Page 8 of Mistletoe Face Off

I glance back over in Macy's direction. She's still on the stool, sitting perfectly still as Margaret concentrates, chatting away to her about who knows what.

My phone rings as one of the women in front of me gushes over Liam, and the guy laps it up, clearly loving every compliment thrown his way. I roll my eyes as I check the screen. Stephen McFarlane, Section Editor, aka my boss, aka Slippery Stephen, and one of my least favorite humans.

“Hey, Stephen,” I say brightly into my phone. “I'm at the venue and about to interview some of the players.”

“Which ones?” he asks.

“The captain is here, Dan Roberts, as well as their goalie and that rookie defenseman who joined the team last season, Liam Carruthers.”

I'm proud of myself that I recognize all these guys. It was a seriously difficult task, having to stare at their images and names to lodge them firmly into my brain. Okay, not exactly difficult because they’re an alarmingly handsome team. Big and burly, of course—they’re hockey players, not yoga teachers—several of whom have square jaws sharp enough to cut glass, and all of whom have those three Bs I mentioned before.

So, yeah, not that difficult.

Statistically speaking, at least a couple on the team should be lacking in the looks department, but I'm sad to report that as far as I can tell, none of them do.

“You won't get any dirt on Dan Roberts,” Stephen says. “That guy is as squeaky clean as a germaphobe’s doorknob. Played on the Ice Breakers charity team in Washington State at the start of the season and is currently dating his high school girl.Please.”

Despite being a hockey pro, Dan Roberts sure sounds like a standup guy to me.

I don't mention it to my boss.

“I'm not looking for dirt, am I?” I ask, uncertain. I mean I didn't come down in the last snow shower. I am a journalist. I know what makes for good press. But my brief today was to cover the Blizzard’s involvement with underprivileged kids here at the Community Center, not dig for dirt in their private lives.

I may not be a huge fan of pro hockey players, but I have my standards.

“Is ‘The Enforcer’ there?” Stephen asks, referring to Hunter Adams, the tough defenseman of the team, known for getting into the odd fight on the ice. Another one of the impossibly good looking guys, but with a hard edge to him that says “don’t mess with me.”

“I think I spotted him before, but I don’t see him now,” I reply.

“See if you can find him, because he's meant to be there, and in the meantime interview the party boy rookie, Carruthers. He’s slipped up a few times in the media since he joined the team this season. You're an attractive young woman. He may well flirt with you. See what he says.”

“Sure thing,” I reply without having any intention of getting Liam Carruthers to flirt with me, despite the fact his party-boy-slash-womanizing reputation precedes him. And the fact I don't want to offer myself up as bait for some poor guy. Standards,remember? Sometimes they're hard to maintain in my job. But I've got to at least try.

“Get your interviews. I'll let you know who I want you to zero in on. I got a tip off I’m following up on.”

Great.

“You got it, Stephen,” I reply with fake brightness.

I end the call just as Liam Carruthers himself catches my eye, shooting me his famous grin.

“How are you doing?” he asks with a flash of a smile and a raise of his chin.

Did this guy learn how to talk to women from watching Joey onFriends?

“I'm great, thank you, Mr. Carruthers,” I reply smoothly. “How are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m good,” he replies with a wink.

Oh, good grief.

“Did you want a selfie?” He lifts a muscled arm as though to wrap it around my shoulders and tuck me up against him.

“Actually, as tempting as that is, I'm a reporter for The Chicago Beacon. My name is Holly Coleman. Do you have a few moments to chat?”

“If it's with you, then I've got all afternoon,” he replies with a smirk and it takes all my strength not to roll my eyes at his sheer cheesiness.Definitely Joey.

“That's kind of you, Mr. Carruthers.”

---