Page 120 of Bleacher Report
“I’d come for the soapsuds and stay for the tragic tan lines.”
He clutches his chest. “Wounded. But noted. No tan lines.”
I shake my head, grinning. “You’d make a fortune in tips.”
“Obviously,” he says, and then slaps the back of his thigh. “These glutes are money makers.”
We sit in silence for a beat, both of us watching a couple of players practice shots.
Then I ask the question I always save for last.
“If you could go back in time and fix a mistake, what would it be—and what would you do differently?”
Hunter’s shoulders go still. He doesn’t answer right away. Just watches the far end of the rink, the ghost of a dozen younger versions of himself skating in his silence.
Finally, he speaks.
“If I could go back...I’d redo the first night we met at Oakley’s. I was drunk and angry and made assumptions about you that I had no right to make.” He glances at me. “You didn’t deserve that. I’d take it back in a heartbeat. And then I would have asked for your number so I could call you on a night I wasn’t plastered.”
My throat tightens. It’s not the soundbite I was chasing—but it might be the most honest thing he’s ever said on camera.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “For letting me see this part of you.”
He shrugs, trying to play it off, and then straightens his back. “Don’t get used to it, Collins. I have a reputation to maintain.”
But the small smile pulling at his mouth says otherwise.
I end the video. I got enough and now I want the rest of him to myself.
“You shared a lot. More than you have in past interviews. Are you sure you’re okay with me sharing this?” I ask, tucking my phone into my pocket.
“I figured you could use some solid B-roll for your interview cut if you’re trying to win that syndication deal. This is what I agreed to, and now that Bethany has left Seattle, I owe you my end of our arrangement.”
“We’re a good team,” I tease.
He nods and then reaches over and gives my thigh a gentle squeeze, making my whole body react. God, do I love his hands on me. “C’mon. I’ll show you the snack bar that has the best nachos in town.”
“Oh God…thisis your move, isn’t it? Is this how you convinced all the high school girls to kiss you under the bleachers?”
He looks over his shoulder with that troublemaker grin of his that has me laughing. “The last time I tried it, I ended up spilling the entire tray in my lap, covering my crotch in spicy, hot nacho cheese. But if you want to make out under the bleachers, Collins, I’d happily oblige you. I wouldn’t want to be a bad host,” he says, leading me out to the concessions that are getting ready for some Christmas Eve ice show.
“Slow down, Romeo. Wow me with these nachos first, then we’ll see where the night takes us.”
He laughs as I follow behind him, my hand in his.
And it occurs to me how much I wish I could have seen the Hunter before Bethany. What Carly said about him warming up has me wishing we had met earlier, but then I wouldn’t get the man he is now, and maybe that would be a shame too.
Maybe we met just in time.
By the time we pull back into the driveway, the last of the sunlight is slipping behind the neighbor’s roofline.
“I’m going to start dinner,” Hunter says as we step inside, dropping the keys on the entryway table. “You want to hang down here or...?”
“Actually,” I say, slipping off my coat, “would you mind if I went upstairs for a bit to edit the interview? I know it’s Christmas Eve, but the execs are waiting for all my final deliverables.”
Hunter nods without hesitation. “Go ahead. I’ll holler when it’s ready.”
I head up to his room, slipping onto the edge of the oversized bed with my laptop. An hour passes in a blur as I cut together clips, keeping the edit light and natural. I leave in the echo of the rink, the squeak of his shoes against the floor, the way his voice softened when he talked about taking care of Carly when she was sick.
