WAG for Hire

Jordan Staal was out of his goddamn mind.

It was only the hundredth time she had thought it since she had first left him standing on the street, looking stunned. To be honest, she was a little stunned herself. She fumbled with the keys to her apartment. She finally managed to get the door unlocked and she slammed it immediately once she was inside. She threw the deadbolt for the first time in what seemed like forever.

Okay, so perhaps she was overreacting. It was not like he followed her. And even if he did, it wasn’t as if she was in any danger because of him.

But he was out of his goddamn mind.

She opened dropped her purse and slipped out of her sneakers. Flipping on the light, she stood in her kitchen blinking as her eyes adjusted. Did that really just happen? As she opened the fridge and swapped her cake box for a bottle of water, she assured herself that she hadn’t just had a psychotic break – Jordan Staal had just propositioned her.

Well, in a way.

“An idea?” She echoed. He seemed to hesitate and she frowned. “Jordan?” He rubbed the back of his neck and she wondered what internal conflict was raging inside of him. “I have a bus to catch,” she told him as she turned and started to walk away.

“What if I could get you a job?”

That certainly caught her attention. She stopped in her tracks and glanced back over her shoulder. “A job?”

“God, I can’t believe I am going to say this. Please just hear me out…”

Toby immediately frowned as she turned to completely face him. “When you start it like that I can’t help but think I don’t want to hear it...”

“You might not,” Jordan conceded. He looked a bit grim but determined – as if he finally decided that he had no other option but to go forward. “I meant what I said – I could help you.”

“If you are thinking of using your connections to get me a job, please don't. I don't want to cause anyone any trouble.” Toby couldn't believe that she was telling him that. She should just let him do it. She could picture herself working in the souvenir shop or cleaning up between the seats after a game at the Consol Energy Center. Not ideal – but it was still a job. Why did she have go and chose now to be principled? “I appreciate it...”

“That's not what I meant.”

Toby furrowed her eyebrows together, showing her confusion. “What then, Jordan?”

“I could help you – make sure that you don't have to worry about money while you go to school. You could concentrate on your degree,” Jordan explained. Was it her imagination or was Jordan starting to sound like a slick car salesman – he was saying just what she wanted to hear.

Concentrating on her degree, was of course, the ideal situation – what she aspired to do most of all. She often wondered what she could do if given the chance to devote the better part of her day to school instead of splitting herself in two. She eyed him carefully, wondering if he were the devil in disguise. Surely, there would be a catch – for no one just waltzed in and offered to solve all the problems of someone they barely knew, even if they could afford to, without wanting something in return. “If you don't plan on throwing your weight around to help me get a job then what is this magic solution?” She asked carefully.

The indecisiveness was back and when he finally spoke, she could tell that he was choosing his words carefully, thinking of all the implications. “I am in a jam. The press is watching me like a hawk, and I am sure there are many of them who are hoping I screw up royally. Nothing sells better than the story of a fallen hero. If things would just level out, die down...people would forget that it even happened...”

She wondered just where he was going with this. It almost seemed as if he was rambling. Down the street she could see her bus pass by the stop. She sighed. Great. “Jordan,” she prompted hoping to catch his attention.

He stopped mid-stream, perhaps realizing he had gone too far off script. She thought he even blushed. When he spoke again, he sounded as if he were doing so with purpose. “You're in a jam too, Toby. You need a source of income but it's hard to find a job that is going to pay well while at the same time giving you the freedom you need to go to school. This is a win/win situation...”

“I feel like you are speaking in riddles. You obviously have this all figured out. Do you mind filling me in?” Toby was beginning to rethink her position on Jordan and drugs. How else could she explain his current rambling logic?

“I need to get the press off my back. Nothing will do that faster than if I am just a boring everyday Joe in a nice stable relationship. You need help paying your expenses so you can go to school...”

Toby didn't need any more words to piece together the rest. Her reaction was immediate. She wondered if her mouth had fallen open. “Are you suggesting that you will pay me to be your girlfriend?”

“It's not quite like that...”

“Really?” Toby asked, feeling her face going hot. She wondered if that meant that her blood pressure had just skyrocketed. “Because it sure sounds that way. And I can tell you one thing, Jordan Staal, I may be desperate but I am the furthest thing from a prostitute.”

The cold air against her skin brought Toby back to the present. Realizing that she was standing in front of the open fridge door wasting precious energy (and therefore money), she shut it and twisted the top off the water. She wouldn't spend another moment on her conversation with Jordan. Doing so would be dangerous – for she knew she would fall into the temptation to dissect every aspect until she had driven herself just as crazy as he was.

She would just file it away as one of those moments you laugh at when enough time has passed. For now, she would go on with her nightly routine. In less than 10 minutes, she was changed and lying in bed. She intended, as always, to spend the better part of an hour reading for her current course in chemistry but gave up after she found herself skimming the same paragraph for the fifth time.

Frustrated, she set the book aside and stared at the ceiling. She should just call it a day – after all, she felt drained. Her last shift had taken more out of her then she had counted on. To top it all off her conversation -

No, she was not going to go there.

Instead she rolled over and turned off the lamp...and lay there in the dark, wide awake,



Jordan opted to walk home. He hoped that with each step he could let go of some of the frustration he was feeling. God, he was an idiot in the worst way.

His plan worked just the opposite By the time he was shutting the door behind him, Jordan was so angry over the day's events that he kicked the first thing he saw – his hockey bag carelessly left by the door. It didn't go far, it didn't hurt, and therefore he got little satisfaction.

