“Is there something on my face? Why are you standing there? Sit down and have a roll.” I cover my half-full mouth while I talk. Manners are overrated. He certainly doesn’t bother, so why should I?
He shakes his head but plops down next to me. “I don’t have a crystal ball, Emilia.”
“I’m aware. But what is your feeling? Is the team good enough? Can we make it happen?”
He nods. “I think so. The boys are motivated. I believe in the team.”
“And Coach Benning? Is he the right coach for our team?”
He rubs his chin. “Yeah…. He gave us the chance to develop as a team last year without forcing us to become something we’re not. He’s an offensive trainer, but we’re more of a defensive team. Instead of forcing his style on us, he made sure we could develop as needed regarding our strengths and weaknesses. Last year was a trial run; I think we can show our full potential this year.”
“Great. That’s good to hear.” It is good to hear, but failure is still an option. He can neither predict nor see the future, and neither can I. We’ll just have to push hard and do our jobs. “Okay. So, back to my hockey questions—”
“Wait. About what you said earlier. Would your grandfather really sell the team if we lose and don’t make playoffs?” His eyes are wide open as he stares into mine.
It’s not that I didn’t expect this question, but to answer, I’ll have to tell him the truth about my relationship with my grandfather and his low opinion of me, which might add fuel to the opinion Matt himself has formed about me—not that I know what exactly he thinks of me, but still….
I clear my throat. If I want his help, I have to tell him. No way around it. “My grandfather doesn’t care about hockey. He doesn’t care about the team. All he cares about is selling clothes. Everything has to be like he wants it, and sometimes his decisions don’t make sense to anyone else but him. He’s been very successful at managing the Ravelli Group, so no one dares to question his decision. No one could anyway, since the company is a hundred percent family owned.”
Matt is still staring at me, but his face is void of emotion. I look outside the window and continue. “I’m just a pawn in his game. I’m not good enough in his eyes. Never have been. To be honest, I haven’t been very successful with the projects I’ve been responsible for so far. It just never…. It’s a long story. All you need to know is I care about this team. I want the Ice Tigers to be successful. I want us to win the Cup. That’s your goal too, right?”
He nods but doesn’t say anything.
“Please don’t tell anyone yet. Just help me make this team a success, and I’ll deal with my grandfather. As long as we win, I’ll be able to convince him to make the necessary investments and not sell the team.” At least that’s what I hope.
He rubs his chin then nods. “I can do that.” He picks up a roll and takes a healthy bite.
“I can do that?” That’s it? That’s what I need from him, but is it really that simple? I’ll never understand him, but as long as he knows what’s at stake, I’ll accept his “I can do that.”
“So, can I ask you some questions about offside and icing and, you know, just some basic things, in case someone wants to talk to me about hockey?”
He holds my gaze but then nods again, and the left corner of his mouth lifts a fraction of an inch. It’s not a smile, but it’s an improvement to his signature brooding look. I think he’s amused. Slightly amused.
“I’ll get my laptop. It’s easier to explain when I can show you some sequences.”
And that’s what he does, shows me hockey sequence after hockey sequence while we eat lobster rolls. His expression softens, and his eyes shine when he talks about hockey. I should pay more attention to what he’s saying rather than watch his every move, but I’m fascinated by this other Matt.
Us sitting here is a beginning. Not sure what kind of beginning. But he and I now have a second common goal. And another secret.
Chapter 9
Matt
If someone had told me half a year ago I’d be standing in the Ice Tigers’ arena without skates while an assistant sprays fake sweat on my face and chest, I wouldn’t have believed him. But here I am, standing right next to Tyler in RAVELLIS workout gear.
As the new captain and with the way he looks, his participation in the first promotional shoot was a no-brainer. Mine, not so much. Michael would have been an obvious choice, but they went for me—the new alternate captain. I don’t think “the King”—as he calls himself— was happy about the decision at first, but Emilia assured him they had something else in mind for him. Gotta please the team diva.
