We’re set up outside the locker room, near the players’ entrance. The space is wide open, and what it lacks in ambiance it more than makes up for with square footage.
“Trust me.” She flashes a devilish grin that does not instill confidence. “This is going to be epic.”
I throw up my hands in a show of surrender. “Hey, this is your rodeo. I’m just along for the ride.”
“Then I guess it’s a good thing I’m a pro at wrangling hockey players.” She wiggles her brows. “Watch and learn.”
The guys begin trickling into the hall. They’re freshly showered, their hair wet, and most of them are sporting the team colors.
They clearly understood the assignment.
“Alright, boys, huddle up,” Emerson calls, bold as you please.
I grin. I wish I’d had her confidence at that age. I’m not entirely sure she can legally buy a beer, but she has no trouble commanding twenty-four jacked men and bending them to her will.
And somehow, she makes it look easy.
“We need a fresh hook for our socials, so today we’re going to try something new.”
There are a few groans from the team, but it’s all in good fun. They understand this is part of the job, part of connecting with fans and building community.
Or, at the very least, creating a rabid fanbase.
“What do you need from us?” Knox asks, hands perched on his slender hips, ready to get to work.
“That’s the spirit!” Emerson scans the group. “Does anyone here have any dance training?”
A fresh wave of groans echo through the concrete hall, but it’s the look of pure terror on Knox’s face that takes me out.
I burst out laughing just as McGinnis raises his hand and says, “I can dance.”
“Pretty sure she’s looking for PG-13 moves.” Hardy smirks. “Not that shit you do in the club.”
The entire group laughs, but there’s a nervous edge to it.
“Hey! My moves are good as hell.” McGinnis tosses his hair out of his eyes. “And for the record, I took two years of ballet, so I do actually know what I’m doing.”
“Dude. You took ballet?” Doyle looks like his world’s just been flipped on its axis. “How did we not know this?”
“No way.” Graves shakes his head aggressively. “Sorry, Emerson, but you’re not getting me in a tutu. Ballet is not my thing.”
Her gaze snaps to Graves, and when she addresses the massive enforcer, her tone is firm. “Have you tried it?”
“No, but—”
“You should,” McGinnis chides, cutting him off. “Might improve your balance on the ice.”
The guys get loud again, slapping McGinnis on the back and ribbing Graves, but Emerson regains control easily enough.
“Relax, I’m not looking for ballet moves.” Her gaze cuts to McGinnis. “Or club moves.”
“Thank Christ,” Forey mutters, pretending to wipe his brow in relief.
Emerson grins. “Who here is familiar with Banana Ball?”
Most of the guys nod or raise their hands, and she explains her idea for positioning the Gliders as theitteam when it comes to having fun and interacting with fans.
“I want every person who watches a Gliders reel on social media to have FOMO. That’s our brand. We want viewers to feel like they’re missing out because wearethe vibe.”