WAG for Hire

The picture made the paper the following day.

He and the rest of the team were in Montreal so he had to pull the newspaper’s website up on his phone. There they were – in color no less, standing outside the deli. She had her hand on his arm, and they were both smiling. Despite her protests over the fact that she had just rolled out of bed and put on what was nearest to her, he thought she looked natural…beautiful.

However, the caption was less than original:

Jordan Staal out and about with a mystery red head – let’s see how long this one lasts.

He supposed the press were going to be a bit cynical given his current position with them. Fine with him, they would learn soon enough. He was just glad that things were finally moving forward. He closed out the site, safe in the knowledge that many in Pittsburgh would see the picture.

After a quick shower and some breakfast, Jordan shared a cab with TK and Kris to the Bell Center for a morning skate. His two teammates were in a teasing mood – but they directed their jokes at one another and let him be.

Perhaps he should have taken it as a sign. Because the moment he stepped into the away team locker room, he knew something was up. The guys were chatting amongst themselves but he had been around long enough to know they were trying too hard to make it look like they weren’t in the midst of a prank.

It didn’t take him long to figure it out.

Jordan dropped his bag in front of his temporary locker. He could sense a few of the boys crowding around him hoping to catch his reaction. He just smiled as he leaned forward and pulled down a print out of the photo of him and Toby. Someone had scribbled underneath it - Look Ma! No hands!

“Very funny, guys,” Jordan said as he turned around holding up the photo. He was met with a chorus of grins and chuckles.

Then came the comments.

“Staal, how the hell did you manage to find her?”

“I’m gonna need a name. Something I can feed to my source on the outside.”

“Tell her once she realizes she needs a real man I’m available.”

“Fuck all of you,” Jordan said pleasantly. He could have predicted that this would happen.

“They wanted to put a moustache on it but I wouldn’t let them,” Marc spoke up from beside him. Jordan glanced back to see his friend immersed in lacing up his gear and looking less than engaged in what was going on around him.

“Thanks, Flower.”

“Told them it wasn’t realistic,” Marc continued. “Unless they could pencil in peach fuzz.” There was laughter and shouts of agreement from the group who were starting to disperse

“My Stanley Cup winning playoff beard says otherwise,” Jordan pointed out as he sat down on the bench, picture still in hand.

“Oh, that’s what that was. To be honest, I was trying to block out the memory of that horrifying thing. Thank you for reminding me. I’ll be sure to send you my therapy bill for my reoccurring nightmares,” Marc assured him. He was strapping on his pads now as Jordan began to get ready. When he spoke a moment later, he was serious. “So, is that the same one from the other night? Is that your girl?”

He knew that question was going to come from Marc. He was prepared for it. However, thinking it was one thing – saying it out loud to someone who he considered a good friend was another. He felt a small measure of guilt for lying to Marc. “Yeah, Flower, she’s my girl.”



Toby ran her hand across the picture. It was hard to believe that that was her – even though it looked like her. Exactly like her…not some made up version trying to impress. Still, she had never been in the position to have her photo show up in something that could be easily seen by thousands of people.

She closed the newspaper, folded it and set it aside. She had homework. She didn’t need to spend hours obsessing over her own image. It seemed narcissistic. She had already spent part of the day looking over her shoulder expecting to see people following her.

It seemed silly now – walking around Giant Eagle expecting to be rushed at any moment. The cashier had probably wondered what was wrong with her when she had handed over the money slowly as if the teen was suddenly going to freak out because she was the girl in the paper.

It was just one picture, hardly enough to make a solid connection.

She told herself that perhaps someday she might be recognized for being the girl in the picture but now she was still just plain old Toby Cross – the dental hygienist student who had a mountain of chemistry homework to complete. She worked diligently for an hour and then gave it up for the evening. With no classes until Monday, no job and Jordan out of town, she had nothing but time.

Rising from the kitchen table, she grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and hit the couch.

Just in time to watch the game.



Jordan was still on a high when he threw himself on the hotel bed. He bounced once causing TK to snort. “That was fucking amazing.”

“Scoring the game winner has made you high,” TK said as he sat on the edge of his bed. Jordan knew that like him he was not at all tired. After a win like that, it was hard to settle. He watched as the older man reached for the remote. He flipped through a couple of channels. “You know what would be helpful?”

“A TV Guide?” Jordan suggested.

“A translator,” TK muttered flicking the TV off. He lay back on the bed and set the controller on the bedside table between them. “Preferably a hot female one.”

“There are English channels if you look hard enough, you know,” Jordan pointed out. “I don’t want you to get cranky because you missed Jersey Shore or something.”

“Shut it, Gronk,” TK muttered before kicking off his shoes. “Do you think Deryk hurt his fist bouncing it off Subban’s face?”

