Roman
Page 56
“She’s getting serious,” I say knowingly. That look on her face said it all, and I can even relate to it more because if I’d look in the mirror when I think of Georgia, I’d have that same look on my face too.
“You two are right,” Gray says in a grudging tone. “I’ll try to figure a way to ease those tensions, but I can’t do it at the expense of my general manager duties.”
“Would never want you to, honey,” I assure Gray as I reach out and put my hand on her shoulder. “That’s still a priority, but I have confidence you can find the balance.”
“I hope so,” she says glumly.
I hope so too, because all of these relationships are so fragile and new, there’s a greater risk they’ll be broken rather than strengthened.
Chapter 24
Roman
Stepping off the bus, I follow my teammates almost single file into the Park Hyatt Hotel, exhausted after a brutal game against the Washington Breakers, but all that matters is we came away with the win. I received a small cut on my right cheekbone due to an “altercation” on the ice, but I’m proud to say the other guy looks worse. He got the first punch, but I got the last. Best of all, this fight was legit, and Gray Brannon can’t give me shit about it. That douche McClenden dropped the gloves first and I was just obliged to take him up on it. No one can argue with my reaction, and the five-minute major penalty was well worth McClenden needing to leave the ice to get stitched up. I was completely fine with a few butterflies one of our trainers slapped onto my tiny cut.
The minute we hit the lobby, fans start calling out to the players, but my name gets called the loudest and by the most people, because even though I’m part of a team that just beat their ass, I used to play for the Breakers before I came to the Cold Fury.
A quick scan of the crowd and I see plenty of my old Breaker jerseys being worn, and that’s because I was revered here. The Breakers built a reputation on gritty, no-holds-barred hockey, and I was the cornerstone of that philosophy. Even the team management turned blind eyes to my antics because deep down they knew it was a necessary part of the game.
Not so much with the Cold Fury, though.
Or at least I’m coming to learn.
“Roman…Roman…can we get an autograph?” I hear someone call out.
Another, “Roman, we miss you.”
And another, “Roman, please take a picture with me.”
With an internal smile, because I don’t want anyone to see I’m still flattered by the love I have from some old fans, I break off from my teammates as they file to the elevators or head over to the group of Cold Fury fans clustered in the lobby. Most are wearing Cold Fury jerseys, but there’s a good chunk of Breakers’ fans who want some of my time, and I’ve never been one to shortchange people who support me.
I notice other pockets of fans throughout, and some of my other teammates also stopping to indulge in photographs and autographs. It’s pretty much the norm after every game, and many fans will book rooms in the team hotel for a chance to get up close and personal with their hockey idols.
There’s a groove I get into, methodically signing jerseys or scraps of paper. Posing for selfies. Accepting handmade gifts or getting hugs from kids. And yes, getting hit on by women—and hell, twice in my career by men. It’s all part of my job.
I spend about ten minutes doing my duties, and as the last of the crowd starts to dissipate, I turn to the last group patiently waiting and sigh quietly when I see two female Breakers fans, both wearing Sýkora jerseys, waiting for me.
And not just any Sýkora jerseys.
These are tight and so formfitting they are leaving nothing to anyone’s imagination as to the size of their breasts or the circumference of their hips. In fact, I’d venture to say they were wearing kids’ jerseys. Both women have long, wavy hair and lots of makeup. Both very beautiful and very sexy, the type I’d have signed whatever they wanted in the privacy of a hotel room in my single days.
Now, that makes me smile.
My single days.
Yup, they’re over, and I’m not missing them at all, even with what’s in front of me right now. In fact, the only thing I can think about is getting this over with so I can get up to my room and call Lexi. She’s working tonight and will be closing up The Grind right around the time I’ll be calling.
“Roman, can we get an autograph and some pictures?” one of the women asks.
“Sure,” I say with a tired smile, and reach out to take the black marker she’s holding. “What would you like me to sign?”
“My jersey,” she says breathlessly.
Now, most fans when they ask you to sign their jersey’s will want it on the back, on one of the smooth fabric numbers that makes for easier signing and a clear autograph. But this woman steps forward, sticks her chest out, and with the tips of her fingers, pulls the tight material over her breasts even tighter.
“If you could sign right here,” she purrs, then nods down to her left breast.
I freeze, not knowing what to do. I’d suspected these ladies might hit on me and I’d graciously slip away from them claiming to be tired or something, but I didn’t figure I’d get slapped with this overt request right in the hotel lobby.
And because I’m so shocked, I can’t even think of how to decline her request, and I lamely mumble, “Okay…sure.”
She scoots closer to me, puffs her chest out more, and looks at me with hot eyes, which makes me feel very uncomfortable. Not because I can’t handle a woman doing this, but because I’m pretty damn sure Lexi would not take kindly to this kind of attention.
Resolved to get this awkwardness over, I uncap the pen and manage to scrawl my signature quickly on the material of her jersey, as high up on her chest as I can. The marker is awkward in my hand, as I’m holding it up high so as not to touch her with anything but the felt tip.
Just as I finish and move my hand away, I look up and past her shoulder to see Gray and Ryker standing across the lobby and staring directly at me. Ryker has an amused look on his face, while Gray is shooting daggers at me, her face a mask of disgust and fury.
The timing of this could not be worse, particularly since Brian Brannon just made a public announcement about Lexi. Until now, I have not been in the media circus, as no one really knows I’m seeing Lexi. But once that gets out, I’m going to be hounded, as will she, and shit like this could blow up into a mess.
