“So?” Colt prods. His helmet hangs at his side, and his chest heaves from exertion. “What do you need from us?”
Right.
“Okay, gentlemen,” I start. “I’m not sure how familiar you are with social media, but there are trending videos and sounds that push content. When utilized properly, they can really help build the Lions’ brand and, therefore, sell a lot of tickets which is our goal, right?”
Their heads bob up and down slightly, but none of them comment.
Wiping my free hand against my jeans, I continue. “Today, we’ll keep things simple and capture a few slow-motion videos and similar things. In the long run, I’d also like to have some volunteers who would be willing to learn some trending dances and possibly lip sync a few songs.”
Silence.
“I know it sounds dumb, but it isn’t too hard, and I want us to go viral as often as possible, meaning we need to put out a lot of content, especially in the beginning. Do I have any volunteers?”
Silence.
“Come on, boys,” I push, giving them my signature smirk. “Girls are suckers for guys who aren't afraid to make fools out of themselves. Trust me.”
Another beat of silence passes, and Theo steps forward. “Fine.” He nudges his best friend’s shoulder. “Colt and I will help you out.”
I grin back at them. “Thank you. Any other takers? I promise I’ll make it as painless as possible.”
The new goalie, Beck, grumbles under his breath but lifts his hand into the air. “Yeah, I’ll do it too.”
“Yay, thank you. Okay, let’s start with something simple so we can introduce the whole team to your fans. Everyone line up on the opposite side of the rink and skate toward me one at a time but stop short so I can have a nice spray of ice. I think it will look really cool. Make sense?” I wait, then add, “Oh, and make sure you smile at the camera like you want to melt my panties off.”
“But we’re all sweaty,” Beck tells me. With his helmet resting at his side, he skates closer and bends his head as if to prove his point. Sure enough, sweat clings to his forehead and drips down his temple, making his chiseled jaw even more lickable. The guy’s a catch and will be perfect for hooking the audience. My grin spreads, and my heart flutters with excitement. Seriously. This is going to be so good.
“Girls love sweat. Good sweat,” I clarify. “And this?” I rub my hand against his messy, damp blond hair. “This is good sweat. Trust me.” My hand drops back to my side, and I wipe it on my jeans.
I raise my camera. “Let’s get started.”
The players follow my instructions, and before I know it, I’m laughing at their antics, and my hoodie is covered in white slush, leaving it cool against my skin. Some of the players are loosey-goosey. Others are more rigid than a two-by-four. But the variety only adds to the appeal. There’s someone here for everyone. Yup. I can definitely spin these videos into something engaging. They’re going to work out just fine. And by some miracle, the guys are taking it all in stride, being more helpful than I’d ever anticipated.
When Beck lifts his practice jersey and wipes his forehead with it, I’m given a glimpse of his washboard abs. The view sparks an idea, and my mouth spreads into a grin.
“Beck, come here.” Beck skates closer to me. I reach for his practice jersey, lifting it at an angle, giving the motion a more peekaboo effect. “Do it like this.”
“Like this?”
He follows my instructions, and I nod. “Exactly.”
Lifting the camera, I click record, zeroing in on the tan skin and sexy V slipping beneath his pads when a cold voice barks behind me.
“Enough!”
Flinching at the sharp words, I turn around and search for the culprit. Buchanan’s in the stands. He’s glaring at me. Hard. Like I shit in his coffee or something when I’ve been on nothing but my best behavior.
“Is there a problem?” I call.
Seriously. The guy’s pissed, and I have no idea why.
“We are not selling sex.”
“Uh, sex is exactly what we’re selling,” I interrupt with a laugh, but the rest of the players stay quiet.
With heavy footsteps, Buchanan strides down the stairs from the top of the arena, his body practically vibrating with dominance and testosterone until I can almost taste it from here.
Yup. I was right.
He’s pissed.
At me.
Why am I not surprised?
But if he thinks he can push me around with all this sexy alpha mumbo-jumbo, he’s sorely mistaken. I lift my chin and hold his frigid gaze as his foot hits the last step, leaving him more than a foot taller than me while the rest of the team stares at us from the ice.
“I did not hire you to sell sex,” he growls.
“Do you want to sell tickets, Buchanan?”
The muscle in his jaw ticks.
“This is gonna sell tickets,” I tell him.
And I’m not wrong. I know I’m not. People might like living in la-la-land, where rainbows and butterflies mingle with cotton candy, but the truth is, sex sells everything. Even this. Hockey tickets and jerseys and lanyards and mugs. The list goes on and on and on. It doesn’t mean I can’t do it tastefully. And when paired with the right music, Beck’s abs will easily accumulate a hundred-thousand views.
Buchanan doesn’t budge. He towers over me, a dare in his dark eyes, curious to see if I’ll back down since he’s pulled out the big guns. Yup. Here’s the business shark. The one used to getting what he wants. Too bad he doesn’t know everything. He’s waiting for me to backpedal. To say he’s right and delete the video of Beck’s abs. I won’t. For one, I’m stubborn. And two, I won't let him push me around, even if he is my boss. The man hired me for a reason, dammit. If he would simply trust me, this would go a lot more smoothly, and I’d deliver exactly what he wants.
Sales.
Realizing I’m not going to give in or cower from his scrutiny, Buchanan orders, “Everyone. Out.” But he doesn’t break his stare. He glares at me. Waiting to see me crumble.
Clearly, he doesn’t know me very well if he honestly thinks a solid death glare will have me shaking in my boots. But if he needs time to cool down, I’m happy to give it.
“Great idea.” I start toward the locker room. He grabs my bicep and holds me in place. “Not you.”
Sensing the tension crackling between us, the rest of the team slips past me except for Colt and Theo. They hesitate in my periphery, sending me concerned looks.
I cast them a quick glance and murmur, “It’s fine.”
Relatively satisfied, they follow the rest of the team, disappearing down the tunnel and leaving me alone with the one and only Henry Buchanan. I tilt my head to one side, waiting for him to, I dunno, say something. Instead, those dark eyes pin me in place. Waiting.
Peeking at the hand wrapped around my bicep, I roll my shoulder back, slipping out of his firm hold and crossing my arms. “Is there a problem, Professor?”
His molars grind at the pet name, but he doesn’t correct me. “What are you doing?”
“I’m doing what you hired me to do.”
“I do not want to recreate your OnlyFans account.”
“You know, you’re an asshole,” I seethe. “And I’m not recreating my OF account.”