“Sure,” I mutter, then immediately regret it when she shifts even closer. Her thigh pushes against mine; her breasts press firmly into my arm as she angles her body in a strange pose for the camera.
“Wow. You’re so strong,” she says, practically whispering in my ear again.
I shift away with an uncomfortable smile. “Um… thanks.” Not sure what response goes with that. I search out my teammates for some kind of S.O.S. rescue, but when I make eye contact with Sandy, I get a grin and air kiss instead. No way. He sent this girl over to me? My fists clench beneath the table as I drag in a heated breath.
“Look, I don’t know what they told you but—”
“Just that you were single and lonely and a super-hot hockey player. Are you? Oliver something, right?” She pulls out her phone and starts typing. Is she actually searching Oliver the super-hot hockey player?
I roll my eyes but have mercy since this is Sandy’s crime, not this poor woman’s.
“Oh. Wait. Here’s an Oliver who got hurt. A goalie. Is this you?” She flips her screen to show me a picture of myself. I’m not even sure how to respond to that. Also, how frightening is our world when she can find me with no other information than my first name and profession? “It is you. Omigod. You’re way hotter in person, though,” she says, squinting at her screen.
“Well, I’d just had my knee ripped up and was in excruciating pain in that photo so…”
“I guess,” she concedes and tucks her phone away. “Anyway, want to dance? I can make the pain go away, Oliver.”
I stare at her for a second, hoping she’s joking. Wow, I don’t think she is. “Knee is as messed up as it was five minutes ago, Regina. Still can’t dance. Thanks, though.”
She laughs and taps her forehead. “Oh, right! Duh. Ha ha. So what are you drinking?” She reaches for my glass.
“Seltzer and lime,” I say casually. She laughs again and draws my glass to her lips in a swift movement. Is this girl for real? I wait for the surprised reaction that comes a second later. It’s like reading a Kevin Steen neutral zone pass.
“Wait, it is seltzer.”
I shrug. “Yep.” And now I’ll have to order another one.
She makes a face and shoves it back toward me. “You want to do shots since you can’t dance?”
“No thanks.”
Her face goes pouty again before slipping into a sly smile. “We could just make out. I’d be cool with that.” She whispers something else that I can’t interpret and don’t feel the need to clarify.
I blink at her, shaking my head for a second. “Look, Regina. Clearly, they gave you bad information, and I’m sorry for that. Thing is, I’m not actually single, and I’m definitely not interested in hooking up right now.”
Her bottom lip protrudes further as she tilts her head. “I won’t tell if you don’t.” She lifts a finger to her lips as her smile returns. I think that one is supposed to be coy. Okay, yeah, she’s definitely drunk on top of it all. In a weird way, I take some solace in the fact that this might not be normal behavior for her.
“Look, are you here with friends or something?” Now I’m just worried for her safety. She giggles and waves toward the other side of the club.
“Yeah, they’re around. Should I call them over?”
I shudder at the thought of this one multiplied. “No. But I suggest you find them and stay close to them for the rest of the night. Okay?”
Her face falls again, and I’m relieved she’s finally getting the message when she slumps and starts sliding away.
“Your bum knee made you grumpy, Oliver the Hot Hockey Player.”
I can’t help but smile at that. “Yes, Regina. It really did. Take care of yourself tonight.”
Once she’s gone, I breathe a sigh of relief and check my phone for updates from Genevieve. Nothing, but there’s a message from Sandy. I can’t see him anymore, so they must have moved to the main part of the club, away from our VIP area. Good, then I won’t be tempted to risk my knee with a swift kick to his balls.
Sandy: See that’s how you have fun. Get the difference?
You’re a dick, I write back.
Hope yours is getting a workout. You’re welcome, he responds.
I decide not to tell him I’ve already sent his “gift” away. The last thing I need is to be grilled about it, or even worse, trigger a replacement. Let him think I’m hooking up and having “fun.” I resist the urge to message Gen again. I’d do anything to have her beside me right now.
I signal the server and order another drink now that mine is contaminated. Bored, I scroll through my phone while I wait. It doesn’t take long for my one-track brain to return to Genevieve, and I let my fingers tap out a search for her on social media. She said her platform was big. Just curious what that means to her. When I find her, my heart nearly stops in my chest. The woman beside that little blue checkmark is definitely my girl. The eighty million followers next to her name makes me choke on my newly delivered drink. I have my fair share of followers, but holy shit. I check another platform: ninety-two million. Another is seventy-three. I can’t even wrap my brain around the pressure of those numbers. She wasn’t kidding that everything she does will be judged and critiqued. She probably can’t go to the bathroom without a committee, and suddenly my pulse picks up. Did I do the right thing inviting her here? Am I being selfish to expose her to a public narrative with me? I thought my hundred-thousand followers and small spotlight qualified me to understand her world. Now my protective fingers hover over
