#sanjosesharks

The thing about making it to the NHL at nineteen was that Macklin thought he'd figured most things out.

He'd survived his rookie season. He'd gotten through training camp for year two without puking in a trash can, which already put him ahead of last August. He managed to not always make his place smell like protein shakes, and he could usually remember to buy groceries before the only thing left in his fridge was a questionable vegetable and three bottles of electrolyte water.

So yeah. He had his life together.

At least, that's what he thought until he walked into the practice facility on the first Tuesday after training camp and saw her.

She was standing near the bench with her back to him, camera already around her neck, talking to Will about something that was making him laugh. Macklin noticed the camera first, then the sleek ponytail, then the Lululemon belt bag slung across a Sharks quarter-zip that looked way better than it had any right to.

"New photog," Sam said, appearing at his elbow. "Started yesterday for media day. Didn't you see the email?"

Macklin had not seen the email. Macklin had seen approximately twelve of the three hundred emails currently sitting in his inbox, and most of those were from his mom.

"Cool," he said, aiming for casual and landing somewhere near strangled.

She turned around.

Later, Will would make fun of him for the noise he made, but in the moment, Macklin was too busy trying to remember how his face worked to care. She had freckles. An entire constellation of them across her nose, and she was smiling at something on her camera screen, and…

"Celebrini!" she called out, and oh god, she knew his name. "Perfect! Can you do me a favor?"

He was already moving before his brain caught up. "Yeah. Yes. Sure. What's up?"

"Can you just stand over there by the logo?" She gestured vaguely toward center ice. "I need to test the lighting before everyone else gets here, and you're…" She paused, squinting at him in a way that probably shouldn't have made his heart rate spike. "tall enough."

"He's 5'11"," Sam said helpfully.

"Six feet," Macklin corrected, which was technically true if he wore his skates and good socks.

She grinned. "Perfect. Go stand pretty for me, Six Feet."

𓆞 𓆝⋆｡˚𓇼 ͙͘͡⭒｡˚⋆｡⭑｡˚𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝⋆｡˚𓇼 ͙͘͡⭒｡˚⋆｡⭑｡˚𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Macklin had three problems.

Problem one: He was pretty sure there was a rule about players dating team employees. He hadn't actually read the employee handbook, but it seemed like the kind of thing that would be a rule. It was definitely a rule in every sports movie his dad had made him watch.

Problem two: He had no idea how to talk to her like a normal person. Every time Y/N showed up at practice, his brain went smooth like an empty rink. Yesterday, she'd asked him to smile for a headshot and he'd just stared at her. For seven full seconds. Will timed it.

Problem three: She was so pretty it was actually ridiculous. Like, offensively pretty. She'd shown up to morning skate today with a Starbucks cup covered in lipstick prints and a claw clip that matched her sneakers, and Macklin had skated directly into the boards while watching her adjust her lens settings.

"You're being pathetic," Michael informed him in the locker room after practice, throwing a wadded-up tape ball at his head. "Just ask her out."

"Can't." Macklin caught the tape ball and threw it back. "Pretty sure it's against the rules."

"Since when do you care about rules?" Will raised an eyebrow.

"Since forever!" Macklin groaned, scrubbing his hands through his still-damp hair. "And anyway, what am I supposed to say? 'Hey, I'm a teenage millionaire who can barely remember to shower, go out with me?'"

Macklin slumped against his stall. This was hopeless. He needed a plan. A gesture. Something that would get her attention without being weird or breaking any rules.

Sharkie.

𓆞 𓆝⋆｡˚𓇼 ͙͘͡⭒｡˚⋆｡⭑｡˚𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝⋆｡˚𓇼 ͙͘͡⭒｡˚⋆｡⭑｡˚𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

"You sure you don't want me to just do this for you?" Kevin asked, hovering anxiously as Macklin struggled with the zipper. "I could deliver whatever you want. Flowers, coffee, a singing telegram."

