Page 2 of Skating the Blue Line
But yet, I still RSVP’d and found a date.
Now I’m dateless and going to an event I really don’t want to attend.
I don’t usually complain about these types of things. Most of the time, I go to whatever event my agent tells me to and pretend that I actually want to be there. I may do it for about an hour or two, but I still do it.
Tonight is a little different.
Ninety-nine percent of the time, I usually have someone at my side to make the events I attend a little bearable. Whether it be a friend or a gorgeous woman, or hell, even my agent, I always have someone there. When I do attend an event all by myself, I make sure it’s something that I actually enjoy.
Tonight, I would much rather do line drills without a break than sit in a theater for three hours watching ballet.
I’m sure whoever planned this wanted all their guests tonight to have a good nap, because this is guaranteed to be boring.
Harsh.
Shaking my head, I reign in my dislike for the night and pull into the valet station that is set up in front of the opera house.
My door opens and I take a second to compose myself and my face.
The second I step foot out of the car, I go from Liam Crawford, the guy that doesn’t want to be here, to Liam Crawford, the hockey captain with the charming smile that people pay big money to see.
“Sweet ride, Cap,” the valet attending says when my feet are planted firmly on the ground.
I look at the kid as I button up my tuxedo jacket and give him a smile. He can’t be more than eighteen.
“Thanks,” I give the kid my key and a hundred-dollar tip to go along with it. “Keep her safe, yeah?”
He gives me an eager nod and a smile so big it might rip his face in half. “Yes, Cap. Of course, have a nice evening, Mr. Crawford, sir.”
I give him a nod and start making my way towards the red carpet, photographers and reporters that are trying to make this event a lot larger than it needs to be.
With the amount of press here tonight, you would think it was an event put on by Chicago’s richest family, but it isn’t.
It isn’t even a charity event to garner this much attention.
It’s a launch party for a new line of suits for Archwell, a suit company out of New York. I’m one of the many faces that the brand sponsors. Why they are having an event of this magnitude in Chicago instead of New York is beyond me.
But here we are.
As I walk to the front of the theater, I try to avoid eye contact with anyone who might make me walk the red carpet.
I almost succeed but the head of Archwell marketing spots me and diverts me toward the flashing lights.
Grumbly, I take more pictures than necessary and answer mundane questions with a stiff smile.
Am I excited about the new line of suits?
Does it feel weird to be out of a hockey jersey?
How excited am I for the ballet?
I want to roll my eyes at every single one of them, but somehow, I’m able to answer every single question thrown in my direction.
Add this to the list of aspects of being an athlete that I despise.
Fifteen minutes after arriving, I’m finally able to make it inside.
The lobby of the theater is filled with people waiting for the doors to the auditorium to open so they can take their seats.