“Probably not,” Jordan said in a matter of fact manner, even though he was grinning at the memory of his teammate taking down the chirper. “He high fived me after the game pretty hard…” He trailed off when his phone lit up and vibrated on the table. He reached over so he could glance at the ID. Text message from Eric.

Somehow he didn’t think it was a message of congratulations for the big win.

Flipping it open he discovered he was right. Redhead?

Jordan wondered if their mother had once again sent Eric on a scouting mission. He hit the reply button. Unless I’m colorblind it sure looks that way. It didn’t take Eric long to reply and he had an image of his brother hovering over his phone in anticipation from the comfort of his living room in North Carolina.

Serious?

He was placed right back in the position he found himself in hours earlier with Marc. Only this time – it was his brother. His big brother who had always had his back no matter what. Sure, Eric teased him now and then and sometimes stuck his nose in it too far for his own good, but it was still his brother.

And he was about to lie to him.

He intended to confirm what Eric had asked but he couldn’t quite bring himself to type the words. Instead he wrote: Could be. Still early in the game.

“Texting your girl, Staal?’ TK asked. “Tell I said ‘Hi’ will ya?”

Jordan glanced over to see TK laid out flat on the bed, wide awake and staring at the ceiling. Past experience had taught him it might be awhile before his roommate fell asleep. “Yeah, sure that’s what I’m doing.”

While TK stared, Jordan got to work composing a new text.



Toby was brushing her teeth when her phone beeped. She made a face. Her phone rarely beeped. Maybe the battery was low. She rinsed and then went off in search of it. She found it buried underneath her jacket and blinking with the arrival of a text. From Jordan.

Greetings from Montreal.

Toby couldn’t help but smile. Salutations from Pittsburgh. Nice goal.

She sent her reply flying through space and headed into her bedroom. She was digging out pajamas when her phone beeped again.

Thanks. Natural gift.

That sounded like Jordan. She laughed a little and was about to reply when another message lit up her screen. What are you doing?

She decided to be truthful. Nothing. Then she added, Are you bored? Shouldn’t you be celebrating? She settled on the edge of her bed, pajamas in hand and waited.

No celebrating. Heading to Toronto in the AM. Not bored.

Jordan was proving to be faster than her because a moment later she read: TK thought I was texting my gf so I decided to text my gf.

Ah, so he was putting on an act for his roommate. She supposed she should help him along. And just who were you texting before me?

Jealous?

Am a lovely shade of green right now. Toby hoped he could read the sarcasm in her message. She was however grinning as she changed for bed.

Bet it looks real good on you.

Toby shook her head as she pulled back the covers. She had never really texted a whole lot before. Having an entire conversation through a tiny device was proving to be a little strange, especially when she couldn’t tell intent. Was he trying to be funny? Or something else?

Something like flirty?

She wasn’t sure she could handle flirty.



Jordan wondered if she had given up on the game. It had been over a minute since her last text. He was about to give up himself when her reply appeared: Of course – I look good in everything.

He raised an eyebrow, as he considered the possible meanings behind what she had said. Was she flirting with him? It certainly felt like she was flirting with him. He sat up a little on the bed.

He could handle flirty.

He was grinning as he replied, Everything? Even my jersey?

He hated that he had to wait for her to read and consider her reply. He hated that he couldn’t see her face to be sure that he wasn’t stepping over any lines. But at the same time, he couldn’t stop himself. Besides it was a little flirting – totally harmless.

Still, he didn’t like waiting.

I guess I could make that work if I found the right shoes.

Did she even know what kind of image she had just put in his head? He could see her now – his jersey barely reaching her mid-thigh, and a pair of heels that showcased her legs. She would leave her hair the way it was in the photograph, loose and wavy. Maybe just a hint of makeup but he didn’t care either way.

“Christ, Staal, wipe that look off your face, you’re creeping me out!”

Jordan sat up straight now, the image disappearing from his mind. He glanced over to see TK on his side, looking at him as if he was a freak. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“She sending you naked photos?” TK asked. Then he appeared to consider his question. “Can I see?”

Jordan’s response was immediate. He sent a pillow flying at his roommate. “She’s not like that,” he found himself saying. “And even if she were, you couldn’t handle her.”

“Insulting my masculinity - a sign that I interrupted something. I’m sorry. Go back to your…hell, do you want me to find another place to bunk? I can leave a sock on the door,” TK finished. The comment earned him another pillow. “Just keep doing that, I don’t mind the extra pillows.”

His phone beeped: Jordan?

Realizing he left Toby hanging in his conversation with TK, he turned on his side away from the other man. Sorry. TK is being a jerk.

It’s late. You need to sleep. Good luck against the Leafs.

Jordan nearly cursed out loud. Apparently whatever they had been building toward had been derailed by TK’s intrusion. Maybe it would have gone nowhere – maybe it would have gone to a place that left him dreaming of a certain redhead in his number and nothing else. Either way, he made a mental note to give TK an extra bump in their next practice.

Good night, Toby.

Good night, Jordan.