So, because I’m a glutton for punishment, I immediately open up social media. And, yep, there’s the aforementioned boob-grab picture, complete with tags to the team. Thankfully, I’ve set it up so I can un-tag photos which are deemed inappropriate. I do just that, though I can’t do anything about the hashtags that put the photo into the mix of photos I have previously approved and placed on purpose.

I scan the picture. I can see Georg’s hair just off to the side, but the focus is definitely on Evan and this fangirl, her long hair silky around her shoulders, his hand copping a feel of her ample breast. He’s smiling, and it doesn’t look forced.

See? This is why I can’t give in to this guy. He was out at a strip club, paying women to dance naked for him. He willingly put his hand on another woman’s breast for a photo-op. It just doesn’t sit well with me. And he just casually mentioned it in a text, acting like it was totally on the woman, like he had nothing to do with it.

But here’s the rub: I can Google him and find countless other like-type photos. Evan likes the attention, has since well before he ever joined the Crush. This is just who he is–-a slobbering, boob-grabbing pig who likes to have his way with women and then jettison them off into nowhere, as if they never existed. There’s even a blog online where women talk about sex with hockey players. Evan is mentioned more than once, and always as a player. I need none of that in my life right now. I think I will stick to dream-Evan, and the untold pleasures of my massaging shower-head.

I must keep my work life separate from my personal life. I mean, not that I have much of a personal life to speak of. It’s been really hard to meet people in Las Vegas. My coworkers are nice, but they don’t really socialize much, maybe because of the weird fraternization policy, and while I’ve met a few of my neighbors, no one has struck me as friend material yet. And forget meeting men. Not that I want to. Not really.

On the plane out to New Jersey, the whole team, the coaching and training staff, and the media team were all on board. It was fun. I enjoyed the camaraderie of having a work team, and the excitement of heading out on our first away-stretch was really special. I do love my job.

I’m not angry with Evan. I mean, he is who he is, and he was that person long before he took an interest in me. But I won’t let myself believe his interest is in anything other than a quick interlude, sex without strings. And I’m just not that girl.

I type one line of text to him before turning off the light and trying to sleep: I’m not the girl for you.

We’re doing three away games in a row, starting in New Jersey, then to New York, and finally Philadelphia. During the New Jersey game, I’m on my phone and laptop simultaneously, live-tweeting the game and running promos on the other channels throughout the whole thing. We’re getting a lot of engagement, which is awesome, and whenever we score people become all riled up online. The game is also really exciting. I don’t know why I didn’t realize how exciting hockey can be. Hockey moves very fast, and I’m finally starting to understand the basic rules. Evan and Georg both get sent to the penalty box at the same time so watching the team rally while New Jersey is on a power play becomes a nail-biting scenario.

There’s a big fight at the end of the second period, where one of the New Jersey players takes a swing at one of our rookie players. The kid’s tooth flies out of his mouth, a moment that gets replayed on the JumboTron about fourteen times. The crowd loves it and the kid seems none the worse for the wear, so I shoot out a few short videos of the incident, getting almost instant feedback from our fans. They are somewhat bloodthirsty, but I guess many hockey fans are.

Fiona has a press conference set up after the game and, of course, Evan is at the center of it, along with David Chalamet, and the rookie Mikhail. Evan scored a hat trick in the first period, while David and Mikhail paired up for scores and assists on two more goals in the third. It was a pretty spectacular win for the Crush, and the press is pretty amped up as they fire questions at the guys.

Everything goes fine, for the most past, though the rookie is salty throughout the whole thing, making a comment about some players being puck-hogs, and how he appreciates that the Team Captain is a mentor and team player. Even I can tell, from where I sit at the back of the room, Evan has to use all the self-control he has to keep from responding to the underhanded attack. The reality is it’s Mikhail who hogs the puck, but his shots on goal are wild and uncontrolled. He certainly lacks the finesse of Evan and Georg, who both work well together.

David says something totally diplomatic about it being great to have such diverse talent on the team, diffusing things before anyone can make more stupid comments on the record. Evan looks relieved and relaxed, but Mikhail looks ready to attack at any moment. The press can sense it, and one asks if the winning streak can continue with such obvious animosity on the team. David easily diverts this one, too, and Fiona steps in quickly, saying that the team needs to get going. She shoos the reporters out and the three players head back to the locker rooms.

When everyone is out of earshot, Fiona grabs my arm. “That rookie is going to be the death of me,” she says.

“Why put him on camera?” I ask.

“We need young blood on camera. He’s a hard worker. Fans like him.,” she says. She sighs and puts her hands on her hips. “This is Chalamet’s last season, and he’s a total diplomat. Kazmeirowicz is a fan favorite and probably Team Captain next year. I don’t know. I’m going to have to do media training with some of these young guys to make sure they’re all polished up.”

“Did you do media training with Evan and David?” I ask.

“No,” she says. “They were both naturals on camera. Some people just get it.”

“But Evan’s always all over social with women and parties and cars,” I say. “Surely that can’t be good for the brand?”

“I think people feel some of that is part and parcel to an athlete’s life,” Fiona says. “Though I am sure our fans would be overjoyed to see him settle down. I’d love to fix him up, see him propose to someone. Our own little version of a royal wedding.”

“Has the Crush ever had a well-known player get married?”

Fiona thinks about this, her lips pushed to one side. “I don’t think so,” she says. “Not since the advent of social anyway.”

She makes a curious little noise and wanders off without so much as a “see you later.” Fiona has not been effusive about my work, which is a bummer. I have the metrics for year-over-year engagement and I know my work is generating lots more traffic than they’ve ever had on social before. I can’t tell if she just doesn’t like me, or if maybe she doesn’t get what I’m trying to do. I’ve given her plans, which she approved, but she still doesn’t seem to get excited about what I’m doing. She’s always sort of professional with a dash of disapproval. I’d kind of hoped for supportive and mentoring. I’d settle for something in between, just a shade warmer than the cold tone I get from her most of the time.

I have been working more video into my feeds, getting Boomerang moments on ice, which have been really popular. I plan to do some pre-game video at the next few games, as well.

Oh well. I sigh and look around the now-empty press room. Guess I’ll go back to my hotel room and get my pre-game posts lined up for tomorrow.

Just because I’m a glutton for punishment. And a little bit lonely, to be honest, I shoot Evan a text from the staff bus on the way back to the hotel.

When I get into my room, I flop onto the bed with a huge groan. Why does he have to be so fun to talk to? So easy to flirt with? Ugh. I don’t want to like the same movies as he does. I don’t want to think about all the things we could be doing together. He is a player, pure and simple. He said it himself that marriage makes him have panic attacks. He’s not for me. He will only hurt my fragile heart. I can’t be thinking about him like this.

But I do. I think about Evan all night long, my fingers starting and deleting new texts over and over again until my eyelids finally get heavy and I fall into a fitful sleep.