can’t openly know shit.
So, we figure out how to learn that shit on the QT.
Like Ridley from Boston having to be moved to IR last season over a Donny involving his brother, his nutritionist, and a baking pan to the face.
Truthfully, I’ve never dropped the gloves over a female.
Not sure I ever would.
Or will.
“Even his autographed pucks – on average – bring in ten percent more revenue than any other player on the team,” Hennington proudly announces.
“Further proof, we have to be living in a shitty simulation,” the polo wearing female murmurs under her breath.
“We’re going to do a mini docu series on you, Frosky, for the fans to follow on social media from now until right before playoffs,” our boss announces.
“No one’s going to watch that,” Hoss bluntly interjects.
“ Everyone’s going to watch it ,” the woman in charge bites back, eyes twitching a glare, “and everyone’s going to fucking love it , because if this project fails , and we go back to looking like a fucking embarrassment to the league , proving we are incapable of producing good press versus only fucking scandals , you ,” she kicks her chin to Hoss, “won’t be able to coordinate anything bigger than local car dealership commercials, and you, ” the action is presented in my direction, “will become the bargaining chip I dangle in front of other GMs as I search for a younger, hotter, much easier to train pigeon that promises to give me more snipes and less gripes. ” Her eyes sharply swing back and forth. “Clearskies?”
“Like a game day, powerplay,” leaves me in a nervous chuckle.
So hot, yet so horrifying.
That is her reputation around the league.
“ To flick the odds of success in our favor ,” Hennington precedes, voice resuming a less menacing tone, “we’ll be giving away smaller prizes throughout the season – to encourage continuous engagement – along with a VIP package prize – all paid for by our sponsor – to one lucky fan at the end of the series run. Each posted episode will include a link for fans to click on to get themselves entered to win these things, which should give us the expected apple we need in this endeavor.” She flicks a strand away from her face before asking, “Questions?”
“Should I quit now or later?” Hoss inquires in such a way it’s hard to know if she’s kidding.
But she has to be kidding.
She bloody loves her job.
Loathes me… but loves what she does.
“Creative control will still solely rest with you, Hoss,” informs our boss. “Fans love your style. They love how you showcase the boys. They love how you humanize them. Remind the world that they’re just like your brother or cousin or best friend or neighbor or dude you’re still in touch with him from high school or college. It’s the main reason I have faith that this decision isn’t gonna end with us having a goose egg on the board and more bad press to answer to.”
Hoss is very good at what she does.
She asks the best questions.
Snaps the best stills.
Smashes together the best clips.
Somehow manages to capture us as people as much as players.
It’s her ability to do that, to see us, to want to show the world the real us , that’s managed to make me this level of comfortable in more than just my skates.
She’s certifiskies incredible.
And I’d tell her that right now if I didn’t think it would end with her drawing a dick on my very white, very expensive suit jacket.
“You’ll still be using Khurana to film our main media content; however, for the more intimate moments with Snowman-”
“I like us intimate,” I playfully insert on a waggling of my eyebrows.
“I’d rather be intimate with a fucking pylon.”
“ For the more intimate moments ,” Hennington states louder like a ref’s whistle being blown to stop a brawl, “you’ll be using an office device to provide a deeper, more personal, rawer connection for the fans.”
“ Henningtonnnnnnn ,” summons Margot Adelstein, her second in command, somewhere in the distance. “ Press corner. Now! ”
“I swear to The Great One if that Julia Childish cunt asks me one, ” she lifts her pointed index finger in tandem with the declaration, “fucking backhanded insult question, I’m gonna get fined fifteen k for spearing.”
My brows twitch together in confusion. “ Five is the maximum amount for spearing.”
“That’s under the assumption you stop after that first stab.” Hennington sassily cocks her hip to the side. “ I will not. ”
“ Hennington! ”
“ Fuck, I’m coming! ” huffs the hottest GM in the league as she storms off.
We’re fortunate.
Not simply because the woman in charge of our paychecks is a fucking snipe but because she too gets us.
Thinks like we think.
Speaks like we speak.
And prior to letting a much younger broskie put a mood ring on her finger, she wheeled like we did.
Just not any of us.
That’s against league rules along with the franchise ones.
There’s no fraternization allowed.
Period.
Whistle.
End of regulation stop.
Cases for exceptions can be made for those that work in the same setting like the front office; however, players aren’t allowed to date anyone from other departments, including PR.
It would likely get the non-sweater wearing person immediately fired and the one with the crest on their vest on the auction block.
Fraternization is taken a bit too seriously, if you ask me.
What’s the harm in a little naked faceoff between a star player and the social media vixen he’d chop off his left testy to take on a date?
Seriously.
What’s the worst that could happen?
An unfortunate headline trending?
That already happens to me what feels like every other week.
“Can the league really fine her for spearing?” Hoss ponders out loud, attention dropping back to me.
“I don’t think so, but, ” a small cringe is flashed, “I am fairly certain she can be fined for physically assaulting the press even if Ramirez has it coming.”
“She doesn’t not not have it coming.”
“Agreed.”
“She’s basically Commodus.”
Intrigue has me quirking a curious eyebrow. “From Gladiator ?”
“Do you know another?”
“The… actual Commodus.”
“He was real?”
“He was. The depiction?” My head bounces slightly side to side. “Some might say watered down in comparison to his factual performance as an emperor.”
It’s her turn to look momentarily impressed. “And what would you say?”
“That I’ll tell you all of my thoughts over a couple of brewskies when we’re finished here.”
“ No. ” There’s no reluctance for Hoss to straighten her spine and flip the hatred switch back into the on position. “ I don’t date hockey players. ” My mouth isn’t even given a second to consider moving. “And we are finished here.”
“ You mean for now. ” The glare I’m twitched simply encourages me to arrogantly grin wider. “ Come Monday morning pracky, you’re all mine for the next six months. ”
“Nah, I can probably find another job before then,” she denies while slowing back up, snarky smirk shifting into something much more vicious. “One where I don’t hate the person that I have to work with more than my medical condition.”