Meet Your Match (Kings of the Ice)

“It smells like rich assholes in here.”

I wrinkled my nose to hammer that point home, and my best friend let out a soft laugh before sipping from the glass of champagne she held daintily between her fingertips. The diamonds on her warm brown wrist glittered under the chandelier, but as impressive as her jewelry was, it didn’t hold a candle to the long, black, starlight-like dress hugging her curves and draping down to the floor in romantic sweeps of shimmering fabric.

“And you know that because you’ve had your nose buried in a rich asshole a time or two in your life?”

“Don’t even have to get that far to sniff one out. Just being in the same room suffices.”

The room we were currently in was of the ballroom variety, with elegant chandeliers, pristine marble floors, and a majestic, vaulted ceiling painted like an Italian chapel. It was one of the most historic buildings in Ybor; an old social club transformed into an upscale party for tonight’s event.

When we walked up the grand staircase earlier, I was entranced by the lush gold and blood red tones. The way they mixed with the expensive wooden trim transported me back in time, as if we were attending an 18^th century royal affair.

Tampa’s rich and famous filled the lavish space, dressed to the nines in tuxedos and gowns that cost more than everything I currently owned put together. The only reason I was able to dress to fit in was because of Livia, who had a flair for designer clothes even before she was the highest-paid dentist in the state.

Mostly because her dentistry didn’t just consist of filling cavities and routine cleanings — although, she’d argue she did plenty of that, too — but rather handling the absolutely brutal mouth trauma suffered by professional hockey players.

She’d been ecstatic for the chance to get me out of what she referred to as my “hippie clothes.” I much preferred the flowy fabric of my Free People dresses to the form-fitting mermaid number Livia had strapped me into tonight. Although, the gorgeous yellow tone of it was my favorite. It complemented my rich, creamy brown complexion beautifully, and I’d styled my hair back in a sleek ponytail so all attention stayed on the dress.

Livia folded one arm over her middle, balancing the elbow of the other on her wrist and tilting the champagne flute to her lips again. “What exactly is the scent?”

“Dirty money, designer leather, and Bond No. 9,” I said easily. “With a hint of that particular fragrance that you only find in the lobbies of million-dollar condos.”

“Does my condo lobby smell?”

“It’s the most pungent one in Tampa.”

Her coral-painted lips curved into a saccharine smile, one that told me she took that as a compliment.

“Well, good thing you’re only here to report on the event and how much these rich assholes raise for charity tonight,” she said. “Wouldn’t want you to catch the stench.”

She elbowed me with the joke, and I smiled, pulling my phone from my clutch and switching it to cinema video mode before I took some close-up shots of the elaborate centerpiece glittering on the cocktail table we were standing at.

When I had that clip, I tucked my phone away and wrapped my hands around the camera hanging from my neck. I adjusted a few settings before taking a photograph of the table, then of Livia as she winked and tipped back the last of her champagne.

Outside of this event, when people saw us together, we didn’t fit. Livia was born and raised in Long Island, New York — and her parents had the vacation house in the Hamptons to prove it. I was from the opposite side of the tracks, a humble upbringing in a suburb inland from Tampa Bay. She was also four years older than me, graduating with her doctoral degree when I had just barely clinched my bachelor’s.

Still, from the moment we met, there had been an understanding between us. It was the kind you only found in someone who saw you for who you are and didn’t expect you to be anyone or anything else. It was rare, and special, and something I never took for granted — especially since finding any kind of connection like that with the opposite sex seemed futile at this point.

Livia Young was the best thing to come out of the most traumatic relationship of my life.

As if she could sense where my head was going, Livia gently touched my shoulder. “You good?”

I ignored the twinge in my stomach when I responded. “Good. You want a picture with any of these prissy athletes?” I teased, holding up my camera.

Livia smiled at me like she knew something I didn’t, shaking her head with a small smile on her lips.

I didn’t mean to be so judgmental when it came to these types of events, but my upbringing made it hard to do so. Add in the events of my adult dating life, and you could say I had yet to be proven wrong.

