Page 33 of Something to Prove
“He is,” I agreed.
“Hey, you’re Walker Woodrow, right?”
“I am.”
“Great interview! I think it’s your best ever. I’m a little biased, though. I have a huge crush on Ty. He’s, like, so hot! But you guys have great chemistry and—oh, my God! He’s got the puck!” Commence another round of screaming.
I tuned her out to watch the Bears’ star forward gliding like a phantom across the ice. She was right. Ty was hot and very good at hockey. And other things.
I’d rewatched our interview to grab a few quotes for promotional clips, and I’d noticed that my guest had a knack for improv. Ty was as quick in front of the camera as he was chasing after the opponent.
And for reasons unknown, there was a spark between us—a plain and simple alchemy between two people who worked well together. That was before adding a sexual element.
I didn’t know what to make of it, but I couldn’t deny that Ty was good for business.
The Bears won 5 to 2, and the postgame celebration was well underway in the locker room. The scene was positively frenetic. Rolls of tape flew in the air and shirtless, sweaty men traipsed by, interrupting my interview with Gus Langley, the team captain.
“Dude, we smashed it!” He crushed an empty plastic water bottle in his hand, laughing like a hyena.
I liked Gus, but he wasn’t known for his thoughtful insight. Sometimes I wondered why he’d been chosen to lead the Bears. His stats weren’t impressive, and he had a reputation for partying. Maybe age was a factor. He was the oldest member on the team at twenty-four. Or was he twenty-five? I didn’t ask.
He was unfailingly friendly. In fact, Gus set a tone of positivity that permeated throughout the team. Well…okay, that was probably why he was captain.
I foisted my mic toward him as I clandestinely scanned the area for Ty, careful not to ogle the nearly nude muscular hunks heading for the showers. The locker room segment was popular on my channel for obvious reasons, but my goal was always to get in and out as quickly as possible with no fuss.
Even Robin, who was a real hockey fan, was already shifting from foot to foot, eyeing the door. “Are we ready to go?”
“Um…yes.” I nodded, turning back to thank Gus…just as Ty appeared with a towel around his waist.
I almost swallowed my tongue.
Ty could have been a fitness model or Michelangelo’s muse. Every dip and valley on his torso looked as though it were sculpted by a master—no excess fat, no pesky imperfections. His copious tattoos should have been distracting, but theyaccentuated his male beauty. This wasn’t the first time I’d been up close and personal with a barely dressed Ty in a postgame setting, but now…everything felt different and?—
Earth to Walker! Snap out of it!
I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but Ty beat me to it.
“You again,” he teased, his lips quirking mischievously. “I can’t shake you, Woody—I mean Woodrow.”
“Nice catch,” I grumbled for his ears only. “I’m just doing my job. Congratulations on your win tonight. My cameraman seems to have wandered away, but I’d love to include a comment from you in our coverage.”
Ty stared at the mic I pushed at him and shrugged. “Great win?”
“Hmm, that sounds like a question.”
He bent to pick up a towel from the bench, then slung it on his head to dry his hair. “Sorry, I’m wiped. My brain is foggy, and my legs feel like jelly.”
“May I quote you?”
Ty chuckled. “Sure.”
I made a small production of slipping the mic into my computer bag. “Well, congratulations again. I’ll…see you on campus.”
I lifted my hand in a weak attempt at a wave, but Ty was closer than expected.
He touched my elbow, draping his towel over his shoulders. “Do you have a sec? I have an idea I want to run by you.”
“Uh…okay.”