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Let’s be friends, Rose had said. Let’s be best friends.
It was good in theory, but Shane lacked experience in friendships forged (and even moreso, maintained) off the ice. Despite how easy some of their previous conversations had been, he agonized over how to start this next stage of explicitly platonic friendship. Part of him had expected to hear from Rose first, but then it was she who’d said to text her, so she was probably being courteous and giving him space and time to feel ready to make the first move. Probably, but there was always a chance that she’d changed her mind on being friends with an awkward guy like Shane. She certainly wouldn’t be the first to do so, and he was sure as hell wouldn’t be the last either.
In the fortnight since they’d called it off, Shane had no contact with Rose, and even less with Rozanov. He still had no idea what the fuck he was going to do about his feelings for Ilya, but his fondness for Rose at least now felt neatly categorized. Sitting at his breakfast bar, he decided it was time to give this not-teammates-not-lovers-but-friends thing a shot.
Shane: I watched Under Dark on the plane yesterday
He placed his phone down and reached for his mug, expecting she’d be on set by now. He’d give it a week. If she hadn’t responded within seven days, he’d shut the book on this “friends” idea and leave her alone. To his surprise, his phone pinged almost immediately.
Rose: Again??
Rose: Why would you subject yourself to such horrors?
Shane smiled to himself.
Shane: To see if I was right, and I was. You were great in it.
Three dots bubbled on screen then off again. Shane wondered if he’d pushed his luck too far, somehow ventured into flirting accidentally. Not that it was flirting, because as Rose knew…
Rose: I would rather you be wrong and save your precious eyes such trauma
Shane: My eyeballs are fine, drama queen
Rose: Literally my job
Shane: [laughing emoji]
Rose: Really though. Don’t risk them again. You’ll need them for the bet I have on you for the All-Stars match wink [wink emoji]
Shane’s heart skipped a beat. The All-Stars match was in two weeks, this year at a resort in Florida. He’d be there for three full days and nights. So would Ilya who, as luck would not have it, had been placed on his team for the first time ever. Since that very first camp he’d wanted to feel what it was like to play or even practice alongside Ilya, and now he had the chance he wanted to lock himself in his apartment until the whole thing was over.
What a fucking mess, Shane thought. I’m going to throw up if he looks at me, maybe cry if he doesn’t.
No. Shane would need to hold it together, and Ilya (Rozanov, dammit, Rozanov) would look at him, because Shane was captain, and they’d be playing on the same line, and they were two functioning adults who could put whatever was or wasn’t possibly secretly happening or not happening between them aside for the sake of internationally broadcasted professionalism.
There was so much of that upcoming weekend Shane couldn’t control, and only two things he could. The first was simple: he would make sure his game was sharp as ever. As for the second…
Shane: This is a bit embarrassing, but can I ask you for a recommendation?
Rose: Of course
Shane: I want to fix my wardrobe
Shane: Not like the wardrobe itself, my clothes
Shane: You and your friends always look good and I’m just in athletic gear or plain tees 24/7
Rose: I’m sure Miles would be happy to take you shopping [wink emoji]
Shane: Rose, I really don’t think that’s a good idea
Rose: I’m joking! No but really. Is this where I remind you that you are an athlete Shane and whatever you are comfortable in is fine?
Tears brimmed at Shane’s waterline. Rose was so lovely. God life would’ve been so much easier if he could’ve loved her like he lov-
Rose: But yes, I think I know the perfect person to help you out.
Shane: Thanks
Rose: What’s your deadline for Project Makeover?
Shane: Two weeks
Rose: Oh well THAT’S INTERESTING [smirk emoji]
Oh god, what if she’d figured it out? He wouldn’t put it past her. Rose was smart and funny and perceptive and-
Shit.
Shane needed to pull himself together. She knew he was captain, that he wanted to present himself well in all areas. Even if she suspected his previous hockey player hookup was there too, there’d be 43 players to guess from, making the likelihood of her figuring it out from watching the games alone slim. Even if she did somehow reach the correct conclusion, he’d trust Rose to keep quiet about him and Rozanov more than anyone else. The realization hit him that this is what friendship off the ice could be like, and he was immensely grateful for the opportunity to experience it. He willed his hands to stop shaking and composed his reply.