But even his childish antics couldn’t dampen my mood. I’m the new alternate captain. Who would have thought that? When coach called me to his office, I thought I was being traded last minute. Afraid I’d end up somewhere on the West Coast, far away from my unborn babies, a snail could have overtaken me on my walk from my room to the conference room Coach used as his makeshift office during training camp. He couldn’t have surprised me more. I’d already been one of two alternate captains in New York, but after my trade to Boston, I didn’t think it would happen again, with me being the new guy and not one to engage with his teammates other than on the ice.
I wasn’t Coach Benning’s first choice, but Tyler rooted for me. As the new captain, he was allowed to choose one of his alternates, and he wanted me. I’m not complaining; I’m on the right path again to chase my dreams, and it feels good. Damn good. At least the hockey part of my life seems to be back on track.
“That’s a great look. Whatever you’re thinking, it’s perfect. Just don’t change your expression and look straight ahead. Perrrfect.” The photographer runs around me with her camera, a constant clicking sound accompanying her.
So far, we’ve been standing around with our arms crossed over our chests or leaning with our hips against the boards, with or without fake sweat on our faces and clothes. Thank God we aren’t required to smile for the camera. The photographer is going for an unapproachable look—her words, not mine.
The whole experience isn’t as terrible as I expected it to be. Whatever the clothes are made of, the material is soft on the skin, and the design is kept in different shades of gray and black. After I googled Italian fashion last night, I prepared for crazy colors and designs, something I’d never wear if given the choice, but these clothes are classic and down-to-earth. I’m pleasantly surprised they are not only supposed to be fashionable but are also functional.
The gray hoodie I’m wearing right now has long sleeves, which can serve as gloves if you push your thumb through a hole in the side. The black material at the end of the sleeve is bolstered with leather patches and perfect if one needs extra grip for weight training. I love that the hoodie has hidden pockets big enough for a phone at the front and at the back, so you can keep your valuables on your body during all kinds of exercises. The best thing, though, is they have a channel on the side where a cable can be hidden, which is awesome if you don’t want to use wireless headphones. I always forget to charge the wireless ones, but with the channel, I’m not going to strangle myself with a cable ever again. Best invention ever.
My shorts are well thought through as well. While they are tight underneath the knee, the area around the thighs is a loose fit and supports a full range of motion. I, like most hockey players, have more thigh muscles than an average person, something that happens when you’re in half a squat position for a crucial part of your day. Skating requires strong legs, and the thigh and hip area is our engine for explosive sprints over the ice, but it’s a nightmare when I want to buy a new pair of jeans or workout clothes. The tight stuff isn’t for me. I’m still not sure what to think about Emilia’s grandfather owning the team, after everything she’s told me, but I can appreciate their expertise when it comes to fashion and clothes.
“Lovely. Time to change again.”
Time is flying. I don’t think there are many outfits left.
I f
ollow Tyler from the ice in section A of the auditorium where our makeshift dressing room is located, to save us the walk from the arena to the locker room. Before we reach the four posts with brown paper wrapped around them, an assistant hands us the next outfits.
“No underwear under these please,” she calls after us.
“This is fun.” Tyler waits for me to close the paper and sheds his pants and underwear.
“Yeah. It isn’t too bad. I like the pockets and the channel for the cable.”
He nods. “It’s a great idea and super practical.”
The seats inside our dressing room are cold when I sit down to change my pants. Unlike him, I can’t balance on one leg while putting on my clothes. Placing the new outfit next to me, I pull off the sweatpants and grab the new pair. Lifting the dark gray pants in front of me, I blink twice. They look like long underwear made for children. How the hell am I supposed to fit in this thing?
“Are these the right size?” I watch, fascinated, as Tyler tries to wiggle into his. If he can’t get them over his ass, no way I’m going to put them on, since my thighs are even bigger than his.
“Can you check yours? I don’t want to pull them off again,” he says, out of breath. He has managed to pull them halfway over his thighs, but the material is stretched to the fullest. Nope, that doesn’t look comfortable at all.
