The Thursday after the team and I arrive home from the away game, I’m in a meeting with Ted, going over some last-minute changes with the web designer, who’s video calling in from Tokyo.
It’s obscenely early in the morning there, but for some reason, this woman likes to sit down and chat in what’s basically the middle of the night—and since that’s the middle of the day for Ted and me, we’re not going to argue. Just as I’m about to float an idea regarding how the player bios should be arranged on the “Meet the Team” page to match some of the social media stuff I have planned, my phone buzzes in my pocket.
It’s Heather. I hit ignore, because the meeting isn’t supposed to go on for much longer. Fifteen minutes later, Ted dismisses me, and I head back to my little corner office and call my sister back.
“Hey, Mar,” she says when she answers, and I can tell right away that I’m on speaker phone. She must be in the car. I can hear the sound of a horn honking in the background. “We’re on our way! Where do you want to meet for lunch?”
“Huh?” I plop down into my chair. “We’re meeting for lunch today?”
“Yeah,” Heather says, her tone suggesting it’s something I should already have been aware of. “Didn’t I—? Oh, shoot. I forgot to text you. Ugh, I knew there was something I forgot to do. I filled up my car with gas, I signed April out of school early, but I totally forgot to call and make sure you would be available to meet up.”
A laugh belts out of me. Between the two of us, I’ve always been the focused, organized one, and Heather has always been just a little more scatterbrained. Combine that with the fact that she’s a single mom who works full time, and you really can’t blame her for being all over the place sometimes. Honestly, I love her for it, and the idea of seeing her and April for lunch fills me up with so much joy that I’m not even irritated at the last-minute change to my schedule.
“I can meet you anywhere near the arena,” I tell her. “Is there a particular food that April’s in the mood for? I know she can be a little picky.”
“Am not!” April calls out, presumably from the back seat.
“We can find her something on the kids’ menu at most restaurants,” Heather says. “So I guess the only criteria is it has to be a place that has a kids’ menu. None of those five-star restaurants I’m sure you’ve been going to now that you’ve got this fancy new job.”
I smirk, amused by the way she acts like I’m rolling around in piles of money now that I’ve got this job. Although it’s definitely an improvement over my old one, I will say that. Leaning toward my desk, I flip open my laptop and pull up a list of the best casual dining offerings in the area. I find a cafe that isn’t far from the arena, and once I confirm that they have a kids’ menu, I text the name of it to Heather.
“The GPS says I’ll be there in ten minutes,” she tells me. “Does that work?”
“Yup. I had plans to meet up with the team before they went into practice, but I’ll just catch up with them afterward. They’re usually in better moods then anyway, since they’ve just worked up a sweat and skated away all the stress.”
“Perfect! See you soon!”
“See you soon, Auntie Margo!” April adds, just before Heather hangs up the phone.
As I get up from my seat and put my warm layers on, a grin steals across my face. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve seen my sister and my niece, and I didn’t realize just how much I’d missed them until I heard they were coming my way.
I hustle out of the offices on the second floor of the complex and head outside with my work bag slung over my shoulder. As the chilly late fall air hits my face, I stuff my hands into my pockets and walk the five blocks to the cafe. The lunch rush is just starting to pick up when I walk inside, but I manage to snag an open table near the window overlooking the street.
I sit down and slowly take off the fall layers that I just piled on not ten minutes ago. Jacket, hat, scarf, and gloves. I feel practically naked by the time I’m done, but the cafe is warm and the waitress wastes no time coming around and asking if I’d like some coffee.
“Yes, please,” I tell her. “With oat milk and a bit of sugar, if you have it. Thank you.”
“No problem.”
She disappears into the back, and as she returns a minute later with my coffee, I spot Heather over the waitress’s shoulder. She’s also bundled up, and in her arms, she’s carrying what looks to be a round pile of fleece wrapped up in an oversized puffer coat. Once she gets closer, I realize that it’s just April.
There’s nothing cuter than a little kid so bundled up in winter clothing that you can hardly even make out their shape. The only part of April that’s exposed to the world is her rosy face, and I can’t help but reach out and gently pinch one of her cheeks as Heather puts her down in the chair next to mine and huffs.
“Can I get one of those too?” she asks, pointing to the cup of coffee that the waitress has just brought me. “I’ll take mine black.”
“Sure, coming right up.”