Shane: No comment, Miss Landry.
Rose: Don’t worry bb, my lips are sealed [zipped lips emoji]
Rose: Here’s Pia’s number. She’s in New York, but can do most of the consulting remotely. I’ve told her you’re going to contact her before close of business today, and asked her to report to me if you don’t.
Shane let out a deep breath and dropped his head on the counter. Looked like he was really doing this, then.
Shane: Thanks Rose. You’re awesome
Rose: I know [hair flick emoji]
Rose: Now go call Pia
Shane did.
From there things moved quickly. That afternoon he submitted his answers to a brief client intake form providing his preferred name, age and city of residence. He selected his gender and pronouns from the respective drop down menus, surprised to see options and combinations he’d never heard of. He left the box asking about consult accessibility requirements blank: he wasn’t really sure what it was asking for or about so figured it didn’t apply to him.
The following morning at 8.30am, a courier arrived on his doorstep with a large, burgundy parcel. At 8.45am, he logged on to a zoom call with the scarily fashionable Pia Temraya, who explained what this introductory meeting would entail, and how they would proceed after it if he chose to continue working with her. The clear outline and time frame attributed to each step helped settle his nerves enough to continue with the call. She asked if he had questions for her, and when he didn’t, made sure he knew it was fine for him to ask them as and when they arose at any time during this meeting or future ones.
Pia asked Shane direct questions regarding the types of occasions he wanted styling for and the frequency he expected for of each of these per week over the next three months. She asked him about his team uniform requirements and brand deals, to ensure she ‘worked her magic’ with reference to his contractual obligations. She asked him if he imagined his clothes looking a certain way, and when he only answered “I don’t know, good?” she simply gave him a smile free of condescension and a small nod and moved on. She asked him which of his existing clothes he felt most confident wearing, and when he could only say his Metros playing gear or workout clothes, appeared unperturbed. She asked if there were any colours he particularly liked or didn’t like wearing (not really, anything other than fluro was fine). She asked about whether side seams, size tags, fabric that made noise or sparkled, certain fastenings or non-adjustable shoes bothered him, (yes to all, how did she know these things?), and noted down his responses without question or judgement. At no point was he required to give an opinion on anything he had no idea about, like trends or prints or pastels, and for this he was thankful.
The way she listened to the preferences others had labelled ‘weird’ (and seemed confident in her ability to accommodate them) made him even more enthusiastic about their project. While Shane had expected to feel overwhelmed by discussing something as foreign to him as fashion with a stranger, talking with Pia felt like things were clicking into place.
Another round of questions over, she gave him the option of a break or scheduling another meeting if he wanted to. Shane elected to continue: this project felt like one little unsatisfactory sliver of his life he was taking control of and he wanted to make the most of their momentum. Speaking with Pia felt solid and settling. If he could make inroads in this area of his life, then maybe come Florida he could…
Following Pia’s directive, Shane opened the burgundy parcel and pulled out a roll of fabric swatches. Each one was identified by a number and name, pure white, all around 3 by 1 foot in size. He was to trial each fabric against his skin on various body parts, identifying which textures would feel good to wear and which she would avoid. The idea that someone else, someone he was paying to make him look good, cared about his comfort like this had his head spinning. Whether she read his hesitation or not, Shane was relieved when Pia suggested they turn their cameras off for this part. He stripped to his briefs and found the swatch tagged with a “1”.
The activity was a revelation. Linen and cotton felt good everywhere from the neck down, hemp was a hideous scratchy thing that should be avoided at all costs. Certain fabrics were fine against his legs, but unpleasant against his arms and torso, and the reverse was also true. Cashmere, merino and satin were nice but bamboo was heaven against his chest (his nipples to be precise, and he suspected on his cock too, not that he was about to tell Pia that), and he resolved on the spot to only ever buy bamboo pyjamas for the rest of his life. The velvet and suede swatches were difficult to report on - Shane spent more time rubbing his fingertips across them than noticing what they felt like on the rest of his body.
