Page 33 of Bleacher Report
"So," I say with a teasing tilt to my voice. "Hunter, the media has pegged you as a bit of a playboy. Love them and leave them type. How do you feel about that? And are they correct?"
His mouth curves into a smirk, like I just walked right into something he was hoping for. "I think if anyone could set that record straight, it would be you, wouldn’t it, sweetheart? Do you think I’m the love ’em and leave ’em kind? And be careful what you say, honey. Remember, you have to sleep next to me tonight."
I blink.
Right. I forgot we’re fake dating—though, his smug grin across from me says he hasn’t. He just sidestepped my question like a pro, and there’s nothing I can do about it without blowing our cover.
Fine. Two can play at this game.
“Of course,” I say, recovering quickly. “I suppose our relationship dispels that rumor, doesn’t it?”
It’s not a question. We both know that as far as the public is concerned, our “relationship” makes him look like a reformed playboy. A guy who’s finally settled down.
I glance at my notes and decide to push forward. Carefully.
“That’s actually a great segue into the rumors about you that I’m sure your audience would love for you to address.You’ve been publicly connected to the New Jersey owner’s wife, Bethany Richards. Some say that’s the real reason you spent four years in the farm league. Would you like to set the record straight?”
There’s a beat of silence—so still it makes my pulse roar in my ears.
Hunter's posture changes instantly. Gone is the relaxed slouch, the teasing smile. His eyes narrow. His jaw locks. The air shifts. He leans forward and—without breaking eye contact—reaches up and covers the mic with one broad hand.
We’re not live but he’s being cautious.
His voice is quiet but as sharp as a blade.
“I told you that she wasn’t part of the interview deal.”
“If you’ll recall, excluding Bethany was only part of your initial offer. Your counteroffer included the townhouse, and your mother was the only exclusion you presented.”
His eyes narrow and turn dark, maybe he didn’t realize that he forgot to add Bethany back into his exclusion list but that’s not my problem. His body stiffens from its previously relaxed position.
I’ve crossed a line he’s not comfortable with, and I could have gone in softer than I did, but he’s better at sidestepping questions than I thought he’d be which means I need to be more aggressive if I want to get what the network execs are looking for.
I glance at the mic under his hand, then back at him. “This isn’t live,” I say softly, trying to keep things from spiraling. “You’ll have full control over the edit.”
His nostrils flare. “And you think that matters to me? You knew that I didn’t want to talk about my past—you knew I wanted to keep it off the record. Are ratings all you care about?”
“I care about finding the truth,” I say, keeping my voice as steady as I can, “the truth that everyone else is already digging for. You’ve let them believe New Jersey’s story for four years.This is a chance to set the record straight—your words. Your way.”
He removes his hand from the mic.
“I’m not interested in entertaining trash rumors that no one should be reading into,” he says tightly.
I can practically see the steam rising off his body now.
“So, New Jersey just made a bad call by signing you to a multi-million-dollar contract, only to bench you from the NHL? That’s your story?” I press, my voice steady, but inside, I’m bracing for the fallout.
“I think that people should stick to the facts they know and not rumors circulated by every pop-up podcast with a microphone and sports media sleuths online that have no idea what the hell they’re talking about. Maybe if they were real journalists, they’d have factual information to discuss instead of clickbait trash with no basis.”
Was that a dig at me? Does he consider me a pop-up podcast or a sports media sleuth?
I remind myself to keep my cool. He’s not the only guest I’ve ever hit a rough patch with, and I can usually iron out the issues, but the tension in the room thickens. I can feel the air crackle between us. I open my mouth to respond.
“So, you’re saying that the rumors have no truth whatsoever?”
He leans forward, eyes intense, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. “I’m saying that you’re walking on hot coals, Collins, and you’re a few more steps away from getting burned.”
My heart kicks harder. His eyes burn like a warning that if I’m not careful, I’m going to lose this interview.