"No, I got it." Macklin finally got the head on, and immediately regretted every decision that had led him to this moment. It smelled like rubber and old ice and hot dog. "How do you see in this thing?"

"Mesh panel in the mouth. And buddy, for the record? She probably won’t like this."

"It's cute," Macklin insisted, his voice muffled by several pounds of mascot head. "It's romantic! Girls love mascots!"

"Do they though?"

Macklin didn't answer because he'd already waddled out into the hallway, trying to figure out how to walk blindly without falling on the polished concrete.

He'd done his research. Y/N was in the media room editing photos. He'd overheard her tell the social media manager she'd be there until at least seven. It was currently 6:47. He had thirteen minutes to execute the best worst plan he'd ever had.

The door to the media room was closed. Macklin knocked and waited.

"It's open!" Y/N's voice called.

Here went everything.

He pushed through the door and struck what he hoped was a charming pose, arms outstretched.

Y/N looked up from her laptop, blinked once, and then started laughing so hard she had to put her coffee down before she spilled it.

"Oh my god," she gasped. "What is this, are you performing right now?"

Macklin tried to nod, but the head was so heavy he mostly just wobbled threateningly.

"Is this, like, a bit? Did social media send you?" She was grinning now, pulling out her phone. "This is incredible. I need a photo. Sharkie in his natural habitat: bothering me while I'm trying to work."

This was fine. This was going great. Macklin gave her a thumbs up and then attempted to lean casually against the doorframe, which would have worked if the suit wasn't top-heavy. Instead, he sort of tilted.

"Whoa, okay, big guy." Y/N jumped up, steadying him with both hands on his foam belly. "You good in there?"

Macklin nodded again, more carefully this time. Then, with all the confidence he could muster while dressed as a shark, he pulled out the sign he'd made.

It was written on a piece of poster board in sharpie, and it said: DINNER?

Y/N stared at it. Then at him. Then back at the sign.

"Wait," she said slowly. "Is Sharkie... asking me out?"

Macklin nodded enthusiastically, which made the shark head bob around like a dashboard ornament.

"Oh my god." Y/N pressed her hand to her chest, eyes going wide and delighted. "This is the cutest thing that's ever happened to me. Sharkie has a crush?"

"This is amazing. The commitment! Does this mean you've been watching me? Have you been pining from the zamboni entrance this whole time?"

Macklin tried to shake his head but the foam absorbed all movement. He held up one hand helplessly.

"No, don't be shy now!" Y/N laughed, tucking her hair behind her ear. "You literally brought a sign. That's brave, Sharkie. I respect that." She bit her lip, considering the poster board again. "Okay, here's the thing. You're a shark. I'm a human. There are some logistical issues."

Macklin's heart sank directly into his gigantic foam feet.

"But," Y/N continued, stepping closer, "you're also very tall, and you made an effort, and honestly? That's more game than most guys I've met in the Bay Area." She looked up at the mesh panel where his face theoretically was. "So yeah. Dinner. I'm free Friday."

Macklin forgot how to breathe.

"Don't pass out in there," Y/N warned. "I am not doing mouth-to-mouth on a mascot. Well. Actually." She grinned, mischievous and bright. "Come here."

Before Macklin could process what was happening, she grabbed both sides of the shark head and planted a kiss directly on the foam snout.

His brain short-circuited. Completely. Just static and the smell of her perfume and the absolutely unhinged reality that Y/N had just kissed him. Sort of. Technically she'd kissed a foam shark, but he was inside the foam shark, so it counted. It definitely counted.

"There," she said, pulling back with a satisfied smile. "Sealed with a kiss. Very professional. Very normal workplace behavior."

Macklin managed another thumbs up. It was all he had left in him.

"Do you have a phone in there? Can you even text?" Y/N tilted her head. "Wait, do you need my number, or does Sharkie already have it from, like, official team business?"