I search for the tag. “Mine is a large.” I drop the tag and meet his eyes over the pair of pants I’m pushing away from my body like they are a radioactive bomb. “I need an extra-large, because of my thighs. But even if those were extra-large, I doubt they’d fit me.”
“Yup, same thing for me. Can you check mine?”
I shrug. “Sure.” He turns his back to me and walks two steps back to give me access to his pants. It’s a good thing the brown paper is opaque, I’m not sure what kind of impression we’d be giving anyone seeing us right now. My hands are between Tyler’s legs, trying to grab the tag and twisting it around to read the small letters without touching his naked balls and ass. It’s not the first time I’ve seen him naked—we shower in the same room, after all—but reaching between his legs is a new experience.
“This is awkward.” I chuckle. “But yours is a large too.”
Tyler chuckles. “Well, I think it’s safe to say we took our relationship to a whole new level today.” He turns to face me.
I laugh. “Don’t tell Lily I know you intimately now.”
He doubles over with laughter and winks at me when he lifts his upper body again but doesn’t say anything.
I’m not sure what’s so funny about my comment, but whatever it is, it won’t help with getting into the torture device.
While I’m still contemplating whether to try getting into the pants or not, Tyler bends down and checks his shirt. “It’s only a large too. But one made for hobbits.” He lifts it up, shaking it twice as if the motion could increase the size. “I fear for my arteries.”
I shake my head. “I’m not putting that on.” I turn to the opening in the brown paper surrounding us and yell, “Hey, we need help in here.”
Footsteps sound, and the assistant answers from the other side. “How can I help you?”
“We need the last outfit at least one size up please. Both of us.” Silence follows my comment. “Hello, did you hear me?”
“Uh… about that, I’m afraid we didn’t get the right sizes for this outfit. No extra-large for this one. It’s supposed to be slim fit anyway.”
Slim fit? What a joke. More like blood-cutting-off fit.
“Oh, boy. Well, I’m going to give the shirt a try.” Tyler pulls the old one over his head and begins the wiggling process. He twists in different directions and rolls the tight material over his abs, one pack after the other. Gotta give it to him; he is ripped, and the shirt doesn’t leave room for the imagination, making his muscles look bigger than they are.
“I wear it well, don’t I?” He looks down and laughs, with every ripple visible underneath the tight material.
“I’m not going to put that on.” I put on my jeans, grab the torture stuff, and head outside, dumping the outfit in the assistant’s hands. “Not going to happen. It’s not my style.”
“Is there a problem?” Emilia’s voice sounds from behind me.
I stop midstride. Great. Why does she have to appear at precisely this moment, when she hasn’t been here before? I exhale and turn to face her. “You don’t have the right size for the last outfit. And it doesn’t fit.”
I’ve barely spoken the last word when Tyler opens the paper to one side and steps through the opening. Emilia’s hands fly up to cover her mouth, and the assistant whistles.
Yup, he looks like a Magic Mike stripper covered in dark gray icing.
“You look… um… yeah.” Emilia blushes.
“Like a stripper?” Tyler’s eyes crinkle at the sides.
She nods three times. “But in a good way.” Her face is beet-red.
“Is it going to help with sales?”
Is he seriously asking that?
Emilia draws her eyebrows together. “I want to say no, but truly? They’re going to explode. We should add a poster of you in these clothes for every purchase over a hundred dollars. We’d be out of stock like yesterday.”
Tyler rubs his hand through his hair. Then nods. “I’ll do it, but I sure as hell could use some moral support. You’re my alternate, Matt. We’re in this together, aren’t we?”
Did I ever think this guy was my friend? Traitor.
His eyes are mocking me. I’m not getting out of this one. What the hell? If that’s what it takes to play for the Ice Tigers and help with the sales, I’ll do it. We don’t want to give Signore Ravelli any reason to sell the team, do we? I’m not a prude. We’re always naked in the locker room, but being naked in front of one’s teammates and having my junk on display for the whole world to see are two different things.