Their call had just hit the two hour mark when Pia decided she had all the information she required from him. Usually, she explained, she would ask her remote clients to send some photos or videos of themselves so she could get a feel for sizing, or in some cases have measurements taken either by the client themselves or a tailor. Given she and the world at large had access to Shane’s player profile, GQ spread, 2015 Calvin Klein campaign and footage of him doing yoga at his beach house for the documentary, this wouldn’t be necessary. Shane was relieved to hear this, he really didn't want anyone else to know about his little quest, and he no longer kept measuring tapes or scales in his house for a reason. He indicated she understood and asked what to expect next. Pia said she would select and order his first round of clothing today. The items could be sent to his home in time for another virtual consult in seven days, or be delivered to her in New York, where they could meet when the Mets played the Admirals in ten days’ time. She had already checked his schedule before making the offer, and this show of additional interest and comfort got him across the line. Shane chose the latter option and logged off the call.
Shane: Just got off a call with Pia
Shane: Wow. She is really something
Rose: Would only send you to the best, Hollander
Shane: We’re gonna meet in New York so I can try on the clothes she picks
Rose: Hooray!
Rose: Wait when are you meeting? I’m doing a special screening there on the 15th but could extend a couple extra nights?
Shane: Seriously?! We’re gonna do it the 16th at 2pm. Pia reckons it’ll take 2 hours.
Shane: Location TBA. I’ll tell the coaches it’s a sponsor meeting
Rose: I’d factored in a hangover day so sign me up for your fashion show
Rose: I’ll be the one in oversized glasses begging you to close the curtains
Shane: Haha, I’ll bring extra Advil
Shane: Thanks for everything, Rose
Shane: I mean it
Rose: I’ll look forward to it. Have a good day sunshine [sunflower emoji]
Shane couldn’t believe it. He had a meeting with someone that had left him with more energy rather than draining him dry, he had plans to meet a friend in New York, and the next time he saw Ilya Rozanov, he’d be looking his best. Shane arrived at practice 30 minutes later, a smile tugging at the edges of his lips and a spring in his step for the first time in two months.
-
Ten days later at 2pm sharp, Shane found himself in the living room of a grand hotel suite on the Upper East Side. The sheer curtains ensured privacy from any cameras outside, but did nothing to limit the light flooding through the floor to ceiling windows. Rose was indeed wearing oversized sunglasses, apparently struggling with both conversation and the purple smoothie she had hoped would take the edge off her nausea rather than push her over it.
Pia had set up two long rails of clothing, all items hanging on satisfyingly matching wooden hangers, and one shoe rack. She explained she would give him different combinations of items, which he’d take into the bedroom and put on, before returning to the living room for himself to review in the trifold mirror she’d arranged, and for her and Rose to see. She explained that while it looked like a lot of clothes, each item had been ordered in two sizes. This information made the task seem less daunting.
Pia reviewed their “occasions” list and suggested they start with casual wear. She collected her bundle and passed them to him, his calm expression faltering as he saw the patterned button down shirt. He was hit with a wave that might’ve been panic or regret or both. Pia noticed and pulled the items back towards herself.
“It’s okay, Shane. I know it’s scary to start with, and you’re not going to like everything I choose. I ask that you try everything on, but you don’t have to approve anything unless you actually like how it looks and feels when it’s on. Usually clients accept around four of every five items I pick, but if you only like one of every five it’s still progress.”
Shane’s eyes widened a fraction and he nodded slowly. It was weird (in a nice way, but still weird) that final approval rested with him, and that Pia, the expert, expected him to reject some of her choices. That she would consider him rejecting most of her choices as “progress” was breaking his brain.
Rose’s voice snapped him out of his daze.
“Come on, hockey boy, I wanna see your catwalk debut.”
Shane swallowed, took the bundle and made for the bedroom door. Head in the game, Hollander.
“Not my debut!” he quipped over his shoulder, and Rose attempted a laugh that quickly morphed into a groan.
An hour and a half later, Shane left with one new large suitcase with wheels, 90% of Pia’s first round clothing selections in the appropriate sizes, three pairs of shoes, two hats, two belts, one pair of sunglasses and 14 unread messages from Rose. He opened them in the cab back to his hotel and saved each of the images of acceptable outfit combinations into a hidden album.
-
20 minutes before he hit the rink, Shane received another message.
