by June Winters
Madison looked around at us with a smirk. “And with that said, we've got our first round of cuts. The audition posting clearly stated you come dressed in dance shorts and a sports bra. If you didn't read the directions closely enough that you came dressed in something else, you can leave now.”
A number of the girls chuffed with disbelief. No one moved.
Madison nodded sternly. “I'm dead serious, ladies. If you aren't wearing the proper attire, you're done. Go home. Buh bye.” She blew her whistle, loud and long, until the ten or so incorrectly-dressed girls finally left the circle.
The outcast girls glided off the ice, coolly muttering to each other. I heard words like ugh and can't believe her and bitch. Madison grinned—she seemed to revel in it.
Yikes, I thought. Madison's kind of serious.
She blew her whistle again. “Alright! Let's start skating!”
***
That night, it was a frequent request heard echoing around the rink: “Smile, ladies!” “Smile—smile!” “Smiiiiile!”
Like I said. I was confident with all that. I smiled, I waved, I skated. The group of try-outs shrank, slowly but surely, as the weaker skaters tumbled to the ice and Madison seemed to derive a sense of joy in telling them to get lost.
After an hour, a group of seven was all that remained. Madison blew her whistle one last time.
“Congratulations, ladies, you made it to round two. We'll start interviews now.”
We followed her into the dressing room, where we took off our skates, and nervously waited for our interviews.
“Good luck,” I said to the first girl that Madison escorted out to a private room.
I looked around at the other girls. They were all … well … sort of in the same mold. The same type of girl as Madison—attractive in that classic American beauty way. I wasn't nearly as tall or as thin or, hell, toned as they were. They had golden tans, while I couldn't tan—I just fried. Looking at them and then looking at myself, I was the obvious odd-woman out.
Had I embarrassed myself to prove a point to Todd? And what point was I trying to make, exactly?
Er … that I'm attractive? Yeah, well, talk about a backfire! I didn't feel very pretty next to these girls.
When Madison called my name, I was the last girl to get interviewed. She took me to a conference room filled with fold-out chairs, all sitting in front of a big white-board that was still marked up with a mess of squiggled lines—the Blizzard's hockey strategy. I took a seat and Cora and Madison sat opposite me.
Madison looked at her clipboard. “So. Honor Bennett. That's an unusual name. Is that your real name?”
I smiled shyly. “Yeah. It's a family name.”
She smiled back. “I like it. Hopefully it means I can trust you.”
Her eyebrows arched, almost as if she were asking me a question. I laughed, a little uncomfortably—and so did Cora.
“Well—er—yeah, I think you can!”
Madison consulted her clipboard again. “Okay, Honor. Here's the thing. You were by far the strongest skater out there. Great eye contact, great smile. You have a skating background, I take it?”
“Sure do! I figure skated for five years.”
“I figured.” Madison pressed her lips together into a tight smile. “I was a cheerleader myself. But after four years of doing this, I can spot the figure skaters now. We've had a couple girls over the years who figure skated in the past, but you'd be the only one on the squad now. So what's your deal? I see you're 20 years old—are you a student?”
“No …” I trailed off. “I thought about going to art school for painting. But my boyfriend says it'd be a waste of time and money to get an arts degree. He wants me to work instead, and just pursue painting as a hobby. Who knows, he's probably right.”
Madison's eyebrow arched with interest. “You said you have a boyfriend?”
“Yeah. We actually just moved to Denver the other week from Minnesota.”
Her eyes and her smile both brightened, as if she suddenly liked me more. “Oh! Welcome to Colorado!”
“Thank you.”
“So you and your boyfriend live together, then?”
“Yup.”
“Ah-ha.” Madison nodded and scrawled a quick note on her paper. “Good, good.” She stared at me long and hard. “Okay, Honor. I'll cut to the chase. I saved you for last, because I figured I'd offer you the job first. So if you want it, it's yours.”
My heart practically stopped beating. “Wait, really? Are you serious?”
“I sure am.”
“I definitely want the job, Madison!”
“Great.” Madison clicked her pen against the clipboard over and over, narrowing her eyes at me, as if something were bothering her. “I just—have to go over some policy things with you first.”
