Page 8 of Something to Prove (Smithton Bears #2)

“I don’t hate him. I just don’t like him. There’s a difference.”

Brady snorted. “If you say so. Meet us at the Depot?”

I nodded. I needed a shower, but this wouldn’t take long. I unlaced my skates and climbed the stairs in my socks to deal with the annoying dude engrossed in his cell.

“Woodrow.”

Walker jolted visibly. “Oh, hello. I’m early.

Sorry. I brought you a hot cocoa. I’m personally more of a coffee all day kind of guy, but I wasn’t sure if you had any caffeine restrictions.

I know a few people who can’t have a drop after noon or they’ll be awake all night.

And I didn’t know how you took your coffee anyway.

Milk and sugar, just milk, just sugar, plain?

So many choices. Cocoa is easy, and Coffee Cave does a fabulous job.

Oh, and here’s a cookie ’cause OMG, I can’t resist their chocolate chip. ”

He presented one of the cups as if it were a rare prize, shoved a white bakery bag at me, and patted the empty bench.

I forgot that I didn’t like him and obeyed. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

I narrowed my eyes as I rescued the gooey chocolatey cookie from the bag. “I decided to do this interview thing.”

Walker grinned. “That’s great!”

“But I have conditions.”

“Okay. Please share.” He motioned for me to continue, a sunny smile locked in place.

“Number one, you run the questions by me first.”

“Sure thing,” he agreed cheerily. “I can do that.”

“Number two, I’ll give you half an hour. When time’s up, we go our separate ways and I never hear from you again.”

Walker wrinkled his nose. “I may need more than half an hour.”

“That’s all you get,” I commented around a bite of cookie. “If you have your questions handy, we can knock this out now.”

“Gosh, I wish that were possible, but all interviews are conducted in my studio with my videographer present. I do on-site interviews as well, however, the lighting here is terrible,” he said matter-of-factly.

“And my impression was that the purpose of this powwow was to come to a mutual agreement. I help you, you help me.”

“No, thanks. I decided that I don’t need your help.”

Walker frowned. “Why not?”

“I don’t want to owe you anything, and I don’t care enough about social media to worry about it.”

He deflated visibly. “Then it’s not an even exchange. You must want something.”

See? Confusing. Why was he trying to give me shit when he didn’t have to? He had to be up to something.

I needed ammo against this guy…for insurance purposes. Stat.

“I want to make sure you don’t write anything crappy.”

Walker gasped. “I wouldn’t!”

“So you say, but your version of crappy and mine don’t mesh.

The way I see it, you’re gonna do the story with or without my help.

If I refuse, there’s a risk that you’ll pull the same shit you did with Jett.

” I popped another piece of cookie in my mouth and barreled on as he sputtered indignantly beside me.

“You can tell me you’ve learned your lesson and maybe you have, but you have the upper hand here and I don’t like it. ”

“Yet I’m the one groveling with cookies and hot cocoa,” he hissed. “And I haven’t done anything wrong.”

I hit him with a deadpan stare. “Except spy on me.”

“I didn’t spy on you.”

“Right.” I finished the cookie, then uncapped the to-go cup and guzzled the hot cocoa in one go, swiping my forearm over my mouth.

“You’ve conveniently forgotten that Smithton is super small and that you’ve put yourself in a position to be the guy who tells the rest of the world what we’re all about.

Like now. You’re trying to stake a claim on a story.

My story. You wouldn’t take no for an answer and I want to admire that, but I still don’t trust you.

So the only way you’ll get my cooperation is by playing my way. ”

Damn, I was proud of myself. I sounded cool, calm, and reasonable.

And Walker didn’t like it. He fidgeted with the sleeve on his to-go cup, lips pursed unhappily. “I understand your consternation, but you should take me up on my consultation offer. I can help, you know.”

“No, thanks. Send me questions, and we’ll set up an appointment.”

“Wait.” He snagged my practice jersey and twisted on the bench. “To do this right, I’ll need three appointments.”

“You get one and?—”

“Two. One will take place at my office and the second will be in the locker room. I’ll request permission with the athletic department to use approved game footage too. I run a professional operation—every i is dotted and every t is crossed,” he continued in a rush.

“I bet.”

Walker puffed up with indignation. “The purpose of What’s New, Smithton? is to positively highlight the community. Your story is uplifting and exciting and it’s a great opportunity?—”

“For you to use me. For a story, for redemption. I get that.” I crumbled the bakery bag into a fist-sized ball and stood. “I’m not thrilled about it, but since I’m calling the shots now, I’ll let it slide. I’ll be in touch. Later, Woody.”

“My name is not Woody,” he gritted through his teeth.

I winked and made my exit, feeling mighty smug.

That went well, if I did say so myself. Very well.