At least if I do something like this, I wouldn’t have to worry about all that student debt. The thought is extremely enticing. However, being found out and losing my chance at a career is not.
“It’s too… insane,” I say as I pull the textbooks out of my backpack. “Besides, I’m supposed to be focusing on school, not men.”
“You know what’s insane?” Jane asks as she fluffs her hair in the mirror. “Being eighty thousand dollars in debt.”
“Hear, hear, sister,” I mumble.
“And it’s not about men. It’s about money. You can’t focus on your career when you’re too broke to put food on the table.”
Her phone buzzes again. “So, will you do this for me? If you do, I’ll give you half of what I make… that’s five thousand dollars.”
“Oh my god, are you serious?”
“Will you do it?” Her striking blue eyes plead with mine.
Five thousand dollars would put a huge dent in my debt situation. I sigh and let go of my backpack. “Okay, fine.”
“Great!”
“Who am I interviewing?”
Jane grabs a laminated VIP pass and tosses it to me. “The star of tonight’s hockey game.”
“Campus hockey? That could be fun.” I look at the pass.
“Nope!” She chirps. “Major League.”
My jaw drops. “You want me to interview professionals? Oh, I definitely can’t do this.” I hold the pass back out to her.
“You’ll be fine. You know about hockey, right?”
“Umm…” I play dumb. “Face-offs. Hockey sticks…umm…”
Jane rolls her eyes. “I’ve seen you watching games in the student lounge before.”
I sigh. “Fine. Yes, I know hockey. And I know the Seattle Blades.”
“See? You’ll do great! Follow your instincts and remember to ask Logan Drake at least one of these questions.” She hands me a paper with three questions on it.
“Logan Drake?”
“He’s the team’s new golden boy, right? The one who’s been in the news?”
“Yeah, but…”
“Ask one of those questions. And I want you to ask the star of the game a question too.”
“Okay, but…”
“You’ll be fine! Fuck, I’m late.” Her gold watch glints in the light as she checks the time. Another new present, I’m guessing. “Don’t forget to ask those questions. And remember to record everything! I need sound-bites otherwise Mr. Pearson is going to freak out on me again.”
I shake my head. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
She smiles wickedly at me. “Enjoy the game.”
***
After changing into freshly washed jeans and a plain black t-shirt, I make my way to the stadium. I flash my VIP pass so someone can usher me to the media box overlooking the ice. There are several other journalists already there. They've all found seats and have their journals and recording devices ready.
Feeling extremely out of place sitting up here with these big-time journalists, I take a seat next to an older man with a pointy white beard. I give him a polite smile and he acknowledges me with a curt nod.
To avoid being found out as the imposter that I am, I busy myself on my phone. I pretend I’m concentrating on something important when I’m actually looking up the Green Light app. I read through the terms and conditions and I even go as far as signing up before realizing how crazy the whole thing is and swiping it away.
Crazy Jane, I think to myself.
I instead focus all my attention on a video of a cat playing with a crow.
Before I become curious enough to reopen the app, the announcer’s voice fills the stadium and introduces the team. One by one, he announces their names as they skate out onto the ice: Rory Edgar, Marcus Rock, James Cornelli, Logan Drake...
My eyes automatically fall onto Logan as he skates down the ice. Logan Drake. Number thirteen. The Seattle Blades’ newest and most notorious player.
It's only been a few months since he was kicked off the Cleveland Crushers for a fight during the game. Fighting is fairly common in hockey but not when it’s with your own teammate. Logan Drake and Harrison Cooper were a dynamic duo on the ice and best friends off of it. They could've won the Cup this year if he hadn’t gotten himself kicked off the team. The rumor was that Logan slept with Harrison's girlfriend. It seemed pretty believable considering pictures of them in bed were all over the news. It wasn’t the first time Logan’s complicated reputation got him trouble. A month earlier his ex shared nearly nude photos of him on Instagram. His reputation is debaucherous to say the least.