“Oh, um, sure.”
She bit her lip and laughed. “This is going to sound crazy, since you live with your boyfriend, but rest assured. I have to say this to all the girls. It's nothing personal.”
I shifted in my seat. Um … okay …
“We have a strict no fraternization policy with the players. You'll see them on the ice, you'll work alongside them at charity events. You'll know their names, and in time, they'll come to know yours.”
“Right.”
“Any contact that occurs here at work, is obviously fine. Any contact outside team events is not okay. You will be terminated immediately. If you're at a restaurant, and you see a player walk in? The burden is on you to remove yourself from the situation. You'll be expected to leave the establishment immediately.”
I gulped. “Oh. Er. Okay.”
Madison gave a bubbly laugh. “I hate to say what I'm about to say—especially considering you have a boyfriend. But other girls might have benefited from getting this same warning I'm about to give you. So, again, don't take this personally.”
My brow furrowed as I waited for her warning.
“Listen. Honor. You seem like a sweetheart.” She clicked the cap of her pen again and again. “Do not fuck the players.”
I reeled back in my seat, my jaw unhinged. Even Cora hid her face in her hands.
“I know, I know. You have a boyfriend. But the players are hot, rich and charming. They love to flirt with the girls—but they're not in it for love. God forbid, but if it happens, I will find out about it, and you'll be gone. Understand?”
I stuttered and stammered, not knowing what to say. “Yes?”
Madison laughed. “I know how awful it sounds, and it won't be a problem since you have a live-in boyfriend! But really, I have to say that to all the new girls—and even still … well, you'd be surprised. Anyway. Welcome to the team.”
She hopped out of her chair. I rose to my feet and put out my hand to shake, but she hugged me instead.
“You're going to do great, Honor.”
The hell did I just get myself into? Todd's gonna kill me.
Chapter 4:
Co-Workers
Honor
“Hi, this is Todd. I'm not here right now. Leave a message after the beep, and maybe I'll get back to you.”
. . . Beep!
“Todd! You were supposed to pick me up tonight! Answer your phone!”
With a stamp of my foot, I hung up. I'd been freezing my ass off outside the arena's staff exit for over an hour, trying to reach Todd.
Staff exit. Those words echoed in my mind. I was 'staff' now. Huh! Let that thought sink in for a minute.
But between Madison's weird warning about not hooking up with the players, and Todd leaving me stranded outside the arena late at night, I wasn't in much of a mood to celebrate my new job.
It also didn't help that Todd left me stranded on a night when the clouds above opened up and spat bullets of ice cold rain. The rain fell fast and hard, and each pellet pierced at the skin like a bee-sting. I wasn't dressed to deal with this. When I'd left for the audition, the weather was much warmer—and all I'd worn was a thin hoodie over my sports bra and dance
shorts. I'd really regretted that fashion choice now.
Note to self: the weather in Denver can change in a hurry.
I stayed close to the arena, out of the sleet, fumbling with a city transit map and trying to figure out if there was, at the very least, a closer bus station—so I wouldn't have to walk quite so far in the freezing rain.
That's when I heard someone push through the arena doors behind me. Leather soles clicked on the concrete. The easy gait of a confident man strolled past me. An electric energy followed him—like the same storm clouds that had rolled overhead and blanketed the sky—and made the tiny tingly hairs on my neck stand straight up.
The sound of those shoes stopped just a few feet ahead of me. His magnetic presence lingered as he stopped, turned, and leered at me. But I didn't dare look up from my transit map. Call it rude, but Madison's warning had scared me witless. God knows—if that was a player, and he talked to me? And someone saw us talking? I could lose my job before I even started day one.
I pretended to study my map, hoping that mystery man would sense my panicked vibes—don't talk to me, don't talk to me!—and move along.
But, of course, he wouldn't. He took two steps closer to me instead.
“You lost?” he asked, his voice deep and smooth and right to the point.
I glanced up from my map—and what I saw made my heart pause in an instant. I'll say this: the handsome young man standing before me possessed the imposing height (6'2? 6'3?) and broad-shouldered build required of a professional athlete. Wearing a stylish trench coat over his well-tailored and obviously expensive midnight blue suit, he dressed like a young millionaire, too.
