Page 46 of Hot Mic, Cold Ice

His praise fills me with a sense of pride I have been missing. Working in sports and being in hockey might not have been my aspirations in life, but somewhere along the way, it has become important to me.

“I’m offering you your pick of where you go, who you cover, which team you want to be tied to during the playoff race,” my boss pauses. “Just to clarify, if you choose a team, you’llsupport them throughout the playoffs until the end or until they are eliminated, understood?”

My heart skips a beat and without hesitation, I chose the Red Wolves. There are many reasons for my choice: the exciting energy of the team, all of the guys make me feel like a part of the team at this point, and, of course, Elliot. Covering the Red Wolves feels like the natural choice, both professionally and personally.

Watching Elliot play is something I don’t think I will ever get tired of. His intensity, his focus, and the sheer athleticism he displays on the ice is extraordinary. It is because of him and his team that I understand the sport more now than I ever did. Never in a million years would I have imagined that I would know the tactics, the plays, the dynamics of the game. It all starts to make sense as I observe closely, taking notes for my reports. Each day, I become better at my job, capturing the essence of the game and the players with newfound clarity.

Every save Elliot makes fills me with pride. It makes me happy that I can be here, supporting him from the sidelines. Cheering him on silently. This piece of me is something hidden from the rest of the world, keeping it just for myself. Nobody knows that we are closer than either of us let on. And that secret makes my heart race with his every move, and my breath catches whenever the puck comes too close to the net. It’s as if his triumphs and failures are my own, each game pulling me deeper into the world of hockey and under Elliot’s spell.

After each win, the atmosphere surrounding the team is euphoric. The locker room is buzzing with excitement when I approach Elliot for a postgame interview. His smile is infectious. His eyes light up when he sees me, but I maintain myprofessional demeanor, determined to keep things upbeat, yet professional.

“Great game out there tonight, Elliot,” I begin, holding out the microphone. “How does it feel to be just two games away from clinching a playoff spot?”

Elliot grins, his confidence radiating. “It feels amazing, Ziggy. The team has really come together, and we’re all focused on each goal. Every game counts.”

I nod, maintaining eye contact. “You seemed particularly unstoppable tonight. Any secrets to your performance?”

He chuckles, glancing around at his teammates. “Just a lot of hard work and maybe a little bit of luck. The guys in front of me made my job easier, too.”

“Come on, don’t be modest,” I tease, raising an eyebrow. Knowing he is not one for modesty. “We all saw those incredible saves. Are you sure there isn’t some secret training regimen you’re not sharing with us?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “No secret training, just a lot of practice and maybe a little extra motivation.”

I can’t help but smile, catching the underlying hint in his words. “Well, whatever it is, keep it up. The fans are loving it, and we’re all excited to see what you and the team can do in these next two games.”

Elliot nods, his expression turning serious. “We’re taking it one game at a time, but we’re ready. The support means a lot.”

I wrap up the interview, feeling the rush of adrenaline from both the win and the unspoken words between us. “Thanks for your time, Elliot. Good luck in the next game.”

“Thanks, Ziggy,” he says, his eyes lingering on mine for a moment longer.

As I turn to leave, I can feel his gaze on my back, roaming my body. I can’t turn back now. That would give me away if I did. I have to remain professional and push myself out of the locker room and on to the next task.

The closer the Red Wolves get to clinching their playoff spot, the more intense everything becomes. From the outside looking in, practices are more grueling, and the pressure unmeasurable. And I get to be there, every step along the way, documenting it all for Elliot and the team.

Their next game was particularly rough. The Red Wolves won, but just barely, and the tension leftover from the game is overwhelming. From my spot by the press room, I see Elliot emerge, his hair damp from the shower, his expression a twisted mix of exhaustion and relief.

“Hi,” I say softly as he approaches.

“Hey,” he replies, his tired eyes searching mine. “I’m glad you're here.”

“Me too,” I reply, my voice full of genuine warmth. “You were amazing out there.”

He smiles, the weariness in his eyes momentarily lifting. “It was a tough one, but we pulled through.”

“You always do,” I say, my heart beating faster, knowing my life would feel very different if I was off covering a team other than the Red Wolves.

The energy is different as we board the plane to Pittsburg. This game is it. It will determine if the Red Wolves have a spot waiting for them in the playoffs. The team is having a hard time moving on from their close game against the New Orleans Gators. Their nervous apprehension is starting to muddle up the excitement I feel from being with them on this journey. Elliot and I keep our distance, maintaining the professional boundaries that are necessary in front of the team and other reporters. We exchanged brief, polite nods, but that's it.

Once we all get to the hotel, everyone is on edge. The players are in the zone. Coaches are keeping to themselves, strategizing. The reporters, myself included, are mapping out our interviews and preparing for the coverage. After checking into my room, I settle in, my thoughts periodically drifting to Elliot. I know the importance of this game, not just for the team but for him personally. He might not bring it up, but I can feel the pressure weighing on him and the determination that he has to succeed.

Between finishing my prep and getting some dinner, the afternoon transitions to evening. I decided to keep myself busy by lounging around my room. I turn on a rom-com and quickly get lost in the plot. Who doesn’t love a second chance romance? My phone buzzing startles my focus. The text is simple.

:Room 514

The text alone makes my heart race. My panties dampen. Damn this man and the effect that he has on me. I quickly freshen up, then make my way to his room. My arousal and need for him builds with each step I take down the hallway. When he opens the door, the intensity in his eyes mirrors my inner feelings.

We don’t waste any time with words. It’s hard to put on an act in front of everyone around us. Keeping the distance, maintaining boundaries, but the one thing it’s still good for is keeping me hot and bothered. The moment the door closes behind me, he pulls me into a wanton kiss, his hands roaming over my body. Elliot and I are two bodies seeking distraction from the world, using each other. The impending game’s significance fuels our passion. Every touch, every kiss is a release of the stress and pressure we both feel in different ways.

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