You Had Me at Hockey (Bears Hockey #2) - Kelly Jamieson Page 0,47

mean you’re old! I just mean older than my fans.”

“Let’s be real, Sara.” Harper leans across the table in the coffee shop we’re in. “You are getting older. Your image right now isn’t going to serve you well when you’re thirty years old. Tryst has a more sophisticated appeal. Maybe it’s time for you to be more…polished.”

I consider that. I guess she has a point. But this doesn’t feel right to me. “So you’re saying I should start changing into a thirty-year-old now?”

She laughs. “You kill me!”

I smile weakly. “What are the other clothing brands?”

“Genuine People. And Monrovia.”

Now I’m interested. “I like both of those!”

I can see Harper’s not as excited as I am. “We need to meet with them to talk about details and their vision.”

“All of them?” I make a face. “Can’t we just rule out Tryst? That’s not really my style.”

“I think you should hear them out. Have another look at their clothing. You might find that it suits you more than you realize.”

It feels like a waste of time to me, but I reluctantly agree for her to set up meetings with all three companies. Two of them are in Los Angeles, so we’re going to have to fly there for a few days. I love L.A., so I’m okay with that.

We talk about some advertising for my merchandise, which I’ve never done a lot of. I just like that it sells to my fans from my online store. I only have a few things—a couple of T-shirts, hoodies, wineglasses that say “Slay then rosé.” “Do I need to spend money on that?” I ask Harper. “They sell like crazy.”

“They’ll sell more if you advertise.”

“But that’s not what I’m about.”

This meeting is getting me upset. Harper tells me her ideas and I listen, but at the end, I say, “Can I think about it?”

“Of course! Let’s set up another meeting next week. Meanwhile, give some thought to your branding and changing up your image. The kinds of things you feature in your videos. Your audience is getting older and may not want to hear about popping pimples.”

I blink. I almost feel like crying. “Right,” I say. “I’ll think about that too.”

I make my escape from the coffee shop as Harper takes a phone call. I find myself nearly running up Park Avenue. I’m losing my breath and I force myself to slow down. I just want to get home and lock myself in my apartment and…make a video. That’s what I planned for this afternoon but now I’m all worked up.

I get to 71st Street, but I stop. If I go the other direction, I can stop at Ladurée. A dozen Marie Antoinette macarons would be perfect right now.

Soon I’m at home with my beautiful carton of sweet treats. I set it carefully on the counter and get rid of my outerwear. I could just take the whole box into my living room, but even though I’m agitated, I pause and take a few pictures. Because they’re gorgeous. Then I set a few on a plate, make myself a coffee, and settle onto my couch.

I grab my phone. I need to talk this out. So I call Josh.

We texted last night after the game. He played so great! I was practically exploding with pride. Then I had a weird sense of—how is it that I actually know this guy? That we actually fucked in my bed last night? Holy crap! It’s like I feel when people ask for my autograph, or when millions of people watch my videos—is this for real?

I guess it is!

He answers. “Hey, Sara.”

“Hey. How are you?”

“I’m okay. My ribs are kind of sore, but otherwise good.”

“From that hit last night? Jesus, that scared the shit out of me.”

“I’m fine.”

“It didn’t look like it at the time! And then that asshole came after you and wanted to fight? What the hell was that?”

“He had to do it. I hit one of his teammates. We have to stand up for one another.”

“That’s crazy. No wait, that’s kind of nice. But I don’t want to see you fight.”

“I don’t fight very often.” I hear the smile in his voice. “But I can’t make any promises.”

“Yeesh.”

“How are you doing?”

“Ah. Crappy.” I pout. “I just had a meeting with Harper and I feel…I don’t know. Pissed.”

“Why?”

I tell him about the things she said, about wanting me to change my image. My brand. “Because I’m getting older,” I say bitterly. “My fans are getting older.