Page 87 of Bleacher Report
She stalls for a second.
“Yeah, sure, let’s revisit that after you win over the other execs and you have the syndication deal firmly in place,” she says quickly, putting the idea off.
I get it’s not the clickbait she’s hoping for, but I think it would be interesting.
“Okay…right,” I say, not masking the tone of disappointment in my voice.
“Listen, I know you can do this, Peyton. I’ve already mentioned that I’m not supposed to have favorites, but I just see how big you’re going to be, and I know the network is going to be disappointed if they pass on you. Right now, you’re the only female podcaster on the list, and it was a fight to get you here. Idon’t have to remind you that this is a male-dominated industry, and it took everything I had—late hours, failed relationships because I worked too many hours—to get me here. But your podcast is proving that there is an untapped demographic of sports fans that want a female podcaster’s perspective on it.”
She’s right, she's been cheerleading for me this entire time, and I need to remember that she’s trying to push me to the end. With the other two podcasters being male, I know that I’m not the instant favorite for the network. I have to prove that I’m the best podcast for the network harder than ever before. And with such little time left, I need to follow her suggestion here, though I still think Vivi would be an interesting guest. Who knows what kind of stories she could tell of past players, even if she kept the names anonymous. I bet she has juicy stuff.
“So what do you suggest I do next?”
“The other two on the board want to see more between you and Hunter. They want to see how much more you can get him to open up. This will be a good indicator of what you can do with other guests on your show in the future. And we want to see you two discuss the WAG lifestyle a little. Like how you two are navigating this attention on your relationship when he is so private about his serious relationships from the past.”
“You’re right, he’s really private, and our relationship is still new. Discussing how we’re handling our relationship in public is probably something I can get him to talk about. I’ll see what I can do.” I say, though, dreading the idea of it.
“The social media team is going wild with the photos from the last home game with you in his jersey. Let’s work on getting you and Hunter out there more as a couple.”
I feel my stomach twist with a familiar mix of excitement and trepidation. The network is finally taking notice, but at what cost? I know Hunter won't be thrilled about the increased public scrutiny, even if it's part of our agreement.
Chewing my lip, I consider how I’m going to sell this to him for our next interview…and the last one he agreed to.
“Of course. I can do that.”
“Great. I’m really looking forward to hearing what you put together, and also, seeing more public photos of you will get your subscriber list where we need it. You’re so close, Peyton.”
I tell her I’ll keep her posted on the interview, and then we say our goodbyes.
I pocket my phone, dreading the conversation I know I need to have. Somehow, the lines between fake and real have become even more blurred, and I'm not sure how much more I want to push him. Could I stand him storming out on me now if I pushed him past what he’s comfortable with?
I head back inside, my coffee sitting there waiting for me, and I spend the next hour listening to the conversation around me. Though I barely hear a word because I can’t stop thinking about how I’m going to get Hunter to warm up even more than he has. And what will he think if I ask him if we can be photographed together more often? Will I feel more like Bethany to him—using him to get something else I want?
I suppose that both of us are using the other person at some level. Only now, I’m starting to wonder what that means for us. This is only supposed to last for a couple more weeks.
When I pull into the driveway, the sight of Hunter wearing camo Crocs in the front yard, with a bucket of soapy water at his feet, and a sponge in hand instantly brings a smile to my face as he’s washing down his own truck. The image is both ridiculous and strangely endearing—especially since he's wearing nothing but a tiny Speedo, his broad shoulders, muscular frame, and tattoos on full display. I never noticed the one on his calf before now.
Not to mention that it’s less than thirty degrees outside and the bulge in his speedo is still impressive, even in this frigid weather.
"What are you doing?" I call out, unable to hide the amusement in my voice.
Hunter turns, a crooked grin spreading across his face. "Car wash, of course. It's Sunday, and I've missed the last three. I was cleaning my truck while I was waiting for you to get home to wash yours." He gestures to my car, which still has some snow on it from when I was parked outside of Serendipity's Coffee Shop. "Figured I'd better make up for it."
I shake my head, a smile tugging at my lips as I approach him. "In this weather? And in a Speedo?"
He shrugs, the movement drawing my gaze to the way his muscles shift beneath his skin. "What can I say? I'm a man of my word."
He turns to show me his ass, and I just about swallow my own tongue when I notice that it’s a thong. Dear God, this man has the best ass I’ve ever seen, even though it’s hairier than in my dreams.
I must look like I’ve frozen solid in the December weather because I stop blinking.
Hunter grins, wide and wicked. “Stop looking at me like a piece of meat. Unless you plan to eat me later.”
“I think you just turned me into a vegetarian.”
He chuckles and then lobs a sponge at me. It hits me square in the chest, a slap of icy suds soaking through my coat.
I gasp, stumbling back a step, my mouth hanging open. "Hunter Reed, you didnotjust—"
