Page 18 of Rule 4: Never Get Stranded with a Sports Reporter

“Does this look like hockey camp?”

“No. But for old time’s sake...”

He shakes his head. “Maybe you should have considered your actions more.”

Fuck.

I hate him. That’s it. I absolutely hate him.

I can’t believe I ever did anything else but hate him. I can’t believe I was ever that foolish. Ever that naive. Ever that young.

“An interview,” I say. “Fifteen minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

He hesitates, then shoots me a beatific smile that hits me in the solar plexus. “Unfortunately, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

The elevator slides open, and he steps onto its marble floor. The doors swoosh shut in that rich people smoothness, and he winks. “I’m going to... Fiji.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Jason

THE MARBLE ELEVATORzooms down, and the mirrored walls display six versions of my panicked face.

I’m going to Fiji now.

Fucking fantastic.

Where is Fiji? It’s somewhere tropical, I know that. Is it in the Caribbean? Probably. Or maybe it’s somewhere off the coast of Africa?

It was fucking nice to see Cal’s eyes widen, and it was even fucking better to see him scurry too late to the elevator.

Still, this is amazing.

Fiji is where I want to be.

Somewhere with no snow, any postcard-worthiness long since mangled from car exhaust and footprints. Somewhere with no ice, where I won’t be reminded that I’m not skating on it. Somewhere with no reporters lurking in hallways, and no empty hallways with memories of reporters lurking.

Not, obviously, that I would be thinking about reporters in hallways or anything. Just, if I did, I wouldn’t have to worry about that in Fiji. A pang aches against my ribs again, and I inhale, as if that can dislodge the pain.

This is all good, I remind myself.

Maybe Dad is right. Maybe they’ll hate me more if I go on vacation in Fiji, but at least they’ll be jealous. Maybe that will make them think again about stopping me from playing.

I’ll lead my best life. A warm life. With palm trees, not naked trees crammed with icicles that look ready to impale anyone whopasses under. A life with pools and hot women in bikinis. And hookups with those hot women in bikinis.

That’s what I want. I just need to sink into some women and remind myself I’m straight.

I totally have a plan, and it’s awesome.

I wonder whether I should go back to the apartment and pack, but it’s not like I’m impoverished or anything. I bet they sell tropical clothes in Fiji.

So, after a few taps on my phone, I wait for my ride. My passport is still in my gym bag from when we went to Canada.

I’m doing a few more taps to look for hotels, when my body stiffens.

And even though I don’t turn around, I know it’s him. Even though Boston is filled with people, because that’s the whole definition of a city, I’m certain it’s him. My follicles move, as if they want to be closer to him.