He dropped his keys onto a table he was sure was only there for that purpose before he proceeded to strip off his shoes and jacket. He left them right where they fell, heading for the kitchen and a much needed beer.

Along the way, he noticed his phone blinking on the wall. Messages – definitely more than one.

Perhaps he needed something stronger than a beer.

A few minutes later, rum and coke in hand, he sat down to access his voice mail. The first one was not surprising.

“It's Marc. I tried your cell phone but it was busy. Figured Mom was talking your ear off. I'm behind you. I just wanted you to know that.” He knew, of course, but it was nice to hear.

The second was perhaps a tad more unexpected.

“It's Sidney...”

Christ, the captain. He only ever referred to himself as Sidney when he meant business. Any other time he would start off with 'It's Sid' or 'Hey Jordy'. Jordan could only wonder just what was going through his friend's head as he left the message.

“...I saw the whole thing play out on television. I honestly don't know what I can say that hasn't been said. I hope that you'll be able to get a lesson out of all of this. I'd hate to see this situation repeated...”

Of course, Sidney never would find himself in a situation like that to begin with. How he managed to live such a mundane existence in the eyes of the press, Jordan would never know.

“Anyway, if you need to talk, I'm here...” Shades of Sid began to shine through. “Oh and Jordy, that was a sick goal.”

The declaration brought the beginnings of a smile to his face. He took a gulp of his drink as he replaced the phone and headed to the couch. He knew better than to turn on the TV – channel surfing would be a dangerous sport at this point. Instead he cranked the stereo.

Of course no matter how loud he turned the music and no matter how fast he made the drink disappear, he could not push aside how the night had ended.

She looked horrified.

Jordan realized his mistake immediately. He only wished he would have had time to think everything through. Maybe he could have found a better way to present the idea to her – maybe he would not have done it at all. It didn’t matter now – it was out in the open and apparently taking on a life of its own. Now, it was up to him to fix it. “Toby, I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t think you are a prostitute.”

Her eyes were wide and even in the dim light he could see there was fresh color in her cheeks. He wondered if she were about to explode at him. Maybe he deserved it. “Well, that’s comforting,” she spat out. “I am glad to know that you don’t expect extras with your meal.”

“You’re taking it the wrong way…”

“So you didn’t just tell me that you would pay me to be your girlfriend. Because that is sure as hell what it sounded like.” He could see that she was shaking now. He felt like an ass for upsetting her.

“I am not asking you to be my girlfriend. I am asking you to help make it appear like I am in a relationship so the press will stop waiting around in hopes that I will screw up,” Jordan said, eyeing how tightly she was gripping the edge of the cake box. There was a distinct possibility that he would end up with it on his face. “I am not asking you to BE my girlfriend, I am asking you to pretend to be.”

“Oh.” For a moment he thought she relaxed, but then he watched her face screw up. “Oh! You want me to help perpetrate a lie? I don’t know what is worse – thinking I am a prostitute or thinking I would want to help you lie…wait, I should add the fact that you are going to pay me. Wouldn’t it constitute fraud?” Her hand moved to her head, fingers tangling in her hair. She stopped for a moment, appearing to consider the situation. Then she leveled her gaze back at him. “What does it matter? I am not helping you.” She turned to retreat.

Jordan couldn’t let it end like this. He stepped toward her. “Toby…”

She was facing him in an instant. “Go to hell, Jordan.”

The drink was gone. The music was suddenly too loud. He turned it off all together – and since there was no sense in wallowing, he went to bed.



Toby decided to devote her first morning as an unemployed student to budgeting.

She needed to figure out what she had, and what she could do with it until she found another source of income. Sitting down at her table, she pulled out a pad of paper and began making a list of where her money went. It was a disheartening process for there was little she could cut back on – she was already only spending money on the essentials as it was.

She pushed the pad away to open the fridge. Instead of finding comfort, she discovered another realization. She needed groceries, and her last pay check wasn’t going to be deposited until Monday. Sighing, she pulled out the only thing that wasn’t really a condiment.

Cake for breakfast it was.

She cut herself an extra thick slice figuring she would need it. Settling back into her chair, she crunched numbers and ate frosting. It took her nearly an hour to reach her breaking point. The frustration was building, there were unshed tears pooling in her eyes.
She forced herself to stand, to grab her jacket, her keys and to leave. Leave the cramped apartment, leave the numbers – just go somewhere and clear her head.

The cool air hit her instantly. She had no clear destination in mind – she only knew one thing: she was completely and utterly screwed.



Jordan exited the player’s entrance of the Iceoplex. Practice had been a bust. He had spent the first half stumbling over himself. Bylsma had taken him aside to try and talk him out of blowing the second half just because he was distracted. His game had improved but he spent most of the time pretending he was not aware of what his teammates were saying about him. He knew they were behind him. He knew their hushed whispers were out of concern. But he didn’t want their pity.

After a shower, he wished the rest of the team good luck against the Flyers. They were getting ready to head to Philadelphia and he wasn’t in the mood to see then off. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he headed toward the parking lot. He could see a few fans milling near the gate. Time to put on a smile.

“Hey Jordan!”

With a grin and a Sharpie, he crossed the lot and signed a few autographs. Thankfully, no one brought up his misdeed or his suspension. He leaned over when a young boy held up a picture. Jordan pegged him at no more than five.

“When I get big I am going to be Sidney Crosby,” the boy declared.

“Crosby? Why not Jordan Staal?” He teased as he ruffled the boy’s hair.

That’s when he noticed her. Standing away from the crowd, arms crossed protectively across her body. She was watching the whole scene, and realizing she had been caught, she turned a shade of red. He couldn’t quite read her face.

But at least Toby was there.