My parents were nonconformists, through and through. They’d met while serving in AmeriCorps and proceeded to dedicate their lives to working in the communities they lived in. I was brought up on little, with a constant reminder to be grateful for all that we had. And I was — truly. Gratitude ran through me like a rushing river at having parents who cared for me, who were so selfless and kind, who filled our home with love.

It wasn’t until I fell in love with a silver-spoon-fed athlete in college that I grew to resent those who were more well off than we were.

I blinked, deciding not to dwell on him, or anything else in the past, tonight. This evening signified the beginning of a new chapter for me, one I would make the most of.

This was my first event as the newest addition to the Tampa Bae Babes.

Despite the rather cheesy name, the TBBs were well known throughout the city for their social channels, and for the most listened-to podcast in the Bay. They covered everything from where to shop, dine, and stay, to interviewing the most influential players in the city — whether their game be politics, medicine, science, history, real estate, or pop culture.

After working tirelessly building my own online brand in the city, I was now the newest member of the team, with my specialty centering around Tampa Bay sports — which was hilarious, considering I’d rather read the dictionary front to back ten times than watch a single baseball game.

It wasn’t my end goal. For me, that would always be covering what really mattered in Tampa Bay and our communities — the people giving back, every day, quietly and selflessly and without recognition.

But for now, this was my way in, and I was happy to take it.

“I need a refill,” Livia said, waving her empty flute in illustration. “And I should also probably make an appearance at the VIP tables. Our general manager loves to show me off like a prized pig.”

“You do make a very pretty pig,” I cooed, running my fingers through a strand of her silky straight hair with a doting expression.

She swatted my hand away with a roll of her eyes. “Be right back.”

“I’m going to get some shots of the silent auction items,” I said. “Meet you there?”

Livia nodded, and then she was splitting the crowd of people like Moses split the sea, every head turning to watch her as she passed.

I took my time ambling over to the tables of items up for bid, mentally planning out the video and photo content I’d put together of the night. I made sure to take multiple video angles and transition options, knowing I wouldn’t be able to come back and re-do any of them later. My parents often laughed at my job — not because they were mean, but because they genuinely didn’t understand it. Not many did.

You tell someone your job is in social media, and the first reaction is almost always a staunch laugh.

But as confused as I was about where my life would go next, I loved what I did. I especially loved that I’d built an audience online who cared about the same things I did, who wanted to meet the game changers in their community who were the unsung heroes. I’d built a loyal following on that mission — one I wanted to take to greater heights with the Tampa Bae Babes.

But first, I had to do my time as the sports girl.

When I made it to the tables, I held my phone steady and walked slowly down the line of items up for bid. The Gibson Gala was hosted by the athletic teams in the Bay, a rare coming together of our hockey, baseball, and football teams as they raised money to benefit the many charities they supported. As such, most of the items were sports-related, everything from signed balls, pucks, and jerseys to suite tickets and player experiences.

I wished I found it impressive, that I could look at the outrageous bids already scribbled on the books in front of each item and find it awe-inspiring. Instead, I fought the urge to roll my eyes at every person in the room who felt so generous just by attending this event, never knowing what it really felt like to give back, to be face to face with those in need and extend a hand out to help them.

When I came to a rather ugly and oversized vase that stood out from the sports memorabilia surrounding it, I paused, frowning and letting my eyes assess it. It was oddly shaped, the mouth of it warped like a watch in a Dalí painting, and the body was misshapen like it had been melted instead of carved to perfection. It looked like a pottery piece made by a child trying their hand at it for the first time, the whole thing devoid of color and a proper finish. It was just a gray, weeping heap of clay posing as something of value.

“Fan of art?”

“Is that what this is supposed to be?” I asked before even looking at the person behind the low, smooth voice that asked me the question. When I glanced back over my shoulder to place a smile with my joke, it fell flat at the sight of Vince Tanev.

I didn’t have to be even mildly interested in hockey to recognize our hotshot rookie, the one who had been taking the city by storm since he burst into headlines this preseason. He caught everyone’s attention with all the goals and assists he racked up early in the regular season soon after, and he held that attention with his activities off the ice — namely partying, stumbling into his condo with three girls on each arm, and becoming known for randomly showing up in popular shops and restaurants, hanging out with fans like he was a regular person.