Macklin frantically patted at the suit, trying to find the pocket where he'd stashed his phone. After several seconds of increasingly frantic foam-muffled searching, he managed to extract it and thrust it toward her.

"Perfect." She took it, typed quickly, and handed it back. "There. Now you can tell me where we're going. Somewhere nice, okay? You're a professional athlete, well, mascot, you can afford it." She winked.

Macklin nodded so hard he nearly concussed himself.

"Cool. I have to finish editing these before I leave, but…" She grabbed her real camera this time, the Canon. "Okay, hold the sign up again. This is going in my portfolio. 'Shark Shoots His Shot.' It's perfect."

He held up the sign. She took the photo, chimped the screen, and gave him a satisfied nod.

"Great. Now get out of here before I change my mind."

Macklin backed toward the door and gave her one final enthusiastic wave, and somehow made it into the hallway without tripping.

The second the door closed behind him, he ripped the shark head off.

His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. His face was probably the color of a stop sign. He was pretty sure he'd just lost three pounds of water weight.

And he had a date.

Kevin appeared from around the corner, looking stressed. "Well?"

"She said yes," Macklin breathed.

"To Sharkie?"

"Yes. To Sharkie. I'll... figure out the rest later."

"Dude, you have to tell her it was you."

"I know! I will! I just…" He ran his hand through his sweaty hair. "I need to figure out how to do that without her thinking I'm insane."

"Buddy," Kevin said slowly. "You just wooed a girl while dressed as a shark. That ship has sailed."

Fair point.

But Macklin couldn't stop grinning anyway. She'd said yes. She'd kissed him, kind of. He'd take it. He'd absolutely take it.

Now he just had to figure out how to show up to dinner on Friday as himself and not a mascot.

One problem at a time.

𓆞 𓆝⋆｡˚𓇼 ͙͘͡⭒｡˚⋆｡⭑｡˚𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝⋆｡˚𓇼 ͙͘͡⭒｡˚⋆｡⭑｡˚𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Friday arrived way too fast and also not fast enough.

Macklin changed his outfit four times. He texted Will a mirror selfie of option three and got back "u look like ur going to a job interview." He texted Michael option four and got "bro just wear the shark suit again." Sam left him on read.

He went with option two: dark jeans, a button-up his mom had bought him that he'd never actually worn, and the nicest sneakers he owned. He looked... fine. Probably. Maybe.

He'd picked a steakhouse in Santana Row because it seemed like the kind of place you took someone on a real date. He'd made the reservation under his own name and immediately regretted it when the host had done a double-take.

"Mr. Celebrini, right this way."

Y/N was already there.

She was wearing a black dress and had her hair down for the first time since he'd met her, and Macklin nearly walked into a waiter.

"Hey!" She looked up, smiling, and then her face did something complicated. Smile, confusion, realization, panic, all in about two seconds. "Wait. Macklin?"

"Hey." He slid into the seat across from her, heart hammering. "So. Uh. Surprise?"

"You're Sharkie?" Her voice went up an octave. "You were… oh my god, you were in the suit?"

"Technically I paid Kevin to borrow the suit."

"Macklin." She put her face in her hands. "I kissed you. I kissed… I thought you were a mascot."

"You did kiss me," he agreed, and he couldn't help grinning a little because the memory of it still made his entire nervous system light up like a slot machine. "Well. The foam version of me."

"This is bad. This is really bad."

His smile faltered. "Bad?"

"I work for the team! You're you. You're the franchise player. I literally get paid to take your photo." She was talking fast now, anxious. "There are rules about this, right? There have to be rules. I can't. I really like this job, Macklin. I can't lose this job. Do you know how hard it was to get this job?"

"I-"

"I’m in school. I have student loans. My sorority dues are due next month and I already committed to formal." She stopped herself, took a breath. "Sorry. I'm spiraling. I just. I didn't know it was you."

