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Her smile says she believes what she’s saying, but her eyes tell me that she’s seeing what I’m seeing. A drunk Hunter Reed who had an off night.

The thing is…I don’t have the luxury of waiting for Hunter to have a good night. My opening is closing with every day that passes. It’s been two weeks, and I haven’t been able to come up with any better options. And the man is just sitting there in the flesh.

“Let me introduce you to the girls,” Cammy says and then points to Penelope Matthews first, the gorgeous blonde General Manager for the Hawkeyes who is as down to earth and a sweetheart.

Interviewing her for my podcast was a dream.

“You already know Penelope, but this is Dr. Kendall Hensen, our team doctor…”

Kendall is beautiful, too, and I’ve seen her interviewed plenty of times during post-game media.

She’s smart, quick with an answer, and takes on the “boys club” with a finesse that I admire.

I’ve seen her take down a reporter who asked her if she has a hard time focusing in the locker room with half-naked men all around.

She said, and I quote, “If you’ve seen one set of hairy, ungroomed balls, you’ve seen them all.

Now, if you have a more intelligent question to ask, I’d be more than happy to answer. ”

Which earned her a room full of chuckles, though she wasn’t laughing.

After I get through the chaos of making the network happy and delivering on the guest they’re hoping for, I have to convince Kendall to come on my show. She’d be hilarious to interview, I just know it.

Kendall lifts her glass to me. “Nice to meet you.” She smiles.

“You too,” I say quickly.

“Then we have Isla Altman.”

I smile back, knowing Isla as the wife of a retired Hawkeyes player, Kaenan Altman.

Kaenan and Isla made Seattle home after he retired, and they’re still very involved with the Hawkeyes.

Kaenan is one of the head coaches for the Hawkeyes kids league, and I believe I heard that his seven-year-old daughter plays the same position he did in the league.

Cammy starts darting around, looking for someone else. “I’d introduce you to Brynn and Aria, but they disappeared somewhere.”

“No problem. I’m actually here for work as well, but it was lovely to meet you all.”

Cammy turns back to me as if to give us a little privacy.

“You’re going to go over there and ask him?”

“The worst he can say is no, right?” I ask.

He’s just a player. I remind myself. A player who could make all my dreams come true if he’d just loosen those lips a little for the mic like he does on the ice, chirping at the opposing team to get them riled up.

She shrugs with an optimistic nod that I wish I could buy into. “Exactly,” she says.

“Okay, I’m going. Wish me luck.”

I head straight for him, ignoring the fact that Trey Hartley—tatted-up ex-special forces turned walk-on left winger—is sitting next to him, nursing a beer and looking every bit as intimidating as his reputation.

My pulse kicks up, but I keep walking. I didn’t come here to be intimidated—I came for Hunter. And this might be my only shot.

If Hunter turns me down, it’ll be in front of half the Hawkeyes. But if I don’t ask now, I’ll run out of time to get my interviews up and win the syndication deal.

My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my toes.

Stress sweat is already creeping through my shirt.

Here goes nothing.

I walk up behind him and clear my throat. Trey glances over his shoulder first but then clocks that I’m trying to get Hunter’s attention and turns back to his beer.

I can already smell the whiskey on Reed. I’d bet my career he’s half-drunk, but I’m not turning back now.

Who knows…maybe he’s a happy drunk.

Or maybe he’ll be so belligerent he forgets he doesn't give interviews and agrees to mine out of pure spite.

“Hunter Reed? Hi, I’m—”

He barely turns his head.

Just enough to even pass as a glance. Then dismisses me.

“Not interested,” he mutters, voice flat. “Find another jersey’s lap to sit on.”

I yank my head back as if his words physically struck me. “Excuse me?” I manage, heat flooding my cheeks.

“Don’t take it personally. You’re beautiful,” he adds, like that’s supposed to soften the blow. Then he takes a slow sip of his drink—dark amber, definitely whiskey. “I’m just not in the mood to fuck anyone tonight. Including you. I’m sure you’ll find a player who’s willing to take you home.”

I see the moment Trey shoots a confused glance at Hunter but then realizes it’s none of his business and turns back again.

