“Do I still have a bad boy reputation?”
I’m standing in Jay Spinner’s small office while scrolling through headlines on my phone.
The round man looks up at me. “Huh? Are you Googlin’ yourself, kid? Don’t do that. It’ll save ya a whole lotta trouble.”
Jay Spinner is the team’s public relations manager and is an expert when it comes to a player’s public image.
“A reporter asked me about it after last night’s game,” I say. I think back to the beautiful blond woman with the gray sea-glass eyes.
“Well, you did fight your own teammate in the middle of a hockey game not too long ago. Not to mention all those nude photos. I’ve seen more nudes of you than my own wife, kid.”
“That was two months ago! People are still talking about that?”
Spinner looks at me from under his bifocals. “Scandals are hard to forget, kid.”
“Scandals.” I laugh. “What a joke.”
“You’ve gotta admit, you’ve been quite… er… promiscuous.”
“I’m a young single guy. Just because I’m semi-famous doesn’t mean I should get shamed for my sex life.”
“Didn’t you hear what I just said about the nudes?”
“That woman was blackmailing me! And god knows how much Catherine got from those tabloids.”
“I think more people care about your broken friendship with Harrison.”
I sigh. “If only people understood what actually happened. I hooked up with her once, she managed to get a nude photo of me while I was sleeping, and I guess she started dating Coop so that the photo would create as much drama and money for her as humanly possible. You believe me, don’t you?”
“The truth doesn’t matter. All that matters is perception, kid.”
“This isn’t fair! She tricked both of us, and I’m the one who had to lose my city, my team, my best friend. And now I’m saddled with the ‘bad boy’ title too?” I pace back and forth through the small office.
“Ignore it, kid,” Spinner says casually.
“How? This is going to affect my chances of getting the Corazon trophy.”
“Who told you that?”
“This woman in the locker room earlier…”
“A journalist? From where?”
“A student from the university, I think.”
Spinner laughs. “University news? You’ve got nothin’ to worry about, kid. Focus on your game and try for the Points Leader trophy instead.”
“Can’t I have both?” I drop down onto one of the large chairs and run my hands through my hair. “This team, these trophies, they’re the only things keeping me going. They’re all I have left!”
Spinner sighs and takes off his bifocals. “This isn’t just about the trophies, is it?”
I look up at the ceiling. “Reporters pester me, my friends hate me, I attract all the wrong women, and—worst of all—the league thinks I’m a goon. Everyone thinks I’m a player.”
“I hate to break this to ya, kid. But you kind of are.”
“I don’t want to be anymore. It’s been months since that stupid scandal and it’s still following me around. Why can’t I be judged by my own merit rather than my personal life?”
Spinner sits back in his chair. “Kid, I’ve gotta give ya credit. I was expecting a train-wreck when you came onto this team, but you’ve impressed me. You’re charmin’, you’re good-lookin’, you’re likeable. Yeah, you’ve got some rough edges—your antics with women could be better. But you’re a phenom on the ice, let me tell ya. You wanna be great? You already are great.”
I shake my head. “It’s not enough.”
“So you’ve got a reputation? Who cares?”
“I don’t want to just be great. I want to be the greatest. That’s why I care. If people keep using me—if they keep dragging everything I’ve worked for through the mud, then what else do I have?” I drop my head into my hands. “I have the worst luck.”
“It ain’t luck, kid.” Spinner stares at me. “If ya really want to clean this shit up, ya gotta do everything I say. Can ya do that?”
“Of course.” I inch closer to the edge of my seat, leaning in towards him. “What do I have to do?”
Spinner opens his agenda and flips through a few pages. “There are a lot of team events coming up. We’ll reconstruct your social life.”
“My social life?”
“No more random girls at the club. If I see anything that’s not family-friendly pop up on the internet, you’re losin’ that trophy. That means no more nude photos on Instagram.”
“I have no control over what pictures those girls take when I’m asleep—”
Spinner looks up and gives me a menacing look.
“Okay, okay,” I say. “No more one-night stands.”
Spinner pauses and narrows one eye. “How far would you go to win that trophy?”
“I would do anything.”
“Anything?”
I nod.”
“This is what we’ll do. We’ll get ya a girlfriend. It’ll erase the one-night stand image people have of you.”
“Get me a—” I laugh. “Like some sort of matchmaker? No thanks.” Catherine flashes through my mind. If those are the kinds of women out there, then I’d rather be single for for a decade or two.
“Why not?”
“A girlfriend is the last thing I need right now. I have to focus on my training.” I think back to the woman in the locker room and what she said about the full-body realignment. I’ve got to get my body back in peak condition.
“I know what you’re thinkin’, kid. I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout a real girlfriend. I’m talking ‘bout one for show.”
“A fake girlfriend?” I laugh. “You want me to get a fake girlfriend? And this is going to fix my problems? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
But Spinner doesn’t seem to think it’s ridiculous. He’s taking notes and typing something into his computer.
“Everyone does it, kid.”
“Everyone?”
“They just don’t tell no-one. Trust me, we’ll get you someone loyal—someone who won’t upload a picture of your junk to Instagram. Someone who won’t use you to get on the front page of the gossip rags.”
