Page 1 of Skating the Blue Line
1
LIAM
I look downat my phone screen and let out a sigh.
A text message stares back at me with a set of words that I honestly don’t feel like hearing or even seeing tonight.
Sorry. I can’t make it.
Great. Now I have to go to this stupid event by myself.
I should have expected it, given who I asked to go with me, but that didn’t stop my mind from getting its hope up just a little about not going to this thing alone.
These types of events are the kind that make me want to stab my eyes and pull out my hair all at the same time just out of boredom. I figured having someone there with me would stop me from losing my eyesight or going bald.
Guess not.
Grumbling, I pocket my phone and grab my tuxedo jacket from where it lays on the bed, pulling it on before turning to look in the mirror.
I don’t usually hate wearing suits. They’ve been a staple in my closet since I was eighteen, and I have fun with them. But there’s something about wearing a tuxedo with a bowtie no less, that makes my teeth grind. I’m sure that there are men out in the world that look for any moment to wear a good tuxedo. I’m not one of those men.
Looking at the mirror right now, all I see is a fucking penguin in a bow tie chokehold staring back at me.
With another grumble, I shake my head and make my way out of the bedroom.
If I hadn’t committed to attending this event, I would stay home. Maybe order the one take out meal that I allow myself a week and watch the San Francisco Gold’s game.
But contractual obligations and all of that.
Grabbing the keys to my Aston Martin, I lock up the place and start making my way down to the Chicago Opera house.
The city is alive tonight and for a few miles I don’t mind the fact that I have to drive through traffic. Seeing the city like this reminds me of why I was so excited to sign with Chicago at eighteen. It’s times like this that I love the city and the ability to do what I do.
That feeling doesn’t last long though.
Some asshole cuts me off and I’m reminded that I could be at home right now instead of heading to this stupid thing.
There are things to being a professional athlete that I despise. Things that come with the professional part but have nothing to do with the athlete or the sport that is played whatsoever.
Those things, those things are what make being a professional athlete unbearable.
You want to slap a C on my jersey? I’ll wear it with pride and be the damn best captain you will ever see.
You want to make me the face of your team? I will smile proudly into the camera for any picture you want to take. And happily, take a picture right next to it with any fan that asks.
Anything to do with hockey and my team or charity work, I will gladly do.
But if you want to put me in a monkey suit and make me a brand ambassador for your company? I will grumble and complain under my breath every chance that I get.
If I can go through my professional career without working as a spokesperson, ambassador or whatever the fuck, for a clothing or watch company, I would.
But of course, it’s bad business for the captain of the Chicago Dark Knights, or any professional sports team for that matter, to turn down a brand deal with anyone with a respectable name.
Which is why I’m in a stupid tuxedo, driving through commuter traffic to get to the opera house.
Tonight, one of the brands that I’m a spokesperson for is throwing an event. A Night at the ballet.
That should have been my first sign to say no and the second should have been the black-tie requirement at the bottom of the invitation.