The humiliation punches me square in the chest. Not only is he calling me a puck bunny and turning me down before I can even ask the question…but I have a witness to it all.

I straightened back up. Pinning my shoulders back.

Six years of tennis training and a career in male-dominated sports journalism. I’ve taken worse hits and turned them into wins.

“Wow. And here I thought your game was the biggest miss of the night. I didn’t realize that you’re a sore loser too.”

That gets his attention, and I see Trey’s shoulder shake with a muffled laugh.

He shoots a glare over his shoulder, brows lowering, eyes narrowing. It’s the first time he really looks at me—because the first glance didn’t count. He’d already made up his mind.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

He’s not actually sorry. He just can’t believe I hit back.

“Don’t strain yourself to listen. I wouldn’t want you falling off that tall pedestal you have yourself perched upon. You’re drunk enough that a fall might do some damage, and based on the game you played tonight, you can’t afford any more setbacks.”

I hear Trey squeak out another chuckle he tries to hide while Hunter’s eyes blink in a drunken stupor, and his eyebrows knit together in shock at what I just said. He attempts to mutter some reply, but I beat him to it.

“Besides, I’m not interested in anything you have to offer. You’re probably too drunk to get it hard anyway, so I understand why you’re not interested in taking anyone home tonight. That's the kind of rumor you wouldn’t want getting around…”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa…hold on just a second,” he says, trying to get his wits about him.

This conversation has gotten too far out of his control.

“Is that the excuse you planned to give her when you couldn’t get it up?

” I ask, knowing that I’ve now gone too far.

Goodbye syndication deal…nice knowing you.

“This was an obvious mistake. I see that now,” I say, turning around to leave before I say anything else to make this whole situation worse. “Have a nice life.”

I make it to Cammy’s table in record time, my hands shaking a little and my heart pounding like it’s trying to break out of my chest.

She takes one look at me and slides a glass of wine across the table, but I shake my head. “No, I can’t drink because I’m not staying. I need to get out of here, and I live across town.”

“That bad, huh?”

I thought the worst he could do was say no.

I didn’t expect him to treat me like some puck bunny he couldn’t be bothered to screw—and somehow make me feel smaller than I have in a long time.

And I didn’t expect that I would snap back that hard.

Maybe all this pressure is finally getting to me, and I just released my pent-up frustrations on Hunter—though he deserved it… mostly.

I can see the moment all the girls at the table notice me in distress and then shoot daggers at Hunter. Good to know whose side they turn to first.

“He thought I was trying to get him to take me home and…” I can’t even finish the sentence. His voice is still in my head. That tone. That dismissal.

“I’m sorry,” Cammy sighs, patting my hand. “I should’ve figured he’d be like this tonight after a loss like that. But don’t worry—I’ll get you set up at the charity auction in three days.”

She starts ticking off names like she’s building me a fantasy lineup.

“Olsen clams up in interviews, so I wouldn’t waste your time there.

Trey’s got the whole ex-special-forces mystery vibe—he’s taking those secrets to the grave.

Luka, though? Loves talking about himself.

Aleksi’s a total chatterbox. Scottie’s chasing a sponsorship deal and could use the visibility, and Wolf…

okay, people think he’s a jerk, but he’s actually a sweetheart off the ice. He could really use some good PR.”

She leans back with a smirk. “We’ll find you someone.”

She doesn’t mention JP Dumont as an option to interview, which has me wondering what’s going on with Cammy and JP. Seems like there might be some tension there.

But it’s not my business. We’re still newly minted friends, and with me being a podcaster looking for a story, I would never want her to think I was fishing for something.

Even if the tension between her and the Hawkeyes’ new goalie is practically its own subplot.

I take a long, cleansing breath, trying to forget the burn of Hunter Reed’s words.

And the fact that I pinned my best shot at a viral interview—my last chance at network syndication—on a guy who just treated me like a groupie looking for a hookup.

I appreciate Cammy for trying to get me another player to interview, but Hunter is the one I needed to have a shot at the syndication deal. And that just went up in flames.

Happy Thursday to me.