The Blades picked him up to boost their position in the standings. After all, he’s been a top scorer since he joined the league. Although I don’t care for his drama or bad behavior, I couldn't help but join the city in excitement when news broke that he was coming to Seattle. His skills are second to no-one. And there hasn't been any drama… so far.
The puck drops and I’m focused on the players weaving around the crisp white ice. From up here, I have a bird’s eye view of the game. I’m instantly entranced with the players gliding and zigzagging across the ice. They pass the puck to one another with accuracy and ease. Jordan Edgar gets a shot off. No score. The teams change players.
Number thirteen hops over the boards and onto the ice. It instantly feels like everyone is holding their breath and watching him as he works his magic.
The players skate up the ice into the offensive zone. Number forty, an older player named Marcus Rock, passes to Drake. I instinctively touch the rose pendant on my necklace. Drake fakes a shot to the left and swings around to the right… Logan scores!
The crowd erupts with cheers. Music pumps through the speakers and lights flash around the arena. The stadium shakes and is alive with electricity. I join the celebration, sharing a smile with Pointy Beard next to me.
When the puck drops, Rock wins the face-off and passes it to Drake, who skates faster than anyone else to score another goal in less than ten seconds. The crowd cheers even louder this time.
"Incredible!" I cheer again, drawing the attention of the journalists around me. I sheepishly sit back in my seat.
Logan skates towards the bench. The jumbo-tron focuses on his boyishly handsome face, his dark eyes—he’s laughing, showing off a devilish smile.
Logan Drake, I write in my notebook. Two goals. And it's only been five minutes.
There’s my star for the night.
RILEY
The game ends with a score of five to three for the Blades, with a hattrick by Logan. I follow the other reporters down the elevator to the locker room where I’ll conduct the interview. I have no clue what to expect.
When we step in, the air is instantly humid. Steam is pouring in from the showers and hanging in the air. I inhale a mix of hot stifling body odor and men’s deodorant. The players are already undressing and showering. I’ve seen a few bare asses already. I'm trying to keep my eyes to myself but this is unlike anything I’ve ever witnessed before.
The other reporters gather around Logan Drake in the back corner of the locker room. I follow their lead as I hang in the back of the crowd. In an effort to see, I lift up onto my tiptoes and gasp. He’s wearing nothing but his underwear! Another reporter notices my reaction. I quickly regain my composure.
Pointy Beard asks Logan the first question: “Why is it so easy for you to get a hattrick like you’ve done multiple times with the Blades so far?”
There are ten different microphones in his face. I fumble as I pull out my phone. Dammit, I should have been more prepared than this! As I turn on my phone, the cat and crow video I was watching earlier automatically starts playing on full volume. The sounds of the cat meowing and the crow cawing fill the locker room.
"Oh crap," I say a bit too loudly.
Logan Drake’s attention shifts to me and, consequently, so does everyone else’s.
“Pay no attention to me,” I say as I swipe at the screen frantically, ho
ping to close the window, but it just keeps playing. “Crap! Crap! Crap!” I mumble to myself.
Finally, I manage to stop the video. Pointy Beard clears his throat and shoots me a disparaging look before looking back at Logan. Meanwhile, I’m silently praying to all the goddesses out there that nothing else goes embarrassingly wrong for me. Opening the microphone app, I press the big red record button. When I look up, I notice Logan Drake’s captivating dark eyes staring straight at me.
Holy shit, he’s hot.
My eyes dart in every direction in an attempt to avoid his fiery gaze but it’s nigh impossible.
“Practice and hard work,” he says, answering Pointy Beard’s question. His voice is deep and smooth. “I keep my eye on the prize and I go for what I want. That’s all it takes.”
His eyes are still on me, watching. I can't tell if I've pissed him off or intrigued him. More steam tumbles out of the showers, filling the room with a humid fog. I'm starting to sweat.
