Spiral (Off the Ice, #2) (2)
“Did Eli just virtually cockblock us?” Summer asks.
Aiden shrugs and smirks at his phone. “I’m still down if you are.”
I groan. You’d think them being in a long-distance relationship would give me some reprieve from the PDA.
“I think I’ll pass.” Summer laughs. “Have fun at your sleepover!”
I drop my head in my hands. “How am I supposed to focus on playing when I know this is the stuff that’s hitting the headlines first thing tomorrow?”
Aiden tosses his phone on the nightstand and gives me a pitying look. One he does every time something stupid like this occurs. “This is some pretty shit luck, man. I can’t believe people are buying into the ‘golden boy turned playboy’ narrative.”
In an unexpected turn of events, a video posted by our team went viral. I had hesitantly agreed to film a day in the life of an NHL rookie, and the fans loved it. I’m not sure if it was the bloopers they found endearing, or maybe my workout routine was just that inspirational. But as soon as the media knew what the fans wanted, they became hungry for more. And when I was two games in with nothing on my stats sheet, the criticism started pouring in. They credited my draft to my parents’ connections and discounted my talent, all within a few days. I went from being the endearing rookie to the rich playboy whose only goal is to get laid.
“It’s my fault. I should have turned down the extra press when I had the chance.” When our social media team approached me with ideas for more content, I could have said no. Thinking it would benefit my image rather than dampen it, I stupidly agreed.
“They would have talked you into it regardless. They need eyes on the game, especially with the ratings dropping last year.”
I sigh. “‘Pretty boy hockey player who can’t score for shit.’ That’ll be the next headline.”
“You’ve had plenty of assists. Trust me, you’ll get the goal too,” he assures. “Just find something that lets you breathe. Something that takes away the pressure you’re feeling.”
“Easier said than done. We can’t all have a Summer,” I mutter.
He smiles. “True, but the media only leaves me alone because of her dad. He’d shut that shit down before they tried anything.”
Summer’s dad is in the NHL Hall of Fame, and we were all pretty starstruck when we met him at our last Frozen Four. “Maybe I should date him,” I suggest.
Aiden chuckles and tosses me an extra pair of his sweats. “Good luck with that.”
When I’m changing into the sweats, my phone vibrates with a text from Coach. It’s his sixth reminder about tomorrow’s event. We have to be ready for bidding since the team is auctioning dates with players.
“You going to the fundraiser tomorrow?” I ask Aiden.
“It’s mandatory. The whole Thunder organization is going to be there,” he says.
Great.
OUR FLIGHT BACK to Toronto this morning was more uneventful than anticipated. No new headlines and no more surprise visits from fans. The hotel even apologized for letting the woman upstairs, but they couldn’t have known since she introduced herself as my fiancée. Apparently, she attends every game, whether home or away. Her dedication to the cause would be commendable if it wasn’t so creepy.
The collar of my dress shirt suffocates me as we enter the venue.
“Relax, man.” Aiden nudges me to stop pulling at my collar. “It’s only a few hours, then we can head out.”
“You’re only saying that because you’re not the one being auctioned off.”
The auction happens every year, and since the older women in the crowd are the ones bidding, our PR team thought it would be great to throw me into the mix. That, or it’s a bit of hazing for a rookie. Aiden got to bow out by using his girlfriend as an excuse.
“I got your back, but just know you’ll make someone’s grandmother very happy.” He grins.
I roll my eyes just as Coach comes to stand by me, his presence alone raising panic.
“Westbrook. A minute.” He gestures toward the bar.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what this is about.
When I join him by a table, he places his phone on it, revealing an article and a photo of the girl from last night leaving our hotel in a robe, and my face under yet another headline.
TORONTO THUNDER’S ROOKIE IS OUT FOR THE COOKIE.
Seriously? Are they hiring an intern to write these?
“I don’t make a habit of reading this shit, but when the GM questions why my rookie is seen covering more magazines than he is covering the ice, I have no choice.”
Crap. The general manager, Marcus Smith-Beaumont, is the hard-ass of hard-asses. If he’s heard of this, I’m sure I’m the talk of the board of directors—the ones who decide whether I’m worth the advance they’ve paid me.
When I first got recruited, I had heard a rumor that he was against my draft to the Thunder. It isn’t a norm to draft two players from the same college in one year, but it’s not exactly groundbreaking either.
“There are a few articles from this month alone if you want to do some light reading.” His words come out less angry than they should. I’m single-handedly tainting the rookie image, and the organization can’t be happy about that. “Another scandal and another game without a goal. I don’t know how many press meetings we can control if things like this continue to surface.”