I brush past Tyler and enter the dressing room. Smashing the clothes to the seat next to me, I rip down my jeans and put one foot at a time into the slim-fit pants. Then I get up and slip the ugly thing over my thighs with three hard pulls and wiggle my ass into them. The shirt cracks twice while I pull it in different directions to cover my upper body, but I couldn’t care less.
Without looking down, I step outside where Emilia is waiting.
“You look….” Emilia’s eyes are bigger than ever before—much like when I was pumping my dick balls-deep inside her. Stop thinking about that. There’s no way I’d be able to hide a boner in this thing.
“Don’t say it.” I stare at her.
“Okay.” She lifts her hands and presses her lips together.
“Let’s get it over with.” And that’s what we do. Twice, I have to turn around and adjust my dick—not because I’m getting hard, but because it feels like it’s about to fall off with little to no blood reaching the area. Does Emilia even realize what I have to endure here? She left us again halfway through the shoot. I shake my head and close my eyes. At least I’m not the only one with my package on display.
“And that’s a wrap. Thank you, Matt and Tyler. Please change into your previous outfit now,” the photographer says.
Hallelujah, thank God it’s over.
I make a run for the dressing room and rip the tight material off my body, grateful to feel my numb limbs again. Putting on the previous outfit in record time, I nod at Tyler and step outside.
“Wait, Matt, we’ll do the interview in the arena,” Emilia calls from behind me.
I turn around and find her ruffling a boy’s hair. He’s no older than five years old and holding a microphone in his hand. Emilia motions for me to come over. A kid reporter. I admit it can be fun to watch kids asking questions an adult wouldn’t dare to ask and wouldn’t get away with, but when you’re the one about to be interviewed, fun is the last word on your mind.
“Matt, please meet Timmy.” She smiles down at him.
“Hey, buddy. How’s it going?” I force a smile on
my lips as well. It’s not the kid’s fault I’d rather go home now. How could I ever think this day was fun?
Tyler joins us, and we sit down in the front rows of section B and wait for the camera crew to be ready.
After the lighting is adjusted, Emilia instructs Timmy to ask the first question.
The kid doesn’t look at us but talks to some imaginary person behind the camera. “Who has the messiest wardrobe?” His voice sounds monotonous. I look at Ty, not sure who’s supposed to answer.
“Are you messy?” Tyler asks me.
Why would he think that? Because Jason and Jackie live in filth? I’m not like them. “No, I don’t have many clothes.” One can only wear so many clothes anyway.
Tyler rubs his neck. “I think that Michael has the most clothes. But I’m not sure whether he’s messy or not. I think he’s pretty tidy. Maybe Peter Ringdahl.”
Timmy’s voice doesn’t give away any kind of emotion when he asks the second question either. “Who would you ask to go shopping with you?”
I guess it’s my turn. “I don’t like shopping. I order most things online.”
Emilia’s eyebrows raise, and she gives me a what-the-fuck look. I admit it wasn’t a marketing-friendly answer, but if she wanted those, she should have given us the questions in advance.
“I always go shopping with my girlfriend. But if I had to pick a teammate, I’d say… Peter. I think he’s patient. It’s hard to find jeans that fit with my thighs, and I always have to try on a lot before I find a pair. Do you like shopping, Timmy?” Tyler saves the day.
The kid shakes his head twice with a range of motion that makes me fear he’s going to be sick. At least he’s my kind of guy when it comes to shopping. Once his head is facing straight-ahead again, he continues with the next question. “Who has the best style?”
I take that one. Whenever I can rub salt in my least favorite teammate’s wounds, I’m going for it. “Michael King thinks he has the best style, but I’d say Peter. His style is down-to-earth and comfortable. I think he prefers Swedish designers.”
Center of Gravity: An Accidental Pregnancy Romance (An Ice Tigers Hockey Romance Book 2) Page 11