“You two are right,” Gray says in a grudging tone. “I’ll try to figure a way to ease those tensions, but I can’t do it at the expense of my general manager duties.”
“Would never want you to, honey,” I assure Gray as I reach out and put my hand on her shoulder. “That’s still a priority, but I have confidence you can find the balance.”
“I hope so,” she says glumly.
I hope so too, because all of these relationships are so fragile and new, there’s a greater risk they’ll be broken rather than strengthened.
Chapter 24
Roman
Stepping off the bus, I follow my teammates almost single file into the Park Hyatt Hotel, exhausted after a brutal game against the Washington Breakers, but all that matters is we came away with the win. I received a small cut on my right cheekbone due to an “altercation” on the ice, but I’m proud to say the other guy looks worse. He got the first punch, but I got the last. Best of all, this fight was legit, and Gray Brannon can’t give me shit about it. That douche McClenden dropped the gloves first and I was just obliged to take him up on it. No one can argue with my reaction, and the five-minute major penalty was well worth McClenden needing to leave the ice to get stitched up. I was completely fine with a few butterflies one of our trainers slapped onto my tiny cut.
The minute we hit the lobby, fans start calling out to the players, but my name gets called the loudest and by the most people, because even though I’m part of a team that just beat their ass, I used to play for the Breakers before I came to the Cold Fury.
A quick scan of the crowd and I see plenty of my old Breaker jerseys being worn, and that’s because I was revered here. The Breakers built a reputation on gritty, no-holds-barred hockey, and I was the cornerstone of that philosophy. Even the team management turned blind eyes to my antics because deep down they knew it was a necessary part of the game.
Not so much with the Cold Fury, though.
Or at least I’m coming to learn.
“Roman…Roman…can we get an autograph?” I hear someone call out.
Another, “Roman, we miss you.”
And another, “Roman, please take a picture with me.”
With an internal smile, because I don’t want anyone to see I’m still flattered by the love I have from some old fans, I break off from my teammates as they file to the elevators or head over to the group of Cold Fury fans clustered in the lobby. Most are wearing Cold Fury jerseys, but there’s a good chunk of Breakers’ fans who want some of my time, and I’ve never been one to shortchange people who support me.
I notice other pockets of fans throughout, and some of my other teammates also stopping to indulge in photographs and autographs. It’s pretty much the norm after every game, and many fans will book rooms in the team hotel for a chance to get up close and personal with their hockey idols.
There’s a groove I get into, methodically signing jerseys or scraps of paper. Posing for selfies. Accepting handmade gifts or getting hugs from kids. And yes, getting hit on by women—and hell, twice in my career by men. It’s all part of my job.
I spend about ten minutes doing my duties, and as the last of the crowd starts to dissipate, I turn to the last group patiently waiting and sigh quietly when I see two female Breakers fans, both wearing Sýkora jerseys, waiting for me.
And not just any Sýkora jerseys.
These are tight and so formfitting they are leaving nothing to anyone’s imagination as to the size of their breasts or the circumference of their hips. In fact, I’d venture to say they were wearing kids’ jerseys. Both women have long, wavy hair and lots of makeup. Both very beautiful and very sexy, the type I’d have signed whatever they wanted in the privacy of a hotel room in my single days.
Now, that makes me smile.
My single days.
Yup, they’re over, and I’m not missing them at all, even with what’s in front of me right now. In fact, the only thing I can think about is getting this over with so I can get up to my room and call Lexi. She’s working tonight and will be closing up The Grind right around the time I’ll be calling.
“Roman, can we get an autograph and some pictures?” one of the women asks.
“Sure,” I say with a tired smile, and reach out to take the black marker she’s holding. “What would you like me to sign?”
“My jersey,” she says breathlessly.
Now, most fans when they ask you to sign their jersey’s will want it on the back, on one of the smooth fabric numbers that makes for easier signing and a clear autograph. But this woman steps forward, sticks her chest out, and with the tips of her fingers, pulls the tight material over her breasts even tighter.
“If you could sign right here,” she purrs, then nods down to her left breast.
I freeze, not knowing what to do. I’d suspected these ladies might hit on me and I’d graciously slip away from them claiming to be tired or something, but I didn’t figure I’d get slapped with this overt request right in the hotel lobby.
And because I’m so shocked, I can’t even think of how to decline her request, and I lamely mumble, “Okay…sure.”
She scoots closer to me, puffs her chest out more, and looks at me with hot eyes, which makes me feel very uncomfortable. Not because I can’t handle a woman doing this, but because I’m pretty damn sure Lexi would not take kindly to this kind of attention.
Resolved to get this awkwardness over, I uncap the pen and manage to scrawl my signature quickly on the material of her jersey, as high up on her chest as I can. The marker is awkward in my hand, as I’m holding it up high so as not to touch her with anything but the felt tip.
Just as I finish and move my hand away, I look up and past her shoulder to see Gray and Ryker standing across the lobby and staring directly at me. Ryker has an amused look on his face, while Gray is shooting daggers at me, her face a mask of disgust and fury.
The timing of this could not be worse, particularly since Brian Brannon just made a public announcement about Lexi. Until now, I have not been in the media circus, as no one really knows I’m seeing Lexi. But once that gets out, I’m going to be hounded, as will she, and shit like this could blow up into a mess.