I laugh. “What am I supposed to do with a fake girlfriend?”
“Hold her hand in public, bring her to every public event, have dinner every once in a while. The media will be intrigued for a week or two before getting bored.”
“Do I want them to be bored?”
“Absolutely, kid. All the focus will be on your career—your goals, your plays. Don’t ya wanna be judged by your achievements?” He sits back in his chair and looks at me from under his heavy brows.
“Of course I do.”
“Good. And trust me, once they get bored of you they’ll find someone else to villify. Do this, and as long as ya keep playin’ the way you’ve been playin’, you’ll get the Corazon.”
Staring at Spinner, I contemplate his suggestion. “What if the media finds out she’s not actually my girlfriend? If this gets out, I’ll look like a grade-A douche-bag.”
“Worse than you look now?”
I pause and think about it for a moment. “Maybe.”
“Listen, kid. They won’t find out unless ya tell ‘em.”
I narrow my eyes. “Isn’t there anything else I can do?”
“If ya wanna impress those judges, you need your personal life to reflect your professional life. You’re hot on the ice, you gotta be hot off the ice. A superstar in every way. Unless you find a real girlfriend, this is your best choice.”
“So…” He brings his hands down loudly onto his desk. “Will ya find someone on your own? Or do you want me to help ya find someone? You know what? How ‘bout I just hire you someone. Your track record hasn’t been the greatest, kid.”
“Hey—”
But Spinner holds his hands up. “Think about it.”
Over the past few years, there hasn’t been a single woman who hasn’t dated me for something other than fame, sex, money, bragging rights, or the simple desire to destroy my life. A one-night-stand with Catherine destroyed my relationship with my childhood friend. The woman before her uploaded nearly nude photos of me onto the internet after I refused to give her ten grand. And the woman from the locker room nearly destroyed my career with that comment about my injuries.
I shake my head. She was with the media and I still wanted to ask her out. Am I a self-loathing psychopath?
“Whaddaya think, kid?”
I look up at Spinner. “Here’s a thought: How about I quit the one-night stands and remain the hockey league’s most eligible bachelor? That way, I don’t have to get into a relationship at all—real or fake. It seems like a much healthier option, doesn’t it?”
Spinner shakes his head. “We’re tryin’ to get away from the reckless narrative, not enforce it. You need to be predictable, boring. Get a new girlfriend, fade in with the rest of the team. The judges will focus on your talent. You want that trophy, don’t ya?”
I nod. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe paying someone to be my fake girlfriend is the way to go.” No sane woman would date me—not with my obsession with my work, and definitely not with my reputation.
Spinner points at a date on his calendar. “There’s a team charity event this Saturday. I’ll pick someone and send you the details.” He waits for my answer. “Logan?”
Something about hiring a girlfriend sounds off but after everything that’s happened over the past year, what choice do I have?
I nod. “I’m listening.”
“You’ll show up with a date this weekend.”
I sigh. “I guess I have no other choice.”
***
Driving up the hill to my penthouse suite, I think about everything Spinner said. He thinks I can’t get a real girlfriend. It’s ridiculous. I’ve always been able to bring a woman home. Sure, I’ve never tried to make them stay but I’ve never really tried.
Parking in the garage, I make my way upstairs. The house is a two-unit condo on a hill overlooking the ocean. Before heading upstairs to the penthouse suite, I knock on the door to the downstairs unit.
An old lady with white curly hair opens the door.
“Logan?” She’s so small that she has to crane her neck all the way back just to make eye contact with me. Her cloudy gray eyes are made giant by her massively round glasses.
“Hey, Madeline. I got this for you.” I hand her a puck. “Last night’s game-winner.”
“Oh, aren’t you sweet!” Madeline sold me the penthouse when I moved here. She was an actress over sixty years ago and was in a string of popular movies that still pay royalties to this day. She must be making bank because this place wasn’t cheap.
“Why is a young, handsome man like you still single?” She asks. Old ladies always seem to point out what a catch I am. Something about that demographic seems to be much more accepting of my “bad boy reputation” than women my age.
“Sometimes I ask myself that same question.”
“I’m still waiting for you to ask me on a date.”
I smile. “I couldn’t handle the pressure of dating such a legendary actress.”
“We’d certainly make headlines.”
I laugh. “Oh, you have no idea.”
I stop and consider it for a moment. How angry would Jay Spinner be if I showed up to the gala with eighty-year-old Madeline? His head would probably explode.
Madeline’s frail, wrinkled hand grabs my arm and gives me a shake. “You’ll find someone. Good guys like you aren’t single for very long.” A cat meows behind her. “Oh, damn. That’s Ravioli. He sure gets cranky when he hasn’t eaten yet.”
“I know how he feels.” I rub my stomach.
“Are you hungry? I have leftover lasagna—I know it’s your favorite.”
“Madeline, what would I do without you?”
She packs up a plate of lasagna for me before I head upstairs to my empty penthouse suite. Sitting in the dark at my dining room table, I turn on the TV. Sitting alone, I watch hockey highlights while eating the leftover lasagna.
