Page 8 of Bleacher Report
“Whoa, whoa, whoa…hold on just a second,” he says, trying to get his wits about him.
This conversation has gotten too far out of his control.
“Is that the excuse you planned to give her when you couldn’t get it up?” I ask, knowing that I’ve now gone too far. Goodbye syndication deal…nice knowing you. “This was an obvious mistake. I see that now,” I say, turning around to leave before I say anything else to make this whole situation worse. “Have a nice life.”
I make it to Cammy’s table in record time, my hands shaking a little and my heart pounding like it’s trying to break out of my chest.
She takes one look at me and slides a glass of wine across the table, but I shake my head. “No, I can’t drink because I’m not staying. I need to get out of here, and I live across town.”
“That bad, huh?”
I thought the worst he could do was say no.
I didn’t expect him to treat me like some puck bunny he couldn’t be bothered to screw—and somehow make me feel smaller than I have in a long time. And I didn’t expect that I would snap back that hard. Maybe all this pressure is finally getting to me, and I just released my pent-up frustrations on Hunter—though he deserved it…mostly.
I can see the moment all the girls at the table notice me in distress and then shoot daggers at Hunter. Good to know whose side they turn to first.
“He thought I was trying to get him to take me home and…” I can’t even finish the sentence. His voice is still in my head. That tone. That dismissal.
“I’m sorry,” Cammy sighs, patting my hand. “I should’ve figured he’d be like this tonight after a loss like that. But don’t worry—I’ll get you set up at the charity auction in three days.”
She starts ticking off names like she’s building me a fantasy lineup.
“Olsen clams up in interviews, so I wouldn’t waste your time there. Trey’s got the whole ex-special-forces mystery vibe—he’s taking those secrets to the grave. Luka, though? Loves talking about himself. Aleksi’s a total chatterbox. Scottie’s chasing a sponsorship deal and could use the visibility, and Wolf…okay, people think he’s a jerk, but he’s actually a sweetheart off the ice. He could really use some good PR.”
She leans back with a smirk. “We’ll find you someone.”
She doesn’t mention JP Dumont as an option to interview, which has me wondering what’s going on with Cammy and JP. Seems like there might be some tension there.
But it’s not my business. We’re still newly minted friends, and with me being a podcaster looking for a story, I would never want her to think I was fishing for something.
Even if the tension between her and the Hawkeyes’ new goalie is practically its own subplot.
I take a long, cleansing breath, trying to forget the burn of Hunter Reed’s words.
And the fact that I pinned my best shot at a viral interview—my last chance at network syndication—on a guy who just treated me like a groupie looking for a hookup.
I appreciate Cammy for trying to get me another player to interview, but Hunter is the one I needed to have a shot at the syndication deal. And that just went up in flames.
Happy Thursday to me.
Chapter Two
Hunter
The pounding in my head matches the rhythm of my phone buzzing against the nightstand. I crack one eye open and immediately regret it as sunlight knives through the blinds and into my skull. Every inch of me aches.
Last night was a blur after that third whiskey, though I vaguely remember Aleksi and Trey dragging me out of Oakley’s and something about me trying to recreate theMighty Ducksspeech.
I groan and blindly swipe for my phone. Seven texts from my agent, three from my mom, and—perfect—a push notification from a sports blog calling out my post-game attitude.
I squint at the screen.
REED’S RETURN TO THE NHL: IS THE ATTITUDE WORTH THE TALENT?
Because apparently, four years in the farm system wasn’t punishment enough for dating the wrong girl my rookie year. The same girl who my mother still calls “the daughter she never had.”
“Shit,” I mumble at the headline.
