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“Anything but my family. You can’t write about them.”
“Fine.” I take a few seconds to compose myself, giving him enough time to settle down. “Why have I never seen you in public with a woman?”
He blows out a puff of air. “Try again.”
I note the irritation on his face. It’s obvious he has both family and girl problems. Now, I’m dying to know the reasons behind them and not just because I’m a reporter but because I’m genuinely interested. “Bad break up?”
His mouth twists in disgust. “You could say that. Next question.”
“At least tell me her name.”
An awkward silence passes between us as he mulls it over. “Payton. That’s her name. I think we’re done with question and answer time for today.”
Jotting down her name in my head, I make a mental note to look up anyone named Payton who lives near where Tyler grew up, where he lives now. With his track record of never having a girlfriend, the list may be a mile long and impossible to narrow down. I have my work cut out for me. But whatever he is hiding might make for a good story, and when you’re writing about one of the NHLs biggest bad boys, a top story could lead to bigger and better things.
“Would it help if I tell you something else about myself?” I need to keep him talking.
“I write a blog with my friend in my spare time. She’s a romance author, and we write a sex advice blog.”
His expression turns from grim to elated in a split second. Tyler leans forward, resting his elbows on the table and shakes my side in the process. “You write about sex? Get out of here!”
“Yes,” I say, defensive, “does that surprise you?”
“Ugh, yeah. You do not look like the kind of girl who would write about sex.”
Sensing my irritation at his comment, he rebounds from his mistake. “I mean…you have an innocence about you. I wouldn’t have pinged you as the type to write about sex and share it with strangers on the Internet.”
“I’m full of surprises,” I say, resolute.
“I see that. So, what’s the name of your blog?”
Debating whether I should tell him, I pause for a second to think it over, deciding he will never bother to check it out anyway. “Long Sticks and Hard Shots.”
He laughs, flashing a set of white te
eth, his smiling reaching up to his eyes. “Get the fuck out of here. You named your sex blog after hockey?”
I shrug, giving him a goofy look to hide my embarrassment. “I’m a big fan. What can I say?”
“Interesting choice of name for a sex blog.”
“The name of our blog is stupid and over the top—like Sydney. Have you heard of Sydney Calloway, the big romance author?”
“Yeah, my sisters like her books. I can’t say I approve of their reading material, though.”
“Sydney was the youngest romance author ever published. We were in high school when her first book got picked up by a big publisher.”
He tips his head in approval. “That’s pretty impressive.”
“Very. I’m always Sydney’s shadow wherever we go. It was always like that when we were younger, but ever since she made it big, I swear we can’t leave the house without causing a scene.”
“Imagine being me,” he says, serious. “How many people stopped by our table tonight?”
“At least ten.”
“Right,” he finishes, “and that doesn’t even include the people who stopped us on our way here.”
As he glances across the room, a hint of sadness creeps behind his eyes, his facial features matching. He does not hide his moods well.