Which he was, I reminded myself, as I let my smile slip farther off my face.

I knew him not only because of all that, but because he was frequently spotlighted in the local news for being a community hero. But from what I could tell, the events were all a public relations sham, and he was all too happy to pretend like he gave a shit long enough to have his picture snapped before he was back to being a playboy.

Vince Cool.

Tampa had bestowed the affectionate nickname upon him, inspired by Snoopy’s alter ego Joe Cool, and the rest of the nation had been quick to jump on board. He was hot, young, cocky, and, worst of all, the kind of player who backed up his shit-talking effortlessly.

Because he just kept getting better and better with every fucking game.

I didn’t have to study him long to note that his usually messy hair was tamed tonight, styled in a sleek wave that accented the lines and edges of his handsome face. Those cheekbones were enough to make a poet dedicate their life’s work to him. Coupled with his thick lashes and lips that always remained in a rich boy pout, Vince was impossible not to find delectable. Those attracted to the male variety went especially apeshit over the little scar on his right eyebrow, the one that gave that pretty face just enough edge to make you wonder if he’d tie you up in bed.

He was stoic and severe, the kind of man who exuded power without ever having to say a single word.

His pouty lips crooked just a little at the corner the longer I stared at him, especially when my eyes flicked to the column of his white throat exposed by the top two buttons of his dress shirt being carelessly left unfastened. No neck had a right to be that hot.

Finally, I met his gaze, his hazel eyes simmering the longer we stared at each other. I couldn’t tell if they were more green or gold, the two colors battling for dominance as his lips quirked up a bit higher.

My smile flattened as I turned back to the vase, and Vince sidled up beside me, his posture confident and relaxed as he slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks.

He was at least a foot taller than me even in my heels, so I stood a bit straighter, holding my chin high.

“It is quite hideous,” he said.

That made me relax marginally, because at least we agreed on one thing. “And yet, some rich prick is going to make an outrageous bid on it and pat themselves on the back all the way home.”

“Why does bidding on an ugly vase make them a prick?”

“Because they think being charitable means throwing their inheritance money at some absurd piece of art,” I spat that part with a laugh. “And suddenly now they rest easier at night, feeling like God’s gift to mankind.”

Vince tilted his head a bit. “Well, I suppose that’s better than using their money on blow and hookers, right?”

“Oh, I’m sure they get plenty of that, too.”

“A lot of charities depend on financial support from events like this.”

“Sure,” I snapped without meaning to, my teeth grinding a bit. Livia had given me the tough love only a best friend can many times and told me I have the tendency to come off as a bitch to people who don’t know me well — especially when we got on the topic of the state of the world.

But that was the infuriating truth, wasn’t it? Any woman who wasn’t smiling and laughing and being amicably pleasant was a bitch.

I wore the insult with pride.

“And a lot of the people here will donate maybe one percent of what they make in a year and brag to all their friends about how involved they are in the community.”

Vince angled himself toward me then, and I met his gaze with my chin still held high.

“So anyone who doesn’t dedicate their life and finances to activism is just a shit human, huh? You must be a perfect little angel — a modern day Mother Theresa.”

“At the very least, I don’t do community events for PR stunts,” I shot back, folding my arms over my chest. That called attention to the camera still strapped around my neck, and Vince arched a brow.

“Right. You just cover the stunt and pretend to be above it all.”

“Aw, were you expecting me to fall at your feet and fawn over how amazing you are like the rest of your doting paparazzi?” I asked with my bottom lip poked out. “That’s so cute. Go ahead.” I held up my phone and pretended like I was recording. “Tell me about all the charity work you do, and I’ll pretend you do it because you want to and not because it looks good for the team.”

His eyes were hazel stone where they watched me, the corner of his mouth crooking like he wanted to smile. But his jaw was tight, brows in a hard line, like I was an opponent skating out onto his home ice.

“I guess you have me all figured out.”

“Wait, this is a perfect shot,” I continued, tucking my phone away and grabbing my camera, instead. “Tampa’s Hotshot Rookie and The Most Heinous Vase Ever Created.”

