Thirty-Day Lover

Simply because of the number of people that would have been present, generally, a meeting would have to be separated into two tiers. The first tier, all head staff member around a large oval oak table with their leather arm chairs. At the very end, the owner of the team, and to his sides the CEO and general manager. Then the rank diversifies all the way around and back. The second tier would usually be a repetition of all that had just taken place in here for the players to hear. Headed, usually by the coach.

This meeting of men came to an end with chair legs scraping against wooden floor and a symphony of voices each with their own murmurs making their way out of the door. The owner always leaves last, always leaves alone, and always made sure that everyone else has cleared the vacinity.

"Well then, it was good seeing you again." Ron Jonson concluded, extending a hand to the aged owner for a firm shake. "I presume the next time would be after this long road trip coming up." Every once a season, there was this obliged road trip that would last about 30 days. Starting from the tip of the country and all the way around 'till they hit their home again. It is argubly the hardest 30 days that each team has to survive through, yet at the same time, it is also looked at an experience to bond with the rest of the team.

Jonson figured that he should be thankful their 30 days of hell -as coined by the players- happened early on in the season this year, certainly allowing the newer players to get familiarized with the older ones. The faster they find their chemistry between each other on the ice, the better it is for the team.

Stepping out of the meeting room along with the general manager -Author Neight-, Jonson began placing on the suit jacket that he had removed admist the long meeting. Besides him, the younger man didn't bother with it. Jonson half wondered if he perhaps wanted to shed the layers of constricting clothes and get back into the usual track pants and sweats.

Their conversation rolled around work, the runnings of the team, the paperwork and the administrative processes. However, both could hear the distraction in each other's voice, understanding that the meeting had just about killed all brain cells.

Pressing the descending button, they waited.

And when that light chime indicated the arrival of their short trip down, Jonson's foot lifted off the ground when the doors began sliding open, anticipating the steps inside. A second and a centimeter later, his foot paused awkwardly for a split second before he took that step inside.

Everyone has that internal instinct, that nagging feeling that something is about to wrong, an uncomfortable itch all over his body, yet it cannot be pinpointed down. Jonson had that feeling this precise moment, and it only grew stronger as he stepped inside.

The lone woman in the elevator was no one whom he's met before.

He knew all the staff members here and all the reporters and photographers who regularly came in. She wasn't part of them.

She had lifted her eyes and glanced at them before offering a quick smile, and that gaze was diverted. Everything was diplomatic, nothing out of order. Her long, dark hair was pulled up with some sort of a clip, leaving a few rebellious strands hanging in an unorchestrated fashion. The top rim of her glasses played to hide her eyes depending on the angle that one would look at. Oh but the expensive attire of office wear was regal and proper. Jonson couldn't find a fault from looking at her.

Glancing at the number pad, he noticed that they were apparently headed for the same floor. A light frown tugged at his lips, confusion blanketed over. He and Neight were heading for the restricted area of players lounge. The hallways there ranged from the common room, to the change rooms, to the medical examination rooms, and it was where staff members and players alike could head out on the ice.

"Hello."

Beside him, Neight had spoken, not to him, but to the woman in question.

"Good afternoon." A quiet voice, a sultry undertone.

"How are you doing today?"

"Not bad at all, and you?"

Well, Jonson concluded, Neight was obviously a better conversationalist than he was. So he remained silent and listened on. It appeared that Neight was on the same page as him when it came to this mysterious woman whom looked to be heading for a restricted area as the elevator descended one floor after the other.

It took no more than 30 seconds for them to find their floor and for the doors to slide open. Neither men moved, half out of courtesy for the woman, half out of skepticism on Jonson's part. With a smile, the woman nodded at both of them before stepping out. And under Jonson's eyes, she did not hesitate when she headed towards the glass door that separated visitors from authorized personnels.

One second.
Two seconds.

Neight didn't say a word. Jonson glanced at him sharply before taking a couple of haste steps outside, shadowing after the woman.

"Excuse me, miss."

She stopped and turned around to look at him.

"That area is for authorized personnels only."

A second of silence, the two of them looked at each other, and a smile stretched on her lips. Then, she moved, towards him. And over the clickings of her heels against the floor, he heard Neight's voice.

"Ah, Ron, I didn't know you two haven't met. This is Christina McClaire, she is our..."

"New physiotherapist." Christina finished for Neight. "I presume you are Mr. Ron Jonson, CEO of the team? It's a pleasure to meet you, I apologize for not introducing myself properly."

Jonson looked at her hand, glanced at her face and his hand moved on its own accord to shake hers. His mind was still doing backflips trying to get this entire situation under control. The only thought that remained in his head was how slender and soft her hand was compared to his. Was this hand strong enough to be a physiotherapist's for a team of testosterone flowing hockey players?

- 9:34PM, Christina's Apartment -

"So? How was it?"