"Would you have said yes if you knew?" The question came out quieter than he meant it to.

Y/N bit her lip, and for a second she looked just as nervous as he felt. "I don't know. Maybe? You're really…" She gestured vaguely at him. "You know. But that's kind of the problem."

"What if there's no rule?" Macklin leaned forward. "I checked. Sort of. I asked the equipment manager really vague hypothetical questions and he looked at me like I was crazy, but he didn't say no."

"That's not exactly airtight legal counsel."

"Okay, but." He reached across the table, not quite touching her hand but close. "What if we just... had dinner? Just tonight. And if it's weird or if you hate it or if you want to just pretend the whole Sharkie thing never happened, we can do that. But you're here, and I'm here, and," He took a breath. "I really like you. Like, embarrassingly. Will's been making fun of me for weeks."

"Will knows?"

"Everyone knows. I skated into the boards watching you fix your camera."

"That was me?" A tiny smile cracked through her panic. "I thought you were just having a bad day."

"The worst day. Because you looked really pretty and my brain stopped working."

She laughed, and some of the tension left her shoulders. "That's pathetic."

"I know."

"You wore a mascot suit."

"I know."

"That's actually insane."

"Yeah." Macklin grinned helplessly. "But you said yes."

Y/N shook her head, but she was smiling now, really smiling. "I did. I really did." She looked down at the menu, then back up at him. "Okay. Dinner. Just dinner. And then we'll... figure out the rest?"

"Deal."

They ordered. Macklin got a steak he was too nervous to taste, and Y/N got pasta and told him about her communications classes and how she'd actually started as a photography minor but switched it to her major after her professor told her she had "an eye for it." He told her about growing up in the Bay and how weird it was that his dad worked in basketball while he played hockey, and how he'd nearly thrown up before his first NHL game.

"Wait, actually threw up?"

"Almost. Will had to talk me down in the bathroom."

"That's actually really sweet."

"He told me if I puked on the ice he'd never let me live it down."

"Okay, less sweet."

They talked until the restaurant started giving them pointed looks, and then they moved outside to the courtyard where string lights made everything look softer, warmer.

"I should probably go," Y/N said, but she didn't move. "Early shoot tomorrow. Preseason game prep."

"Right. Yeah." Macklin didn't move either.

They stood there, in the glow of the Santana Row lights, close enough that he could see the freckles across her nose again, the ones he'd noticed that first day.

"I'm still stressed about the job thing," she admitted quietly.

"I know."

"And I don't know if this is a good idea."

"I know that too."

"But I had a really good time tonight." She looked up at him, and there was something soft in her expression that made his chest tight. "Even if you did catfish me with a mascot costume."

"For the record, I looked way better in the suit."

She laughed, and then she stepped closer, rose up on her toes, and kissed him.

Actually kissed him this time. No foam. No mesh panel. Just her lips on his, soft and real and tasting a little like the tiramisu they'd shared, and Macklin forgot every worry he'd ever had. The rules, the job, the stress, it all dissolved like sugar in water.

When she pulled back, she was smiling.

"Okay," she breathed. "Okay. We'll figure it out."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She kissed him again, quicker this time, then stepped back before he could pull her closer. "But if I get fired, you're paying my student loans."

"Deal," Macklin said, and he was pretty sure he'd agree to anything she asked as long as she kept looking at him like that.

She left with a wave and a promise to text him when she got home. Macklin stood in the courtyard for a full minute after she disappeared, grinning like an idiot at nothing.

His phone dinged.

Will: how'd it go

Macklin: good

Will: did u tell her it was u in the shark suit

Macklin: yeah

Will: and???

Macklin: she kissed me

Will: CALLED IT

Will: ur buying dinner tomorrow. i earned this

Macklin didn't even care. He'd buy Will a hundred dinners. He'd buy the whole team dinner.

Y/N had kissed him.

Best investment he'd ever made, that shark suit.

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