Page 74 of Playing the Field
I’m standing in a line of players in the hallway from the locker rooms to where we’ll enter the field through the tunnel, when something catches my eye. It’s not any fan wearing a Devils jersey, it’smyfan.
Gracie is walking down the hall toward the physical therapy room, which isn’t unusual before a game because player health stats are part of her analytics, and she’s thorough about gathering up-to-the-minute data from the trainers.
I’m more amped than usual, super fired about my feelings for her, especially since she told me she loves me. Like the dolt I am, I’m waiting for the right time to say it back instead of telling her I’ve loved her for longer than she fucking knows.
It’s not the first time Gracie has passed by the team on our way out to the field. But it’s the first time I’ve felt so charged and impulsive that I loop an arm around her waist and pull her toward me. One kiss on her temple. I need her positive energy to meld with my own. It feels right to claim her for a quick second before a high-octane game. A kiss for luck.
Her eyes are as wide as dinner plates when I release her. She straightens up and keeps walking down the hall. I hear a “Good luck, guys,” in the distance as she retreats.
Dumb idea? Probably.
But I’m too gone for her, too high on my own vibes to worry about it. Or to notice if anyone besides the couple of guys near me saw anything. It’s not like I did it on camera.
“And the home team…the Los Angeles Devils!” The announcer cues us to exit the tunnel, and all thoughts leave my mind except soccer.
We play a near-perfect game.
We win with an impossible shot in the last three minutes, and the fans absolutely lose it.
We beat our rival.
And all anyone wants to talk about is my personal life.
“Hunter! Hunter, one question! You’ve been spotted canoodling with someone new. Your fans, especially the female ones, want to know if it’s serious.”
“I don’t comment on rumors about my personal life,” I say. It’s what I was taught to say after going through a media training seminar Ashley held for the team. Normally, it’s enough to get people to move on and take no for an answer.
“I understand she works for the team. Can you confirm that?”
Are they talking about the kiss from earlier? Impossible. No one even saw it.
I need to control the narrative, like Ashley always warns me. Now I’m wishing I hadn’t always been so smug about knowing how to handle myself because I’m not certain what to say now.
“If someone has a question about the game or the Devils defense, I’m happy to oblige. Otherwise, I think that’s it for questions,” I say, leaving the podium and moving toward the door of the press room.
The issue should be dead now. I’ve made it sound like a rumor that isn’t worth commenting on, or at least I think I have.
Apparently, this reporter hasn’t received the memo. Or she smells a story where there doesn’t need to be one. She persists, shoving her tiny, fluffy mike in my face and walking alongside me as I exit the room.
“Hunter, a few more questions. Are you in a romantic relationship with someone working for the Devils?”
Her camera guy points his little setup toward me and backs down the hallway as I walk forward. I look away from him, annoyed that someone from Ashley’s team hasn’t swatted him away like a bug.
I’m about a second away from smacking the camera out of his hand, but I work to restrain myself. I don’t need a new fiasco where I’m in the flames for messing up a guy’s face. I pick up the pace and lengthen my stride, making it harder for the reporter to keep up and for her camera guy to keep his footing. He’s forced to step aside so he doesn’t fall over, and I move past him.
“No comment. Are we clear?”
She does a good job of staying on my heels. If I wasn’t so damn annoyed, I might be impressed. “Not quite. I’m also hearing that the woman in question is Gracie Albright, the data analyst who some people credit with saving your job. Sure you don’t want to comment?”
Fuming and desperate to put the issue to rest, I whirl around and put a finger in her face. I make sure to position myself so the cameraman gets me in the middle of the shot as I spit out the words.
“I told you, I don’t comment on relationship rumors, and that’s the entirety of what this is. Gracie Albright is an employee of the Devils organization, and as such, we are occasionally photographed together. But any rumors about a romance between us are exactly that—rumors. Whatever anyone thinks they know or saw means nothing. Zero.”
Pushing past them, I continue down the hallway toward the locker room, still fuming that I let her get the better of me.
But before I make it halfway to the lockers, Ashley comes speed walking down the hallway in that way she does when she’s angry but doesn’t want to run. She looks like a corgi moving on tiny legs with her tail on fire. “Hunter!”
The fiery expression on my face should tell her not to mess with me right now, but Ashley has never been afraid of me or anyone else. It’s probably what makes her so good at her job. Arms crossed, I turn and face her.
