Page 12 of The Import Slot
“How are you, Ryan?” She beams at me. Johnny’s sister must have really liked it here; either that, or she really hates my brother and couldn’t stand being on the same continent as him. I knew she was over here with Johnny, but didn’t realise she was working at the club.
Much to my dismay, she hugs me before snapping my picture again. I’m not a hugger, and Vicky knows this, but she’s never been able to stop herself.
“Has Johnny filled you in on the social media expectations?” she asks, her accent still strong as if she never left Canada.
“You’ll have to run me through it,” I smile.
“I hear that you, Johnny, and Vicky go way back,” says Mr Lopez, the GM, smiling. He’s a beefy guy with a thick moustache and loads of gold jewellery. “Vicky is our photographer, cum-‘social media person’, cum-‘events coordinator’. She will want you to promote our brand, and give the fans a genuine sense of what you’re about and what you will bring to the team. I know we’ve discussed it with your agent, Ronnie, that you’ll need to do a bit of posting yourself from your accounts, but we’ll figure out a good balance. Let’s show you around, and then Vicky can grab some content from your first practice to tie in with the press release.” He pats me on the back and leads me through the double doors.
“Sorry, can we just grab a shot in front of the car, please? Kirsty will kill me otherwise.” Vicky points toward my car. Mr Lopez nods enthusiastically, and I can see Danny suppressing a laugh, passing it off as a cough.
“Oh, can we get the jersey, too?” Vicky asks, and as if by magic, Coach Adams tosses my new jersey toward me. I catch it and hold it out to examine it; I feel like I’m cheating on the Jets as I pull it on, but what can I do? This is what I’m here for, after all.
“Big smiles now, Ryan,” she says, clicking away with the camera. Once she’s got a shot that she’s happy with, she moves toward me to show me the preview screen on the camera. “I don’t want to talk about Liam,” she whispers, flicking through the images.
“I didn’t even mention him. Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but keep me out of it,” I reply. Vicky frowns at me and then settles on a picture.
“This one is good. I’ll do some editing and then email it to you. I’ll need you to use your account and tag the car manufacturer and the club, but I’ll put all that in the email.” She switches away from her serious tone, ending the business talk. “Welcome, by the way. You’ll love it here.”
We head inside, and they show me around; the whole thing takes about half an hour, and it’s not long until I’m suited up and on the ice.
The rest of the guys arrive in dribs and drabs, taking a bit of a free skate. Coach calls us in, and does some introductions before running over the plan for today.
After warming up, we get into some team drills then there’s a breakout for individual skill sessions. At this point, I feel someone watching me, not just watching me like a coach would watch a player, but there’s a feeling in the air, a buzz, an energy.
I glance at the boards near the benches, and my stomach flips; Danny is chatting with Jen. Fuck. She’s beautiful, and now I’m distracted again, and can’t help but stare.
Jenna
I’mstandingattheedge of the ice, next to the players’ benches. Although I don’t typically linger here, I’m early and curious. I’m helping my uncle, who coaches the junior team, though I use the term ‘help’ loosely. All I do is set up some cones and stuff for skating drills, but I enjoy it.
It’s easy for me to spot Danny while waiting for the end of practice. He has left the chin strap of his helmet undone, and the tape job on his stick is sloppy. I study the team and see familiar faces until I glance at the blue line where a new skater stands. I don’t think I recognise him until he looks my way, and we lock eyes. Oh my God, it’s him. My brain is screaming at me, my body is screaming for him, and Coach is screaming at the team.
“What’s going on?” I ask Danny as he skates over from a small crowd of guys.
“Jenna! You’ll never guess!” he smiles from ear to ear. I’ve never seen him so excited. “I can now reveal who our new signing is,” he pauses for effect. “It’s Ryan Preston!” He looks at Ryan, who is dribbling a puck and chatting with Johnny Koenig.
Of course, that’s why he looked familiar. As soon as Danny says his name out loud, bells start ringing in my head. That’s where I recognise him from; he played for the Winnipeg Jets. I’ve seen him on TV. In my defence, I only watch the Senators games and hardly pay attention to the roster of other teams, but his name sticks out. I’m sure he was drafted at nineteen. Some commentators always point out facts like that, and I remember useless knowledge. My cheeks flush with embarrassment because he’s been on my mind non-stop.
I’m still watching him when he looks up and catches my eye. Something weird happens. There’s a flicker of something; perhaps a spark. Maybe it’s the lighting system in here. He beams at me and skates over, stopping beside Danny, snow spraying a little in the air.
“Hey you, this is a pleasant surprise.” He may smell of sweat, but there’s a hint of something else. Probably his shower gel, sweat or no sweat, I love it. It’s delicious, and it makes my mouth water. His smile shows in his eyes as he looks me up and down. I’m five-eight, and I usually feel overbearing to others, but he makes me feel short with his skates on. He must usually be, what? Six-two, six-three?
“Do you know each other?” Danny questions, his eyes flicking between the two of us.
“I saw her in the coffee place yesterday,” Ryan replies, not taking his gaze off me.
It’s like he can see into my soul.
Danny shrugs, “Oh yeah, you mentioned that.”
Wait, he mentioned it?!
“I’m Ryan.” He slides his glove off and wipes his hand on his jersey before offering it to me. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I give it a shake, whispering my name. His grip is firm but soft, and a warm jolt of energy shoots up my arm. It’s ridiculous, really. Stuff like this shouldn’t happen in real life.
“Would you believe we signed Ryan fucking Preston?” Danny continues. “I can’t believe our luck! The last team in the league with an import slot left.”