The woman smiles at us both, then waves to April and walks away. I grab my phone and take a couple pictures of April in her ridiculous bright orange coat, then reach out and start to help her untangle herself from the scarf that her mom has wrapped around her neck a million times.
“Heather,” I say, giving my big sister a look. “I know it’s been getting colder lately, but is it really this cold? It’s not even technically winter yet.”
“I’d rather she has too many layers on than too few,” Heather insists. She sits down across from us and sighs, looking out the window. “You have no idea what it’s like to be outside on a cold day and not have anything to wrap around your shoulders.”
I wince, not wanting to think about the time Heather spent on the streets in another state after escaping an abusive relationship. It was only a couple nights before she found a bed in a women’s shelter, but I know that those two cold, sleepless nights still haunt her.
“Sorry,” I murmur softly.
She smiles at me and shakes her head. “Don’t be. I know you were just making a joke. Anyway, enough about that. Let’s talk about you. How has the new job been going?”
“Mommy, I want pancakes!” April says, and Heather nods.
“Alright, you can have pancakes, but it’s not time to order just yet, okay, sweetie? Here. They have crayons, and you can draw on the table cloth. Isn’t that fun?”
Heather slides the box of cheap crayons across the table to April, who excitedly tears them open and begins scribbling on her corner of the paper laid out over the table top.
“The new job is going well,” I say, picking up the conversation where we left off. “I’ve finally finished all the new player bios, so now I get to move on to more of the fun stuff. Just this morning, I was thinking about setting up a TikTok account for the team, but I’m not sure if our core fan base really uses TikTok.”
The waitress comes back with Heather’s coffee, then gives us a minute to look over the menu before we order. Heather brings the mug to her lips and furrows her brow in thought.
“Isn’t that kind of the point, though?” she asks. “You’re trying to get new fans, not just cater to the ones you already have. And TikTok is huge right now. If you ever want a chance of connecting with the younger generation, which I assume you do, since most people I know who watch hockey are old and not going to be around for much longer—”
“Heather!”
“What?” she says defensively. “It’s true! A lot of hockey fans are on the older side, so you need to find a way to attract new fans who are younger. Fans who will come to games and buy merch for the next few decades. I honestly think TikTok is a great idea.”
“That’s a good point. I just have to figure out what kinds of content would work best on that platform.”
Heather shrugs. “Don’t look at me. I mostly scroll Booktok, so I don’t know what’s popular outside of that. But there’s gotta be a new dance trend circulating around. You just have to find the newest one and jump on the bandwagon before the kids move on and find something else to obsess over.”
I grab my phone off the table and log in to my own TikTok account.
The first few videos that pop up in my feed are from lifestyle influencers, mostly, but then I see one from a comedian that I know is very popular with teenagers. I click on the video and watch as he and his wife dance to a part of the song, ‘I’ve Had The Time of My Life.’
When I do a bit more digging, I realize that dozens of other couples have been doing their own take on the bit, and a grin tugs at my lips.
“What are you smiling at?” my sister asks.
“I just got a really good idea,” I tell her gleefully. Then I make a face. “The only problem is going to be convincing one of the guys to go along with it and help me with the trend.”
“Don’t they, like, have to do it?” Heather points out. “I mean, if you tell them that you need promotional material for the team’s social media accounts, can they really just tell you no?”
I laugh. “Uh, yeah. They can. I mean, they’re not supposed to. In theory, we’re all supposed to be on the same team, moving toward the same goal, but these are famous athletes we’re talking about. Some of them have big egos, and rightfully so, since they’re great players. And even though they’ve all been very cooperative so far, I’m sure each and every one of them has a line they just won’t cross. And can you really blame them? There are videos of me I wouldn’t want someone to post on the internet, even if it did mean I got more followers or whatever.”
Heather smirks. “You mean like that video I took on dad’s camcorder when we were in middle school? The one where you’re kissing the television screen because Justin Timberlake was being interviewed, and you were convinced he was the man you were going to lose your virginity to?”
I roll my eyes. “Go ahead, make fun of me all you want, but I know for a fact that there is no copy of that video left in existence.”
She raises a single brow. “You sure about that?”
My jaw drops open, but before I can comment on that particular revelation, the waitress returns to take our order.