Another reporter pushes forward. “Logan, there are rumors that you’re aiming your sights on a specific trophy this season. Is that true?”
Logan watches me for a few more seconds before pulling away, looking at the reporter.
“If I keep this point streak going, I’ll either be taking the Corazon home, or I'll be taking the cup home. I'm going far with these guys, I promise you that.” He makes eye contact with me again. “You," he says. "I want to hear a question from you.”
Oh shit. I swallow. Here we go. I realize Jane’s questions are still in my pocket.
“Hi Logan, how are you?” I ask in an attempt to stall as my sweaty hand searches my pocket for the piece of paper.
“Pretty damn good after that win.” He flashes his dazzling smile.
My heart is racing. “Right…”
“What is this?” An older reporter scoffs. “A blind date?” He turns back to the hockey player. “Logan, about your power play stats this past week—"
Logan holds his hand up and gives the man a dangerous stare. “The lady is speaking.” He looks back at me. “Go ahead.”
“Thank you.” Looking down at the questions on the crumpled paper, I feel my heart racing in my chest. The once clean, crisp paper is now damp and wrinkled.
Why are my hands so sweaty?
I look back up and see Logan’s lips twitch into a smirk. My cheeks burn even hotter. Avoiding his gaze again, my eyes blur looking at Jane’s inane questions: Do you think your bad boy reputation has affected your on-ice status as a player?
Wtf? Damn, these questions are stupid, I think to myself. But if I don’t get an answer, I can say goodbye to five grand.
“I don’t need this,” I mumble. Stuffing the paper into my pocket, I look up at Logan. “Those goals, especially the second one, were really spectacular.”
Amused, he watches me. "Why, thank you."
There’s that famous swagger of his.
I clear my throat. “But I noticed that you’ve been favoring your backhand. You also tend to favor your right side when you skate. Have you considered seeking a full body realignment for whatever injury you’re recovering from?”
He furrows his brow. “Excuse me?”
“It's just a suggestion,” I continue. “If you don't get one, it could be a problem in a few years.”
Logan narrows his eyes but doesn't say anything.
Pointy Beard turns to me. “Do you think it'll affect his gameplay?”
The other reporters turn and watch me, waiting for my answer. Their microphones are in my face.
They’re asking me questions now?
“Not if he gets it checked out—”
Logan Drake clears his throat, interrupting me. “That’s enough questions for today.”
There’s a commotion as the other reporters mumble under their breath, their eyes shooting daggers at me. I look at Logan and he’s glaring at me too.
Uh-oh. I messed up.
“Thanks for nothing,” one reporter mumbles as he bumps into me with his shoulder. The reporters start to shuffle out of the locker-room.
“I didn't mean to,” I say, but it’s too late. Great. I’ve made enemies out of all the sports journalists in Seattle. My physio career is off to a wonderful start. I sigh as I decide whether I should hang back to avoid walking with the disgruntled journalists or if I should run far away from a furious Logan Drake before I embarrass myself in front of him again. Oh god, can’t I just disappear?
As I busy myself stuffing my phone and Jane’s questions into my purse, I realize something. Crap. I didn’t get any questions answered. Jane is going to be pissed.
Looking around, I notice I’m the only non-player still in the locker-room.
“You shouldn’t say stuff like that.” A deep voice startles me. I turn to see Logan Drake still standing behind me. “If it gets around that I'm not in top shape, Coach will stop playing me. Other players will start targeting me. My stock will go down.”
“I was only trying to help with that realignment stuff. I noticed you were shooting differently and I was just trying to help.”
He watches me for a moment. There’s a strange spark in his eye. “You were able to tell something was wrong just by the way I score?”
My cheeks instantly feel hot. “Your shooting technique has favored your backhand, meaning everything else gets twisted. Why aren’t you shooting on your forehand anymore?”
He hesitates. “Is it bad?”