Her best friend's scandalized tone erupted from the speaker and filled the bedroom and the bathroom as Christina was wiping dry her body.

"Why is your voice like that?"

"Like what?"

"That."

Her friend laughed and Christina took the time to toss the towel back on the rack and reached for her white bathrobe.

"Well, because! I say you have absolutely the best job in the entire world!" Christina rolled her eyes at herself through the reflection in the mirror, her fingers reached for her bottle of softener. Katy wasn't done quite yet. "I mean, you're surrounded by these ultra manly men and within no time you will be using your profession as an excuse to touch them skin to skin. Oh you make me want to give up my Ph.D thesis and go pursue physiology instead!"

Tossing the little rounded pad of cotton away, Christina stuck her head back into her bedroom and projected her voice towards the phone. "Oh you did not just suggest that to me! For heaven's sake, you know this team is a young team, I swear half of the team is like a century younger than me! I may be many things, but I am no pedophile."

"What pedophile?! Younger men obviously have better stamina! Come on, you cannot say that you are not tempted just looking at those bodies walking in front of you."

Patting her face after having applied her night cream, Christina turned off the bathroom lights and returned to the bedroom, grabbing the phone along the way.

"Okay, I cannot." Younger or not, she has to admit that it's a job that would tempt nuns. "But I can say for certain that you desperately need to get laid."

"Oh fuck you."

Christina laughed and threw herself onto the bed, enjoying the smooth texture of silk against her bare skin.

"Though I admit I do swing that way from time to time, you're not my type, sweetheart."

- 8:06AM, Saturday; The Rink -

It is an aboslutely sin for one to be up this early, especially when it's on a Saturday morning. Christina heaved out a loud sigh as she rode the elevator down. For a moment, she remembered how the CEO had looked when her position was announced to him. It brought a smile on her face just thinking about it. Though the stretch of lips was short lived as the door slid open, she reminded herself how strange it would look.

Bringing out her ID card, the barcode on the back served as an access tool for her. Held up against the device on the door, it beeped and she pulled it open. No, she was not a workaholic. However, she was informed that the team will be going on a month long road trip in about two weeks' time and she had no clue what was what in this place.

Christina may be lazy about many things, but money, she was most certainly very diligent about. Having landed this job, she didn't know which deity up there favoured her, but she sure thanked them! Better to get herself acquinted in no time than to get her ass fired in two days. With that thought in mind, she had pulled herself out of bed this morning and drove here.

Not without the help of a large cup of black coffee of course.

The hallways were as empty as a haunted mansion, though the lights were all turned on, it still did nothing for that creepy feeling inside her stomach. Her office was a room down the hall, right next to the gym that was available to all players and staff members. Though she liked to keep in shape, Christina wasn't sure how she felt about working out in this gym surrounded by all these people who could potentially walk right in any second.

For this morning, she had planned to go through all the files so she could at least put a name to all these faces. Her advantage was being a hockey fan. Having grown up here, she's watched this team semi-religiously, so it was about getting to know the guys personally -not like that- and having a good grasp of their medical records.

Passing the gym with its doors wide open, she thought she heard a noise. Those steps came to a halt almost immediately, and she listened. It was the whining of wheels being pushed and the heavy panting of someone inside. Backtracking, she stepped into the large gym slowly and let her gaze roam. Aside from the impressive set of equipments and the mirros that surrounded the entire room, she saw a lone figure in the corner riding a bicycle.

It was clear from his posture that he's been here for some time now, the shirt that he wore stuck to his back with sweat, his head was lowered and back hunched. Narrowing her gaze just slightly, she couldn't help but speak up.

"You might want to keep up a proper posture so your back won't be strained too much."

From this angle, she saw his startled repsonse and how the exercise came to an abrupt stop. He turned and looked at her, she caught his gaze and offered him a friendly smile.

"Kelly. Hank Kelly, right?" She continued, recalling his name. More from her days of watching hockey rather than pulling out the files. "I'm sorry if I startled you, I'm Christina. The general manager introduced me to you guys yesterday, I will be the team's..."

"Physiotherapist." He finished for her, although somewhat out of breath.

She paused and nodded, smile growing wider. "Yes, that's correct."

"I remembered." He said with a tap of his finger against his head, those brown eyes glinted with playful mirth.

"So you did."

Christina noted that, this young star, despite the competitive spirit on the ice, smiled with a cute dimple on the side of his cheek.

To be continued...


Author's Notes:

It will not be a lie to say that this is my first time posting a fiction up here for all to read. I understand that it is a slow start and perhaps it will take a couple of chapters to get into the more interesting bits, I do hope that you will greet this with patience.

This is certainly an unedited version of this chapter, so please excuse the mistakes that appear.

On a last note, please read and review. I love interactions between writer and readers alike, and I hope to entertain you with a great fiction.