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I don’t want her toactuallyinterview me.
“Nah, I don’t think so.” I shake my head adamantly. “I don’t want to talk to her.”
“Look, Alex, I give you a lot of leeway when it comes to the press because I know how much you hate it. But wearea team here; we all need to work together and do our part. This is something I need from you. I need you to do this.”
I continue shaking my head but with much less vigor now. I know how Coach works, and I know how good he is at getting his way, so eventually I’ll cave because Idoneed to do my part. Idoneed to be a team player, which is fine on the ice. It’s off-the-ice responsibilities that I don’t like, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t do it.
Riley and I do sort of know one another, I guess. Maybe I can control this a bit.
“Fine.” I let out a deep sigh of irritation. “I’ll do it.”
“Good.” Coach bangs his fists down on his desk, knocking a couple of bits of paper to the floor, but he ignores them. “That’s great, because Riley will be here soon. You might want to hit the shower and get changed.”
Great, so this has already been organized. I knew I didn’t have a choice in this, but it still pisses me off. I’ve had the shittiest day ever, I’ve just had a terrible practice, and now I have to deal withthis.Awesome.
“Sure thing.” I nod as I rise to my feet.
“Thanks, Alex. And don’t let me down. This needs to be an amazing interview to give our team some decent publicity. Keep bringing those fans in.”
Pissed off, I head to the shower, glad that the other guys are dressed and on their way out so I can have a moment alone. Thehot water pelts my skin, soothing the tension that has built up during practice. I let out a frustrated sigh as I stand there, letting the water wash over me.
Riley Anderson, I think to myself as I wash my hair.You better respect my boundaries here because I never got into sport so everyone could learn all about me. I don’t like any of this.
If I could just be on the ice, doing my thing, I would be happy. That’s the dream career for me. All the rest of it is noise I could do without.
***
I meet Riley in the conference room for our interview. I’m already annoyed with her, even though she hasn’t actually done anything yet. The idea of being forced into this doesn’t sit well with me, and it’s putting me on edge.
But, as irritated as I am, I can’t seem to take my eyes off of her.
Hot damn, she ishot.
I noticed this before in the elevator, but it’s much more obvious now. Her eyes are a shade of blue that’s almost mesmerizing, and her long, dark hair falls gracefully around her shoulders. There’s a certain confidence in her posture, a sense of determination that I can’t ignore.
“Alex,” she says coolly, maintaining a professional distance.
“Riley,” I shoot right back, matching her tone.
She sets up her recording equipment, and I can feel the weight of her gaze on me as she prepares. I shift awkwardly inmy chair, wondering what she’s thinking and how this interview is going to play out.
“So, Alex, can you tell me what drew you to hockey in the first place?” she asks, her pen poised over her notepad.
I sigh inwardly, not wanting to delve into my personal history. “I’ve just always loved the game. It’s something I noticed I was pretty good at from a young age, and it’s something I’m passionate about. That’s why I wanted it to be my career.”
Didn’t I tell her this in the elevator?
Riley nods, jotting down notes. I don’t know why she’s recording thisandtaking notes. It seems like overkill to me. “And did you always know you wanted to be a hockey player professionally?”
I hesitate for a moment, my mind drifting back to my childhood dreams. Last time she asked me this, I turned the spotlight around on her, but this is different. This is in a professional capacity where I need to keep Riley on side to get the right coverage we need. “Yeah, I guess so. It’s always been a part of who I am. I couldn’t imagine ever doing anything else.”
“I see, so you grew up with hockey. Were your parents supportive?”
The question makes me stiffen up. I hate talking about my life, but I try my best to answer her. “Yeah, my parents were supportive,” I reply, keeping my response brief.
Riley senses my reluctance and presses further. “Can you tell me more about that? How did they encourage your passion for sports, and hockey in particular?”
I can feel my jaw tightening as I delve into territory I’d rather avoid. “They were there for me, you know, taking me to practices and games. They wanted me to pursue what I loved.”
