Page 7 of Tempting the Goalie
I take my phone out of my pocket and search my internet account. My heart rate kicks up when I see the reel and the views. This looks bad. It looks like I posted this shit myself. The first thing I do is delete the video, but I’m no idiot. There’s a digital footprint out there and this makes me look bad. Really, really bad. I check my phone, backtracking to understand howthe girls pulled it off. When I check my text messages, I see a video sent from Jane’s phone to me.
“Erasing that video isn’t going to solve this,” Coach Bailey states. “Come, let’s go to Coach Heaton’s office. He’s been briefed on the situation. I don’t know how he wants to handle this.”
So much for my early morning stretches and quiet time on the ice by myself. Instead, I’m probably walking into a fucking shitstorm. Coach Heaton is going to ream my ass.
We walk up to Coach Heaton’s office door. “Come in and close the door.”
Yup, this is bad. He looks like a fire-breathing dragon.
“Are you on drugs, Chabot? Have you lost your mind? What were you trying to prove?” He stands behind his desk. His fists at his waist and his face cherry red. It takes a lot to fluster this man, and it seems I’ve done a bang-up job.
“Coach, it wasn’t me who posted the video. I’m not looking to sabotage my career. One of the girls must have gotten hold of my phone when I went to the bathroom,” I say innocently, even though there is nothing innocent about this.
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is sabotage. Did one of those girls date a player from another team? Do you have any enemies?”
His questions make my head spin.
“Not that I know of,” I answer, feeling like a flailing duck.
“We’re a month out of the Frozen Four. Recruiters will be there. You’re a senior next year. How the hell are you going to land an early contract now?”
“There must be some way to fix this. I’m sorry, Coach,” I stutter. My future and career are screwed seven ways to Sunday.
He sighs and takes a seat at his desk. Coach Bailey is standing beside me.
“The best he can do is work hard to clean up his image. No more hookups. Maybe get yourself a girlfriend. You damn well know that NHL teams like to see a well-rounded player who will be a good example. As a goalie, you’re already at a disadvantage,” she says as if I didn’t know.
“I can’t just snap my fingers and get a girlfriend,” I bring to their attention.
“Lay low for now,” Coach Heaton warns. “I honestly wanted to put your ass on probation, but you’re the best goalie we have. I can’t put you out this close to the Frozen Four. It wouldn’t be fair to the team.”
“I’m sorry, Coach.”
“Yeah,” he sighs. “Just keep your dick in your pants for the next four weeks. I’ll ask one of the reporters to set up an interview, so at least you can tell your side of the story. It’s really fucked up that the post came from your account. It makes you look like a sex-crazed asshole.”
I wince at his words, but he isn’t wrong. This is some next level shit. Those girls played me. That’s really fucking sick of them to do.
“I’ll keep a low profile. I won’t jeopardize the team,” I assure Coach.
“You better not let us down, Chabot,” Coach Heaton says.
His words hit me hard. I don’t like letting people down. I know all too well what it feels like.
“I won’t,” I assure.
“Okay, get out of here.” He waves me out of his office. I duck out of his office and head to morning skate. It’s already too late to get my extra stretches in, so I go suit up and start my usual routine on the ice.
By the time morning skate is over, I have the perfect idea. I can ask Izzy to help me out.
CHAPTER THREE
Isabelle
“Izzy, do you want to research the types of biases present when self-reporting on a survey?” Priya asks.
“Huh?”
Priya watches me carefully like she is trying to dissect what is going through my mind right now. This happens a lot in our friend group since we are all third-year psych majors.
