“You’re a mean person.”
“I’m not. But you have to admit that you are dipping a toe into boring old lady territory, if your idea of fun is getting a hotel room at a work conference in your own town.”
“I do fun things. There’s a spa here at the hotel. I could get a massage or a facial. Maybe a mani-pedi.”
Mia closes her eyes and snores in response.
“I get to work with pro athletes every day. That’s exciting enough.”
“Dude, I’d have a way more exciting life than you if I worked around all those hotties all day long.”
“Well, then you’d be fired, because there is a no-fraternization policy at The Crush. Not so fun not having a paycheck.”
“Theirs is clearly a miscommunication, then. Didn’t you tell me that there’s been like five marriages between players and staff recently?”
“Only four actual marriages…to date.”
“Still. Clearly there is some fraternizin’ goin’ on, if you know what I’m saying.” Her tone and facial expression leads me to believe she’d be elbowing me in the ribs if we were together in person.
“Maybe, but that’s not for me. You know I married a basketball player and the four years we spent together told me that I am not in the market for a pro athlete. They are just big boys, and I need a man.”
“That I can get behind,” Mia says. “How is old Terrence these days?”
“I don’t know. He’s playing in Miami and I’m thankful to be on the other side of the country.”
“Is he still with the woman he cheated on you with?”
“Of course not. He told me marriage wasn’t what he wanted. He felt like we got married too young and he wanted to sow his oats or whatever. So he’s out doing that, I guess.”
“Yuck.”
“No doubt. But he’s not wrong. I was a freshman in college when we met and a sophomore when we got married. That’s too young.”
“It actually surprises me that you would make such a spontaneous decision,” Mia says.
“I was in love and he was the big man on campus. He was getting NBA recruiters out to see him all the time, so it was only a matter of time for him to get picked up to play pro. And at twenty, I thought being married to a pro basketball player would be really glamourous.”
“Well, he’s a shit for breaking your heart.”
“He says that from time to time.” I let out a sigh. “It’s okay. We’re mostly cool now and he’s living his best life or whatever. I’ve just learned to guard myself, you know?”
“Well, don’t guard yourself for too long. You’re, like, the most beautiful woman in the world and a damn fine catch. I’d hate to see you miss out on someone good.”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?”
Mia laughs. “No, definitely not. But I’d at least like to see you take a booty call every once in a while. A girl’s gotta get off.”
“Who says I don’t?”
“With a person. Not a vibrating massager that they keep stashed in their nightstand drawer.”
“How do you know what’s in my nightstand drawer?”
She makes a face and changes the subject. “So what’s on the docket for your oh-so-exciting sports nutrition conference?”
“Well, there’s a product expo, and a keynote by this top sports doc that wrote the best book about…”
I’m interrupted by the sound of snoring again.
“And there’s a mixer tonight in the bar,” I say drily.
Mia perks up at this. “Okay, that’s promising.”
“Well, I wasn’t gonna goooo. I was planning on taking a long bubble bath, ordering expensive room service, and watching Netflix in this big-ass bed.”
My friend is silent, but her raised eyebrow says enough.
“I mean…I guess I could go, but do you want to come down and go with me?”
“Okay, you big introvert. I’ll come protect you from the legions of people who will try to say actual words to you.”
I have to laugh because I am, indeed, an introvert. I’d absolutely rather take a bath and curl up with a good book or binge-watch a show. The idea of mixing and mingling with people I don’t know, keeping a smile plastered to my face while I ask, “What do you do?” forty different times just doesn’t sound all that fun to me.
An hour later, Mia is knocking on my door. She’s dressed to kill in a short, black skirt and cheetah-print top. And she’s obviously not impressed by my choice of business suit, from the way her lip curls as she looks me over, head-to-toe.
“You are eighty-years-old, I swear,” she shakes her head and clucks her tongue at me.
“What? It’s a professional conference, not a night club. These are other nutritionists.”
“It’s a mixer. In a bar. Wear a pair of jeans, you old woman, you.”
I look helplessly at my closet. I brought lots of options because it’s been a while since I’ve been to a multi-day conference like this. Mia just huffs and stomps over, rifling through my clothing until she emerges, triumphant, with a pair of skinny jeans and a soft, off-shoulder, cream-colored sweater. “These will do. You got heels?”
“I do,” I say, grabbing the outfit and heading into the bathroom to change.
Mia has me sit while she styles my long, brown hair into a messy bun, telling me it makes my neck look sexy when I wear my hair up. I pull on a pair of nude, peep-toe heels and she declares me “perfecto,” while kissing her fingertips.
I keep my makeup simple, just eyeliner and mascara and a light-pink lip gloss, getting a thumbs-up from Mia, who grabs my hand practically drags me from the safety of my room.
3: really rusty
Grant
I loosen my tie as I make my way down the hall to my room, finally allowing myself a full breath.
I am now the new General Manager of the Las Vegas Crush.
Two weeks ago, I’d have laughed you in the face if you said I’d be moving to the States to run an NHL team. But here I am, having just accepted a rather lucrative deal to take over a team that is full of superstars and within the immediate sphere of the Cup for the second time in a few years.
Holy shit. How did this just happen?
I pull off my tie and flip open my laptop, sending a video call through to my parents, who are waiting anxiously for an update. My dad’s face appears first, then my mom’s.
“So?” My dad asks without preamble.
“I won two-hundred bucks in BlackJack,” I say.
My dad rolls his eyes as my mom says, “Stop that. What happened in your interview?”
“You are looking at the new GM for the Crush.”
My mom cheers and my dad gives me the half-smile that tells me he’s proud of me. “Did you talk to Tim about it first? Get the best deal?”
“I spent two hours with the owner, an hour with the head coach, and then we spent two hours on the phone with Tim while we hammered out a deal.”
“Good man. Go get a drink to celebrate.”
“Las Vegas has a bit of reputation,” my mom warns. “Just be careful not to call attention to yourself before you even get started there.”