When I return to the office after lunch, I watch a few more videos on TikTok of people doing the same dance I saw the comedian do, and start to understand just how big this trend is getting. We need to strike while the iron is hot, which means I don’t have much time. I chew my lip as I consider which of the players is most likely to agree to do this with me, running through the list in my head.
Reese has a girlfriend, Sienna, which means he might be uncomfortable doing something like this with another woman on camera. Theo is out too. Not only does he seem like someone who wouldn’t be into this sort of thing, but I’m willing to bet he hasn’t even seen the movie that’s being referenced. Moving on, I think about Sawyer, who would probably say yes—but I hate to ask him to do extra work when it’s not strictly necessary, seeing as he’s already juggling work and his son.
Grant pops into my head, and I laugh out loud at the thought of what his face would look like if I suggested he and I do something like this, film it, and put it online. As fun as it would be to see his expression, I really can’t be wasting time when I’m positive his answer would be either ‘no’ or ‘fuck no.’
My mind shuffles through a few of the other players, but I dismiss them all for one reason or another. And that really just leaves one person. The best person, actually. The team captain, who will bring in more views and more followers than any other player on the Denver Aces, guaranteed.
Sighing, I grab my purse and dig to the bottom until I find the napkin Noah wrote his phone number on that night at the bar. I’ve kept it this whole time, but I’ve never actually put the number in my phone. Somehow, that felt too official. Like a clear admission that I was giving in to his charms.
But now I don’t have a choice.
I hit ‘new message’ and type his number in. It takes me a couple drafts before I settle on what to send. I want to keep it short, simple, and to the point, so that he doesn’t think I’m flirting or anything.
ME: Hey, it’s Margo. You busy? I’ve got a proposition for you.
The moment I hit send, though, I instantly regret it.
For some reason, in my head, the text didn’t sound so open-ended, but once it goes out and I read over it again, I know exactly how Noah is going to take it. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to clarify my intentions, because he texts back right away.
NOAH: I thought you’d never ask. The guys and I just finished up practice, so just let me know… your place or mine?
My cheeks are instantly on fire, and I try to pretend that the flutter in my stomach is from something I ate at lunch and not because I’m imagining what he’s suggesting. I groan, sitting back in my desk chair as I mentally berate myself for walking right into that one.
Another text comes in as I’m still thinking about what to send back.
NOAH: Unless this proposition is work related. Then I could meet you in your office. You have blinds to cover the windows right? And a desk that could hold both our weight?
He follows that up with a winky-face emoji, and even though I should probably be annoyed at his lack of professionalism, I find myself laughing instead.
The next text I send, however, I make sure is totally clear and not open to interpretation.
ME: No.
That’s it. That’s what I send first, all on its own, just to make sure that the message gets across. Then I send another text explaining what I originally meant.
ME: I have an idea for the team’s TikTok account, but I can’t make the video on my own, so I need the help of one of the players.
At the last second, I decide to include one more piece of information, just to make sure Noah and I are on the same page.
ME: I asked a couple of the other guys already, but they said no. Any chance you’d be free to help me before practice tomorrow morning?
Normally, I’m not the lying type. But this job is so important to me, and getting involved with one of the players could risk blowing up everything. I need to ensure that the flirtatious tension between Noah and me doesn’t turn into anything more, so if that means suggesting that he wasn’t my first pick to help me out with this project, then so be it. His ego is strong enough to take a little bruising now and then.
A few text bubbles appear and then disappear, and I hold my breath as I wait. But less than a minute later, his response comes through.
NOAH: Sure, not a problem. I’m down for anything. See you at the practice rink around 9?
ME: Perfect. I’ll send you some videos so you can see what we’re trying to replicate.
That text feels a little too formal for some reason, so I type out one last one, pressing send before I can second-guess myself.
ME: Thank you.
I really am grateful that Noah said yes, and it made me really happy when he said he was ‘down for anything.’ It makes me think he’s going to be easy to work with, and one of the more willing participants on the team when it comes to my social media requests.
My phone buzzes again, and I glance down to read his response.
NOAH: Anything for you, Sunflower.
My gaze sticks on those four little words, my cheeks growing warm.
Focus, Margo, I tell myself. I’ve got work to do. There are a few things I need to get ready for the video tomorrow, so I pack up my stuff and leave work a little early.
Then I head to the nearest thrift store, where I go digging in search of an 80s inspired, light pink dress in my size.