Gulp. This guy has 'hockey player' written all over him.
“No, not lost,” I answered shakily, and my paranoid eyes swept our surroundings for witnesses. “Thanks though.”
He ran a titan-sized hand through his unruly locks, and swept back his sandy-brown curls.
My eyes narrowed at him: the strong jawline, the square chin, the cheekbones—was he starting to look familiar? Was he the captain? Without all his hockey gear on, and without that giant 'C' stitched on the front of his jersey, I couldn't be sure.
But he shrugged. “Okay.” And then he turned and walked off.
I breathed a sigh of relief when he continued on—the sound of his footsteps growing more distant as he disappeared into the parking garage. Whew.
Another call to Todd went unanswered. More fumbling with my stupid map, which had been soaked by the rain, and was beginning to tear and fall apart.
Minutes later, bright white headlights rounded the corner of the parking garage. The car was heading towards me. The snarling, exotic-sounding engine powered down into a low, relaxed hum as the driver slowed alongside me—and came to a smooth stop.
Oh boy. Here we go again.
Inside, through darkly-tinted windows, all I could see was the orange ember of a cigarette. He smoked? Maybe he wasn't an athlete after all.
The passenger window slid half-way down. I bent my knees to take a peek in, even though I already knew it was him. Yup—it was him, alright, and now his dark and manly features were lit by the blue glow of the car's instrument panel.
“You sure you're not lost?” he asked.
“I promise I'm not lost. I'm—” I stammered. “I'm waiting for my ride to pick me up. I think.”
He chuckled. “You think?”
“Well—he was supposed to answer his phone—but …”
He tilted his head at me. “Weren't you one of the ice girl try-outs?”
I paused before admitting, “Yeah.”
“Did you get the job?”
“… Yeah.”
“Cool. Congrats.” He held up a parking permit that read, in big letters, STAFF. “Guess we're co-workers, then. It's a good organization to work for. You want a ride home?”
I folded my arms and pulled my hoodie tighter over my chest. “I—I shouldn't.”
His eyes swept down my bare legs for a brief second. “You're not dressed for this weather. You're going to freeze out here, you know?”
“Yeah, I know,” I mumbled shamefully.
“So get in, and I'll drive you home.” He paused. “Or, don't. But only if you're sure your boyfriend hasn't blown you off.”
He took a slow drag from his cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke out his window with a smugness that just oozed 'over-confident dick-head.'
My nostrils flared. I hated that he was right—but who was I really mad at? This jerk, for basically implying that Todd didn't care enough to come pick me up? Or Todd, who might very well not care enough to rescue me from this storm?
He leaned across the console, reached for the door handle, and popped the passenger door open as if he just expected me to climb in.
I peeked in, still unsure. His car straddled the line between sporty and luxurious, with aggressively-styled, caramel-colored leather seats. Seductive and hypnotic beats bumped softly from his speakers, luring me in.
I sighed and took one last survey of the area. No one else was around. No one had to know! And I had the excuse of ignorance, here—sort of. I quickly climbed in and shut my door.
“Thanks,” I said—and I made the mistake of locking eyes with my new co-worker, even as the cabin lights began to dim.
Those eyes of his took me by surprise. Bright and beautiful, with long, beating lashes. But there was a darkness, a brooding pain lingering behind his eyes. It wasn't a darkness that scared you away. Worse, it was one that sucked you in before it ruined you—like the coast that recedes into the sea before a devastating tsunami.
Oh. Wow. My throat clenched. I couldn't look away. I was thankful when the cabin lights finally went dark a second later.
“Don't mention it,” he answered.
I had to get the suspense over with.
“Hey, you're not an athlete, are you?” I asked.
“No,” he answered with a smile. “I'm an ice technician that drives a Maserati.”
“Oh,” I answered, relieved … but strangely disappointed.
It's better this way, though.
And I had to remind myself: he's an over-confident dick-head because he's good-looking.
Don't fall for it.
. . . to be continued!
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