Evan got hammered by that big New York player. Holy cow. I think I actually yelped when it happened, and it took every ounce of self-control to stay in my seat and not go racing down the stairs to get a closer look, to make sure he was okay.

As it was, I could tell he was concussed when they brought him out of the rink and into the tunnel. And I felt sick about it, like maybe it was my fault. I’d ignored him during the few moments before the game. He came to my side of the hallway to get on camera and I’d blown him off, pretended to check my boot just to avoid facing what I knew was going to be some inexplicable chemistry.

He looked for me several times while he was on the ice. I faked being hard at work. Which I was, but not so hard at work that I wasn’t able to catch each glance he cast my way. Every single one went straight to my belly. Butterflies isn’t a word that covers what I felt when I knew his eyes were on me. More like stampeding horses.

I’m back home, now, prepping for a meeting with Fiona and Bud. My stomach is nervous for a different reason. I’m really worried Fiona isn’t pleased with my work. I hope I don’t lose my job because I’ll be crushed.

I turn on some music as I review all of my posts and plans-in-prep for the meeting. Even though I promised I wouldn’t, I review the images and video from Evan’s injury for the millionth time. Every time, there’s that glance. The one moment when he loses his concentration, looks my way. And BAM, he goes flying. I can’t help but feel it’s my fault.

Maybe someone else noticed? Maybe I’ll be fired for distracting the star player. I would deserve it.

The Black Keys’ Never Gonna Give You Up plays as I review everything for the meeting, that nervous pit of anxiety growing. It’s actually good for calming the nerves a little, but it makes my mind wander back to gorgeous Evan. I should probably call and check on him, right? Apologize for getting him hurt?

When I get to the administrative offices, I find Fiona and Bud in the conference room. Bud smiles brightly as I enter, standing and shaking my hand. Fiona says hello but doesn’t get up. Behind me, the rest of the media team trails in to take seats and I find myself relieved. If they’re all here, then this isn’t just about me or my work.

“Good morning,” I say, chipper. “How’s everyone doing today?”

“Very good,” Bud says. “You?”

“I’m well, thank you,” I lie.

Fiona sits forward in her chair once everyone is seated. “So, team,” she says. “I’ve been thinking about our media management tactics lately. According to the analytics reports, a good portion of our social media demographic is female. We’ve got a strong number of males in the stands and reading traditional news sources, but the fans who follow our social, Foundation work, and other marketing efforts are primarily female.”

She makes it sound like she pulled all those numbers on her own. I smile blandly as she talks, trying not to give away my annoyance at the fact she’s taking credit for my research. I gave her that information—but okay.

“I want to brainstorm on how we can really bump up our engagement with that female demographic. The guys are playing really well, so I’m not worried about filling seats or attracting our male fans. They’ll still show up for promo nights and other special events. But I think there is work to be done with women, so let’s discuss our options there.”

I pipe in then. “I’ve been working all angles of social. I’ve got shout-outs going on Snapchat before each game now. I’m thinking of running contests to make it more specific. Like, enter to win and Georg Kolochev can blow you a kiss on Snapchat or whatever.”

Someone giggles and says, “He’d probably blow more than a kiss if you let him.”

A few other people laugh but Fiona is a rock. She shakes her head. “He has a reputation, but whatever. That’s a decent idea. Flesh it out and let me know the plan. What else?”

“I’ve been doing a hairstyle series on Instagram, playing up on the old idea that all hockey players have mullets. Women seem to be responding well—we have some really handsome players on our team and they are very stylish to boot. It’s been fun. And we did a favorite song series, but I think I might do round two focused on their favorite ballads.”

“Okay, those are some good prospects,” Fiona says. She looks to the rest of the team, and they all throw out ideas for their own areas of engagement. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Kacey King, the blonde reporter who seemed to have a thing for Evan after the first game of the season, wander in and go to Fiona’s office.

As the meeting ends, I’ve got a few new marching orders. I feel out-of-sorts, for some reason, stressed out. I can’t figure out why. I sit at my cubicle, but I can’t concentrate, so I get up and head to the restroom. As I’m washing my hands, Kacey King comes in. She’s in a tight, royal blue dress that really shows off her curvy figure. She looks me up and down, her blue eyes bright and cunning. Her mouth turns up in a smirk, red lips gleaming from a fresh lipstick application.

“I was hoping I’d meet you,” she says.

“Me?” I ask, confused.

“Yes, the social media guru. You’ve really breathed new life into the team’s feeds. Nice job.”

“Oh, Thanks.”

“You know,” she says, putting her hands on the sink and leaning into my space, “I heard from my friend Fiona that Evan has taken a bit of an interest in you.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that…we’ve only spoken once or twice.”

“Must have been quite a conversation, Fiona says he asked for permission to teach you to skate.”

A little laugh escapes my lips. “Yes, he did say something about it.”

“Look,” Kacey says, “I think you know the team has a strict no-fraternization policy. And Evan knows this because he’s fucked an employee right out of a job once before. So, don’t think this is new territory for him, and don’t think that he gives two shits if you lose your job. He’s a stud and studs need to rut, if you know what I mean.”

“Did he rut with you?” I ask sweetly.

“Oh honey,” Kacey says, “I can’t be rattled that easily.”

“And you think I can?”

“Hmm.” She sighs dramatically and stands up straight, turning to focus on herself in the mirror. “Well, I do like what you’re doing for the team. I hope you don’t end up getting fired for fucking the players.”

“Players, plural?”

She smiles and winks. “Stay away from Evan Kazmeirowicz.”

I try not to let my jaw hit the floor as she walks out, the threat implicit in her words and tone.

Rattled, I make my way out of the restroom and just keep walking, headed outside into the sun for some rejuvenation. I finally pull out my phone and call Pam.

“Hey honey,” she says. “Out on our lunchtime walk?”

“Yeah,” I say,” But I also needed to get out of the office. I just had the weirdest run-in with this local television reporter.”

“Which one?”

“Kacey King,” I say. “You know, the one that did the flirty interview with Evan after the first game?”

“Oh yeah, I remember her. Blonde? Big rack?”

“That one. And a nasty streak,” I say. “She basically threatened to tell my boss I’m screwing the players in order to get me fired. Said Evan—and I quote—fucked someone out of her job once before.”

“Yikes,” Pam says. “Is that true?”

“No clue, but I feel like I would’ve heard that rumor, though, you know?”

“I’d think so. Sounds like the kind of water cooler thing that one hears, especially when the player in question is sniffing around.”

“I’m, like, a thousand percent sure that Kacey and Evan got it on,” I say. “No reason to get territorial unless you feel threatened, right?”

“Agreed,” Pam says, “that bitch is trying to land her a man.”

“Do you think she just has high hopes, or am I right they’ve already done it?”

“Probably the latter. Holly, his record seems to be love ‘em and leave ‘em. She probably thinks she can be different. The one who turns his attention away from whoring around.”

I cringe. “Ugh. Who knows how many women he’s done it with, Pammy? Why do I like this guy? He probably has chlamydia.”

“Genital warts,” Pam says.

“Or Gonorrhea.”

“Herpes?” she suggests.

“Okay, Okay,” I laugh, “I’m sufficiently grossed out now. I think I can go back to work and not be distracted by thoughts of Evan.”

“Just think of him with rot-dick and you’ll be refocused on work in a jiffy.”

“Eew?” I say, giggling. “Thank you and I love you.”

We hang up and I go back to work focused once more, completely convinced that Evan Kazmeirowicz is not worth my time and energy. Kacey King can have him.