Joran’s always a great ego boost. The man makes you feel like you’re the first man to walk on the moon half the time. Like you’re the smartest, most athletic, and most good-looking man in the room.
“You have to just loosen up. I wanted you here so that you could have a few drinks, dance with some ladies, be chill and cool and confident. Your game is bound to return.”
I hate that word—return. Like my skills to score are stuck in some dense fog that no one can find them in.
He walks faster than I skate, I swear. Okay, slight exaggeration, but we don’t need to charge through a mansion like we’re paramedics in a rush to save a life.
As soon as we reach Mr. Gerhardt, he’s talking with someone and Joran stops on a dime and thrusts his hand out like the mom safety belt when I was twelve in the front seat of our conversion van. Yes, we were that family.
“Hold up.” He flags down a waitress and grabs a glass of champagne, staring down at my hand. “Why don’t you have a drink?”
I shrug.
“You need a drink. For God’s sake put a damn smile on your face.”
I grin, fake of course. He groans. “Why must you twist my balls?”
“I thought you had a fetish for that kinda thing.”
I laugh but Joran doesn’t at first. Then he does because hello, I make him money. I’m his client. Don’t get me wrong, I need him. The man has come through with record deals for me. He knows exactly when to hold out and when to give in.
“What do you want? Beer? Whiskey?”
“You’d think you’d know what I drink. I mean, I do know that you like your balls twisted.”
He’s too busy searching for someone to get me a drink to respond. Not sure why it matters if I’m drinking when I talk to Mr. Gerhardt. Do I apologize? Is it customary to apologize to your boss that you’re not producing like the player he’s paying a shit-ton for?
“Let’s get serious now.”
“I am serious. Technically, as my agent, you should know how I like my blow jobs too.”
I’m fucking with Joran because I’m annoyed that I had to leave Saige. Spending time with her was the only part of the night I was enjoying so far. Just another instance of where my job gets in the way of getting the girl.
But the fact that I have to be here at all because I need to show my face and kiss ass is the only reason, I even met her. I always told myself I’d retire before my game slips. I wouldn’t be that has-been that people snicker at behind their backs. I’d retire on a high note. But I didn’t think my game would start sucking at twenty-eight.
“Fine, if it’ll make you smile, point to any girl in here and she’ll meet you upstairs in five minutes.”
Joran isn’t smiling and I’m pretty sure he’s dead serious. Sad isn’t it? Some guys probably take him up on the offer.
I pretend to scan the crowd, no sign of Saige or her date. I’d like to see the lucky bastard who gets to take her home tonight. “I’m just joking,” I clap him on the shoulder.
“Thank God, I haven’t had to do that since the nineties.”
“Really?”
He nods and runs his hand through his sandy blond hair like ‘you don’t want to know the stories I could tell you.’
And I probably don’t. I’ve seen a lot of shit go down on my way to becoming a professional athlete.
A waiter comes by with a beer in a glass for me. Joran shoves it into my fist right as Mr. Gerhardt ushers us over to talk to him like he’s holding court.
Okay, smile, jackass, he’s your boss.
“Aiden, it’s great to see you.” Mr. Gerhardt shakes my hand and I allow him to overpower my usual strength. It’s a tactic.
“It’s a great house. Thank you for having me.”
He smiles big and I catch sight of his silver cap, surprised it’s not made of gold or diamonds. Maybe he’s thrifty when it comes to his personal appearance.
“I’m glad you could come. Let’s go for a walk.” He claps me on the shoulder and leads me the way I just came from outside to his balcony.
“Sure thing.”
“It’s a beautiful night.” Joran follows at our side, but Mr. Gerhardt puts up his hand. “You can stay here, Joran.”
“Okay,” he says, and I glance over my shoulder. He looks like a scorned dog watching his entire family leave from the front window, desperate to get in the car with them.
We’re outside before I can process and he’s rambling on about when he bought the Florida Fury. “It was in the dumps. They couldn’t fill seats. No one cared about hockey in the Sunshine State.” He holds out his arms, but right as he’s carrying on about the gorgeous weather here, Saige walks up the stairs. She stops for a moment when our eyes catch then propels herself forward and disappears through the doors. Unfortunately, she’s probably off to find her date. It should be rounding midnight soon.
“Are you listening to me?” Mr. Gerhardt asks.
I turn my attention away from the door and sip my beer, facing him. “Yes. It is hard to believe anyone from Florida wants to sit in a cold ice rink. I’m sure it was a tough sell.”
“It was. I had to sell the community. The town. The state. And I’ve made them addicts for hockey now.”
He’s right. The man made Florida Fury an empire down here. Still gives me shivers seeing my name and number on the back of some kid’s shirt.
“And when I brought you down here, I got the respect of the fellow owners. I understand it must be hard to feel the pressure to perform. I might not be some world-class athlete, but I am a successful businessman and I have the pressure to pay my employees and I can’t do that without asses in the seats. And without wins, there are no fans. And in order to get wins, I need the guys I hire to perform.”
I nod and swallow. “I understand. I know this hasn’t been my year so far.”
“No, it hasn’t, but we’ve got some time to turn it around. Win me the Cup and all is forgiven.” His laugh is loud and jovial, but it’s laced with truth. Still, he wants me to win him the damn Cup when I can’t even score a goal these days?
“I promise things will turn around.” I’m hoping I’m injecting enough enthusiasm into my voice to sell it, even if I’m not feeling confident.
“Well, you have until the end of the season before your contract is up, so I hope you’re right. You’re the heart and soul of this team, I don’t want to lose you, but I want you to understand that it’s a business I’m running. Slump or not, I have to fill those seats.”
I nod and press my lips together. “Understood.” The alcohol in my stomach turns sour after our conversation.
There isn’t much else I can say to him. My word means nothing without the performance to back it up. I sip my beer with the hope this conversation is finally over.
“You should know that I hired a shrink just now.”
I choke on my beer, sputtering. “What?”
He nods toward the mansion. “Yeah, she’s here and we talked, and she’s agreed to come on for the year. I think all the boys will get some use out of it. I don’t necessarily believe in the whole psychology thing. My first wife made me go to counseling and we still got divorced. But Joran thought it was a good idea too, so she’s starting in two weeks. I’ll put you at the top of the list.”
I swallow my beer. “Great,” I squeak out.
I’m fine with the therapy thing, although I think some players will not be so cool with it. But a psychologist is not going to fix my game. Figuring out whatever has turned my luck to shit will.
“Glad we had this talk.” He slaps me on the shoulder. “I think of you like a son, Aiden.”
Bullshit, I’m only his son when I’m scoring three goals a game. He knows it and I know it. So, if I want to stick around as the Florida Fury captain, I better get out of this funk right fucking now.