“Colton, you’re up first,” she calls, spinning away from me.
“Dude, I swear, I’m gonna adopt this little guy myself,” Morrow says, still laughing as the puppy squirms in his arms.
“At least yours has fur,” Novy replies. “I feel like I’m holding a raw chicken.”
I don’t hear the rest of their banter as the three of them wander off towards the cameras. I glance down again at the card in my hand. Fuck, it’s hand-written. The font is so damn small, and some genius used colored pens for each section. My heart races faster as I glance around, looking for some point of exit. Gracie the bulldog just peers up at me through the bars of her cage, judging me.
“Hey, can you stop slapping pucks for five minutes,” Poppy calls down the ice at the goalies. “You can stay in the shot, but we need some quiet for this.”
“You realize this is a hockey rink,” Coach Tomlin shouts back. “And this is a hockey practice!”
“I reserved this rink for 11:30,” she yells back. “You were supposed to be done a half hour ago. Now, clear off my ice, or I’ll drag you all in front of the camera. Yes, I mean you too, Eric!”
The goalies grumble, but they move off. Poppy may be all of 5’ tall, but she’s a force of freaking nature. The woman always gets her way.
Which means I’m about to be standing in front of a camera holding the leash of an ugly, fat bulldog, looking like a jackass as I try to read this stupid card. Fuck, this is the worst part about being a pro athlete. Why can’t I just play hockey? I’m actually good at that. I don’t mess it up.
“I can’t do this,” I say at Claribel, holding the card out to her. “Can you find someone else?”
She slowly looks up, glancing from the card to my face. “You wanna tell that to Poppy?”
I groan, my hand dropping to my side. “Claribel, you don’t understand. I can’t do this. I’ll play with the dogs. I’ll hold them. I’ll tell everyone how great they are—”
“It’s in your contract, Ryan,” she replies, dropping her gaze back to her phone. “Poppy says ‘jump,’ it’s your contractual obligation to ask ‘how high?’ Right now, Poppy says ‘hold a dog and read the card.’”
My anxiety mounts as I watch Morrow give a winning performance, the happy puppy wiggling in his arms. It’s so easy for him, so effortless. The media, the attention, the distractions.
But I’m not like him. This shit isn’t easy for me. I’m usually so good at avoiding it. And Poppy doesn’t usually corner us like this. She only snagged me because I was standing there looking like I had nothing to do.
Rule number freaking one: always look like you have something to do!
“Claribel, please,” I beg, trying to hand her the card again. “Get someone else.”
She slowly raises her gaze again, studying my face. “What’s your problem? Why is this such an issue for you?”
“It’s not—”
“What, did a dog bite you once?”
“No.”
“You afraid of cats?”
“No,” I reply with a roll of my eyes. “It’s not about the animals—”
“Oh, so you’re opposed to charities?”
“No,” I say, frustration rising.
“Then I don’t see the big deal. Just hold the leash, read the card, and earn your enormous paycheck. Stop being such a drama king.” Not waiting for my response, she stalks off.
Drama king? This is such fucking bullshit. My job shouldn’t depend on me doing shit like this without warning or time to prep or anything.
Ilmari shuffles past in his full goalie kit, helmet tucked under his arm.
“Mars,” I hiss, keeping my voice low.
He pauses, one brow raised at me.
I’m usually scared of this guy and would never normally approach him, but right now, I’m fucking desperate. “I need you to take over for me here.”
His brows narrow. “No,” he says, shrugging past.
“Mars, please.” I grab his arm, pulling on him.
“What the hell is your problem?” he growls, jerking his arm free of my hold.
“Mars, please do this for me. I can’t do it. I can’t—fuck,” I groan, dragging a hand through my hair. “Do it with me,” I offer. “I’ll hold the cat and play with it, and you read the card. The fans will love seeing both of us. Come on, please.”
He goes impossibly still, surveying me. Slowly, he glances over my shoulder, watching for a moment as Novy chats to the camera, pretending he gives a shit about the weird alien dog in his arms.