Page 2 of Heart of a Defender

If Zach wants to play hardball, I’m ready.

***

Zach

I step onto the stage, the solid, echoing thwack of a hockey puck hitting the boards still ringing in my ears from morning practice. Camera lights flash, and I plaster on my usual smile. Another season, another round of press conferences. Coach taps the mic, and I long for the repetitive, hollow clap of hockey sticks against the ice rather than this circus show we’re required to attend. Interviews are part of the job, but it doesn’t mean I have to enjoy it.

I scan the crowd of reporters, most of them familiar faces, throwing the usual questions. It’s all routine, and I’ve got my answers down pat. Stay positive, keep the team foremost in mind, and don’t let the news guys rattle me. But when a new voice cuts through the noise, my ears perk up.

“Zachary, Madison Collins, Sable Creek Times,” she identifies herself with a reputable paper. At least it isn’t a rag magazine. “Last season ended in disappointment for the Saints. What changes are you making to ensure this year’s outcome is different?”

I zero in on her, the woman with sharp eyes and a determined set to her jaw. Her chestnut brown hair falls in soft waves just past her shoulders. Her lips are full and rosy, giving her a subtle, summertime, bee-kissed pout. I shouldn’t notice the way her mini skirt accentuates her long legs or the sexy kitten heels she wears. We’re not friends, lovers, or anything in between. She’s the press, so she might as well be the enemy. She’s new, and her tone accusatory. She’s clearly not here to toss me softballs. I adjust my smile, trying to mask the irritation her question sparks.

“It’s Zach.” Only my mother calls me Zachary. “We’re focusing on teamwork and discipline,” I say, keeping my tone even. Short, curt, practiced answers. Don’t throw her a bone. “Last year, we had some issues with consistency, but we’re determined to fix that.”

“Can you be more specific?” she asks, unsatisfied with my standard reply. “What steps are you personally taking to improve?”

I take a deep breath, resisting the urge to snap back. She’s making this personal, setting last year’s failures on my shoulders as if I don’t already carry that burden. Who does she think she is? And why is she getting under my skin? “I’m working on my game every day, refining my skills and staying in peak physical condition. A winning season starts with pushing myself and my teammates to be better.”

She nods, scribbling in her notebook, and for a moment, I wonder what she’s writing about me. The Q&A session continues without another question from Madison. She listens attentively, her eyes falling on me every few minutes like she’s sizing me up. The rest of the conference blurs as I mechanically answer questions. But my mind and eyes keep drifting back to Madison and her striking green-rimmed, hazel eyes.

When Coach finally releases us from the presser, I purposely seek Madison out. Call it curiosity or plain stupidity, but I deviate from my usual duck-and-run from the press room. The team...I...don’t need the kind of distraction Madison poses.

I catch her at the exit and cut her off. My chest tightens, and my pulse quickens to a ragged staccato. My skin prickles with heat, and I chalk it up to irritation rather than to the visual of her tits jiggling beneath her blouse.

“You’re the new reporter covering us, right?” I ask, trying to keep my tone neutral, but it’s difficult when my body has a mind of its own.

She flinches, clearly not expecting me to pop into her field of orbit. “That’s right,” she replies, quickly recovering from the slight nervous inflection in her voice. She’s quick with attitude. “Got a problem with that?”

“Just making sure you’re not here to stir up trouble.” I have a gut feeling I’m the one stirring the pot. If I’d followed my usual routine, we wouldn’t be toe-to-toe, facing off like this.

What is it about her that has my skin tingling and my radar on high alert?

“Depends on what you consider trouble, I guess.” She brushes past me, her shoulder grazing my upper arm. The hairs on the back of my neck stiffen, along with the snake in my pants that should be lying dormant. I catch a whiff of her perfume, and it lingers on my nose, fruity and alluring. The scent weighs heavy on my lungs, throwing me off balance and filling me with a strange sensation.

My heart pounds as I watch her walk away. The sway of her hips and the swish of her skirt play tricks on my gut. My mind races with questions that have no valid answers, like why am I attracted to someone who’s butting heads with me? Madison’s trouble, and I have a funny feeling I’m already wading knee-deep in it.

I head back to the locker room, but I can’t shake the nagging thoughts that something big’s on the horizon. Madison threw me off guard, and I immediately went into defensive mode. I’m already feeling the pressure of the season. Maybe I’m overly sensitive about her putting me on the spot and laying the season outcome on my shoulders. But the churning in my gut feels like something more.

I lace up my skates for another round on the ice, needing to clear my head. I have a season to focus on, a championship to win. Madison’s just another reporter like the rest of the press pool, but she’s already under my skin and messing with my head. She’s different and not just because she’s new or drew me in with her pouty lips and gorgeous eyes.

I have a hunch this season will be one for the books. And it’s not just because of the game. It’s because of her.

CHAPTER 2

CLASHES

***

Madison

The morning light barely breaks through the gray clouds as I make my way to the arena. I juggle my satchel, notebook and pen, and the biggest cup of coffee the Wake Up Call offers. It isn’t like I need an extra dose of caffeine to get me going. My insides buzz, anticipating the excitement surrounding the team.

I’m not a newbie to the hockey scene, but it has been a while since I sought out the sport. There are too many bad memories still lingering in my orbit, self-doubt scoring the highest points for messing with my head. As much as I dreaded this assignment when it was handed to me, I’m beginning to think there’s more of a story here than fluffy hockey hype.

A buzz of excitement surrounds the arena, matching the hum of my twitching nerves. The first full practice of the season is always met with fanfare. Fans arrive in droves, sporting memorabilia from sponge fingers and numbered jerseys to full face paint with the team’s colors. I hate to admit it, but the electrically charged atmosphere is contagious. The only thing marring my mood is the tension yesterday’s meet and greet sparked between Zach Brooks and me.

Getting the story of what’s going on behind that man’s intense baby blues isn’t going to be easy.

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