Page 4 of The Stud

“Even his autographed pucks –on average –bring in ten percent more revenue than any other player on the team,” Hennington proudly announces.

“Further proof, we have to be living in a shitty simulation,” the polo wearing female murmurs under her breath.

“We’re going to do a mini docu series on you, Frosky, for the fans to follow on social media from now until right before playoffs,” our boss announces.

“No one’s going to watch that,” Hoss bluntly interjects.

“Everyone’s going to watch it,” the woman in charge bites back, eyes twitching a glare, “andeveryone’s going to fucking love it, becauseif this project fails, and we goback to looking like afucking embarrassment to the league, proving we areincapableof producinggood pressversus only fucking scandals,you,” she kicks her chin to Hoss, “won’t be able to coordinate anything bigger than local car dealership commercials, andyou,” the action is presented in my direction, “will become the bargaining chip I dangle in front of other GMs as I search for a younger, hotter, much easier to train pigeon that promises to give memore snipesandless gripes.” Her eyes sharply swing back and forth. “Clearskies?”

“Like a game day, powerplay,” leaves me in a nervous chuckle.

So hot, yet so horrifying.

That isher reputationaround the league.

“Toflick the odds of success in our favor,” Hennington precedes, voice resuming a less menacing tone, “we’ll be giving away smaller prizes throughout the season – to encourage continuous engagement – along with a VIP package prize – all paid for by our sponsor – to one lucky fan at the end of the series run. Each posted episode will include a link for fans to click on to get themselves entered to win these things, whichshouldgive us the expected apple we need in this endeavor.” She flicks a strand away from her face before asking, “Questions?”

“Should I quit now or later?” Hoss inquires in such a way it’s hard to know if she’s kidding.

But shehasto be kidding.

She bloody loves her job.

Loathes me…but loves what she does.

“Creative control will still solely rest withyou,Hoss,” informs our boss. “Fans love your style. They love how you showcase the boys. They love how youhumanizethem. Remindthe world that they’re just like your brother or cousin or best friend or neighbor or dude you’re still in touch with him from high school or college. It’s themain reasonI have faith that this decision isn’t gonna end with us having a goose egg on the board and more bad press to answer to.”

Hoss isverygood at what she does.

She asks the best questions.

Snaps the best stills.

Smashes together the best clips.

Somehow manages to capture us aspeopleas much as players.

It’s her ability to dothat,tosee us,to want to show the world therealus, that’s managed to make methis level of comfortablein more than just my skates.

She’s certifiskies incredible.

And I’d tell her that right now if I didn’t think it would end with her drawing a dick on my very white, very expensive suit jacket.

“You’ll still be using Khurana to film our main media content; however, for the more intimate moments with Snowman-”

“I like us intimate,” I playfully insert on a waggling of my eyebrows.

“I’d rather be intimate with a fucking pylon.”

“For the more intimate moments,” Hennington states louder like a ref’s whistle being blown to stop a brawl,“you’ll be using an office device to provide a deeper, more personal, rawer connection for the fans.”

“Henningtonnnnnnn,” summons Margot Adelstein, her second in command, somewhere in the distance. “Press corner. Now!”

“I swear toThe Great Oneif that Julia Childish cunt asks meone,” she lifts her pointed index finger in tandem with the declaration, “fucking backhanded insult question, I’m gonna get fined fifteen k for spearing.”

My brows twitch together in confusion. “Fiveis the maximum amount for spearing.”

“That’s under the assumption youstopafter that first stab.” Hennington sassily cocks her hip to the side. “I will not.”

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