Rose: Good luck for the game
Rose: If I was in a state to be out in public I would attend
Shane: Thanks. And thanks again for today
Rose: Are you happy with how it went?
Shane: So happy
Shane: Hope your head is ok
Rose: Getting there. I showed Miles a couple of the outfits
Rose: And I quote: “Hot daaaaamn! He show up at a club of mine like that he gon’ have ten boys lining up to climb him like a tree”
Shane: With a bit of luck I’ll be doing the climbing
Rose: You get him, tiger [wink emoji]
Shane grinned and stuffed his phone into his duffel. He went onto the ice and played one of the best games of his career, outskating the Admirals and outscoring Hunter with ease. The only thing that could’ve made the day better was contact from Ilya (sorry, Rozanov), but Shane knew better by now than to expect it. In three days and Shane would have his answer - all he could do was hope it was the one he wanted.
-
The first All-Stars team meeting was scheduled to start in 45 minutes. All players had arrived by now, and from the messages lighting up his phone, it seemed many had made their way to the bar. Shane rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. It was time.
He shrugged on a white linen shirt, buttoning the front and rolling the sleeves to the level of the freckle cluster on his left forearm like Pia had shown him. He tucked the shirt into slate blue pants and slid a woven belt through the loops before pulling on his new gray sneakers. Pia had suggested they would look best without socks but the thought alone was repulsive, so they had compromised with something called sockettes which were comfortable enough to wear but smelt terrible when he took his shoes off. The price of fashion, Shane guessed.
Shane looked at his reflection in the mirror and stood a little taller. Whether Ilya wanted him or not, he was at least satisfied in the knowledge that for once in his life, he looked damn good.
Shane was hardly one to drink, let alone pre-game, but could admit to himself he was nervous. He grabbed a beer from the room service fridge, juggling it slightly in his right hand before flicking the tab open as he checked his messages with his left. Foam gushed out, flowing down his right sleeve and dripping onto one of his sneakers before he could stop it.
Fuck shit fucking hell! Why now?
Shane stripped the ruined shirt, ragefully kicking off the shoes and slippery sockettes. He would have to find something else to wear. This was not part of the plan he and Pia had made, which specified one outfit per non-ice occasion this trip. He looked ahead on their shared spreadsheet to what was planned for similar afternoon events, but every single one needed the goddamn beer-soaked sneakers.
His head was spinning and heart hammering and somewhere in all this Shane realized he was on the verge of having a panic attack about clothing of all things. He spent a few minutes bringing himself down from his heightened state before looking at the day’s schedule, rather than the outfit plan. After the team meeting he had a media panel to attend with the other captains, then dinner. He had intended to change into more formal wear before the panel anyway. No one would die if he wore the formal clothes to the team meeting. If questioned he would say it was simply to save him a trip back to his room between events. Why anyone would ask him anyway was unclear, but it always felt safer having a script, so he made one just in case.
Shane stepped out of his somehow spotless blue pants and hung them carefully in his closet. With no fancy clothes to ruin, he sat on the end of his bed in his briefs and drank the rest of his offending beer. He made a call to reception and arranged for someone to collect his linen shirt and sneakers for laundering.
Shane started his readying process again by having the quickest shower he could manage, brushing his teeth, washing his face a second time, applying his moisturizer and fixing his hair. He moved to the closet and located the correct black shirt (not his favourite, but that one wasn’t an option right now) and the light suit. Pia said it was cream. Shane was pretty sure it was off-white, but that didn’t matter right now. He pulled on the suit pants, followed by his favourite new seamless bamboo dress socks. He laced his dress shoes tightly and shrugged on the suit jacket, adding his Rolex as the final detail.
Shane checked himself again in the mirror. His face showed no signs of his close brush with fashion-induced implosion. He blew out a long, slow breath. Pia truly was a miracle worker: he really did look very fucking good. He pocketed his phone and room key and made for the door. In two minutes he would see Ilya Rozanov, and Ilya Rozanov would see him. It was time to fucking do this.
-
Three days later, just before he boarded the plane out, Shane fired off a text.
Shane: [tree emoji] [green tick emoji]
Rose: Atta boy [wink emoji]
Shane smiled. He wasn’t usually one to be optimistic, but he hoped somewhere Ilya was smiling too.