His lips did quirk up a bit at that, just a smidge, just enough for me to feel supremely satisfied when I snapped a photo of him standing in front of the auction table with his hands still resting easily in his pockets.

When I dropped the camera to hang around my neck once more, we were in a standoff, both of us watching the other. I wore a smirk that matched his. At least, until his eyes broke contact with my own and raked slowly down my body. He didn’t even pretend to be ashamed, just took in the deep V of my neckline with appreciation, his brow arching more when he noted the high slit of the dress that revealed a sliver of my upper thigh.

My neck burned furiously under his gaze, but not half as hot as my temper, and I was ready to lay into him when an arm looped through mine from behind.

“Sorry,” Livia said. “Got tied up telling gruesome stories to the crowd our GM was entertaining. Oh, I see you’ve met Tanny Boy.”

Vince turned his attention to my best friend, a wide smile spreading on his face. It was so different from the sly smirks he’d been giving me all night it nearly knocked the breath out of me.

“Hey, Livvy,” he greeted, leaning in to kiss the side of each of her cheeks. It brought him a little too close to me, considering Livia still had her arm threaded through mine. “Long time no see.”

“That’s a good thing for you,” she mused. “Take care of those veneers and avoid another puck to the jaw, and we can keep our time together in more fun settings like this one.”

He flashed his teeth again, and I found myself wondering which ones were real.

“Ah, but I miss your chair,” he said, and his eyes appraised her just the same way they had me. “You know we look forward to having a tooth knocked out knowing it means a trip to your office.”

I was tempted to scoff, but Livia seemed used to the blatant flirt. She only rolled her eyes and waved him off with a smile.

“Sorry to interrupt,” a slight voice said, and then we all turned to a young girl with cheeks as pink as a rose. She wore a simple black cocktail dress and a golden name tag that told me she was a volunteer working the event. “But are you Mr. Tanev?”

“The very one,” he said.

With a shy smile, the girl gestured toward the vase behind where Vince stood. “Perfect, thank you for coming over. I’m so sorry to disrupt your night.”

“Not a disruption at all. In fact, it’s been the highlight so far,” he said, and his eyes caught on mine before he followed to where the girl was leading him to the table.

“If you can just sign that photograph we placed there beside your artwork, we’ll frame that and include it as part of the bidding package.”

I frowned, trying to make sense of what she said as she handed a Sharpie to the rookie.

“It would be my pleasure,” he said, and after scrawling his signature out on the photograph of him in a sweaty celebration after a goal, he dropped the marker to the table and turned back toward where Livia and I stood. “Although, I don’t expect you’ll get much for such an ugly thing.”

His eyes were on me with those words, and I tried with all my might not to swallow or back down from his gaze.

“Oh, I’m sure you’re wrong,” the volunteer said. “It’s not often a pro athlete also has an artistic inclination. This is the kind of work that a collector would be proud to display.”

“You made that?” Livia asked, her eyes wide and impressed. “It’s beautiful.” She shook her head, appraising the piece further. “Save some talent for the rest of us, why don’t you?”

I rolled my eyes, which made Vince smirk in victory.

The volunteer went right back to whatever it was she was doing behind the tables, and Vince kept his eyes fixed on me long enough to make me look away.

When I finally did, he adjusted the cuff links on his wrists before nodding at Livia. “Better get back to it,” he said. “Enjoy your evening, ladies.”

He didn’t so much as glance at me again before he was striding through the crowd, and where the seas had parted for Livia, the opposite was true for Vince. He was magnetic, calling to every person he passed without saying a single word. He didn’t get farther than a few feet before a group was enveloping him, pulling out their phones for pictures. And as soon as he’d break free from them, there was a girl or two or three tugging on his arm and vying for his attention next.

“I can’t imagine the life he lives,” Livia said with a curious smile.

“I can,” I bit back. “The carefully curated kind.”

“Okay, grumpy. Not everyone is evil until proven a saint,” she mused, laughing. Then, she tugged me toward the stage. “Come on. Let’s find our table before the speeches start.”

I let her lead the way, schooling a few breaths to shake off how flustered that stupid man had made me.

Adding insult to injury, the vase went for ten-thousand dollars by the end of the night.