“It’s not bad.” I take a small step closer to him. I’m about to touch his shoulder to show him why it’s a problem, but I stop when I realize he’s still mostly naked. “But when you twist one part of your body, everything else twists with it. Everything’s connected. It’ll get worse if you don’t get it checked out.”
He watches me curiously. “Don’t tell the other reporters any of this next time. And don’t tell your paper either.”
Next time?
“Don’t worry,” I say. “There won’t be a next time.”
There’s that curious stare again. He narrows his beautiful brown eyes. “Who are you?”
“My name is Riley. I’m a student from the university. I’m filling in for my friend.”
“So, you’re a journalist student?”
“No, not really. Well, not at all. I’m filling in for my friend. It’s a long story. I should go… but I didn’t get a single question answered. She’s going to be so angry with me, unless…” I look up at him with big eyes.
He raises his eyebrow. “You want me to answer a question for you? After all that?”
“Can you?”
He watches me with an intensity bordering on the intimate.
“Fine.” He crosses his arms. “But just one.” His stoic demeanor breaks for a second and a smirk shows through.
God, he’s cute.
“Just one. Great. That’s all I need.” I fish out Jane’s questions.
“And I get to ask you one back.”
I stop and look up at him. “What?”
“I’ll let you ask me a question as long as I get to ask one back.” His dark magnetic eyes entrance me. The corners of his lips pull into a smile. Everything about him catches me off guard.
“Oh.” Tucking my long hair behind my ear, I nod. “Okay.”
Logan Drake is going to ask me a question… Cool, cool, cool…
“So, what’s your question?” He cocks his head to the side.
There’s a strange spark between us that I try to ignore. But it’s nearly impossible. My cheeks are heated and my hands are shaking. What is he going to ask me? And why am I reacting like this?
My hands tremble as I ready my phone. I turn on the microphone app and press record. Pulling Jane’s questions out, I stick to the script this time. Improvising clearly isn’t my forte.
“Do you think your bad boy reputation has affected your on-ice status as a player?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, Logan’s expression sours. Uh-oh. I’ve hit a nerve.
“Define bad-boy reputati
on.”
“Umm, I guess she’s asking about the nude photos on Instagram, the fight with Harrison Cooper, the affair with his girlfriend…”
“Are you from one of those tabloids?” His tone turns icy as he squares his shoulders in a defensive stance.
“No! I didn’t want to ask about this stuff, that’s why I asked you about your gameplay instead.”
“Which went so well,” he says in a sarcastic voice. “These rumors need to stop.”
“If they’re rumors, then clear them up right now.” I hold up my phone. “Now’s your chance to put them all to rest!”
“I didn’t start that fight,” he says. “If you watched the story closely, you’d know that.”
“But you did sleep with Harrison Cooper’s girlfriend?”
“She wasn’t his girlfriend at the time—” Logan shakes his head. He steps closer so that I can smell the stifling sweat dripping down his body. His stature blocks out the light. “People don’t know what really happened.”
I look up into his eyes. “What happened?”
He shakes his head and smirks. “You already asked me a question.”
“You didn’t even answer it!”
“I think you’ve got everything you need.” He pulls back.
“What about the nude photos?”
“Those girls posted them, not me.”
“I’m sure your mom is very proud.”
“Are you slut-shaming me?”
I’m taken aback. “No? I don’t think so…”
“What I do in my personal time is my own business.”
I force out a sharp sigh. “You know, this is why media makes stories up—you’re unwilling to share anything!”
“If you’re threatening to write a fake story about me, I can get you into deep trouble…What station do you work for again?” He looks down at my VIP badge.
Shit. Not getting the story is one thing, but getting Jane blacklisted from the journalism community would be far worse. I put my hand over my VIP badge so he can’t read it.
“Are you threatening me?” I ask. “You know what? Never mind. Let me answer your question and I’ll get out of here.”
He shakes his head. “Not necessary. I’ve already got my answer.”
Logan Page 2
