“I’ve started the favorite songs series,” I say to Fiona as she hovers over my shoulder, looking at my laptop screen.

“Is it getting traffic?” she asks, disdain or disapproval dripping in her voice.

“A bit. But I haven’t pushed the better-known players yet. I’m working my way up the ladder.”

“Well don’t drag it out if it’s not driving traffic,” she says. “Watch the analytics. Just pushing content without knowing its impact is not how we do things around here.”

“I know,” I say, trying to sound calm when I really want to tell her not to be a big jerk. “It will be good.”

Fiona pushes her lips to one side, sniffs, and stands tall, smoothing the front of her dress and walking off without so much as another word. Yikes. Social media is on fire for this team, thank you very much. She needs to get the stick out of her butt and let me do my thing.

I continue working up the series. I had circulated a survey to the team, asking for lots of random information. I’m trying to link up a lot of our social media with the traditional media and advertising packages coming out of Fiona’s advertising team office. As I review the newest package, I scan and find Evan’s handsome face easily. God, he’s painfully gorgeous.

This shouldn’t be a thing, me crushing on one of our Crush players. Only a bazillion things could go wrong with having a thing for one of these guys, right? Christ. But he really is painfully hot. So hot. His dark hair is thick and a little on the long side right now. It was shorter when I started. It must grow fast. And he’s always got stubble, like no matter if he shaves in the morning, the hair will just deposit itself right back on those sculpted cheeks.

Yum. He’s yummy to look at.

And he was so cocky and flirtatious in person. Made me want to drop my panties, to be honest. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? There’s probably a line of woman who drop their panties for a guy like him. I’d be some one-night-stand and it’d be awkward working with him afterward. Yeah, no thanks. I like this job.

At lunchtime, I head out into the afternoon sun, relishing the feel of warmth on my skin as I call my friend Pam. Pam was my roommate all through college. She’s a spitfire blonde who always speaks her mind, sometimes when I’d rather she not. She’s a physical therapist, which is pretty much perfect for her personality.

“What’s up, hot stuff?” she asks. “How’s Sin City treating you?”

“Well, I haven’t seen much sin,” I say.

“That’s too bad. I’m seriously disappointed in you. You’ve been there, what, over a week now? No sin at all?”

“Ha. This is me we’re talking about,” I say.

“Yes, Miss Goody Two-Shoes.” I can almost hear her eyes rolling. “You need to live a little. What have you been doing out there? Wait—let me guess. Running. Working. Laying out by the pool being an introvert.”

I grin at the phone. “You got me. I have indeed been doing all of those things. Also ogling hot hockey players, though. I even flirted with one.”

“What?” She sounds amused but genuinely shocked. “I love that. Which one? I’ll look him up.”

“Evan Kazmeirowicz,” I say with a sigh. “So gorgeous. Panties practically fell off of their own free will when I was talking to him.”

“Wow,” she says. “Yep. Yep. I see that. Smoldering. Dark hair. Nice green eyes. Good stubble. That’s a man, Holly. He’s not some soccery-playing-wiener-boy like the last one. Nope. That’s a big dude. Probably has a long—”

“Okay, okay,” I interrupt quickly. “I can’t be thinking about him like that. He’s, like, a colleague. I can’t sleep with colleagues.”

“He’s a dirty sports boy who probably doesn’t even have any idea there are actual humans making the business side of the team work. He’s probably dumb as a box of rocks.”

I make a dubious noise. “I don’t think so. He’s cocky for sure, but in no way dumb.”

“Well, he’s worth a good dirty dream at the least. I approve of your ogling and lust. Nicely done, Holls.”

“So, I’m actually calling to see if I can crash with you while the team is in LA for games later this month.”

“Never a problem, but won’t the Crush put you up in a hotel or something?” she asks. “They that cheap?”

“Oh, they would, but I’d have to share with another person and I’d much rather bunk with you. It’ll give us a chance to catch up. I miss my roomie.”

“Aww, I miss you too, and it’s never a problem. Just text me the dates.”

We chat a little more about her job and some guy she’s been seeing before she turns the conversation back to Evan. “So, I think I’ve heard about this guy.”

“Evan, really?”

“Yeah, remember Tony? The guy I dated a little last year?”

“I guess…”

“Well, he was a huge LA hockey fan and we went to a game against the Crush. I remember that last name coming up. He was new to the NHL, but Tony said he’s like a scoring machine. Fast, lethal, totally focused on the game. But I guess he’s got a bit of a reputation. He and his buddy…whatever the defenseman’s name is. That guy’s a big partier, sleeps around a lot.”

“Wow, you do know things,” I say. “Georg is the other guy. He does have a reputation around here. Jury’s out on Kazmeirowicz.”

“Well, be careful,” she warns. “Guy like him will chew you up and spit you out. Though it might feel good to—”

“Nope. This conversation is over,” I laugh back. “I’ll send you those dates, Pammy.”

We finish the call and I head back inside. I start doing some research on a Facebook series I want to develop and end up coming across a bunch of pictures of the players at special events. There are a lot of Evan. It looks like they tote him out as a poster boy to all kinds of charity and sponsor events. It makes sense. He’s a natural in front of the press, very cocky but never saying anything that will cause the team any trouble. He looks good on camera, of course. But in the photos I find, there are always women at his side. Different women, never the same ones twice.

He’s probably a total player. Which is not something I’m interested in. My friend Pam isn’t wrong. I’m too much of a good girl for a guy like him. I only dated three guys all through college, including the one I got engaged to before I realized he was having a side gig with someone from the women’s soccer team.

Yes, best just to shut the book on this little fangirl crush. Evan is way out of my league and I don’t need the trouble a guy like him inevitably stirs up. It might be worth a one-night-stand, but…I am so not that kind of girl.

Forget it and move on. That’s what I’m doing.

Reunited with my sense of self-preservation, I’m able to really focus on my work for the rest of the day. I power through some planning for all of our platforms before sending my suggested calendar to Fiona for a look-over. I won’t say she’s been unsupportive, because it’s not the case. But she’s sort of disconnected. She pops in periodically and seems unenthused with individual ideas, even though those ideas are part of a larger plan. I figure she just needs to see the grand vision and how it all fits together, both from platform to platform and also within the loftier branding plan.

“Butts in seats,” she has said on numerous occasions. “Everything we do to promote this team, Holly, needs to be with the overarching idea of driving people to want to be in our stands.”

I feel most people want to connect with their heroes. They want to feel like they really know them, and social media creates this illusion. So, we need not focus on their hockey stats, they’re just one part of the plan. We should also allow small glimpses into who they are as people, as much as we can safely do without lying or disrupting their privacy.

When I leave for the day, my head is swirling with thoughts about my work. This is not a bad thing, but it’s hard for me to wind down. I decide to go for a run to expel some energy.

Putting one foot in front of the other has always been my centering activity. No matter what was going on in my life, I could put in my earbuds, turn up a song with a good beat, and just run. So, after this productive day that’s left my mind racing, I decide to lace up my shoes and take a long one. I run and run, probably seven miles, before I stop in my tracks gazing at a billboard featuring the faces of the Crush’s top scorers. Of course, dead center, is the gorgeous Evan Kazmeirowicz.

“Ugh,” I grunt to myself as I pull my water bottle from my running belt and take a swig. Why’s he got to be so beautiful?

With work successfully out of my head, I spend the seven miles back home thinking about a certain winger with a deadly smile, and a head of hair I’d give anything to put my hands in.