Page 28 of Hot Mic, Cold Ice

Ziggy rolls her eyes at me. “Fine, but no getting ideas. This is not a relationship, and it never will be. We need to focus on our careers, not each other.”

I nod my head, “exactly.”

Ziggy keeps going with her rules, “and no interfering with each other’s personal lives. If either of us starts seeing someone else, this ends immediately. No drama, no jealousy.”

“Sure, that won’t be an issue for me.” Adding my own stipulations, “and let’s keep it professional in public. No one needs to know about this. We act like acquaintances and nothing more.”

“Sounds good. But what about communication? How often do we check in?” Ziggy asks, her tone businesslike.

“Only when it’s necessary. We don’t need to be texting or calling each other. Just enough to coordinate when we need to,” I reply, trying to keep things clear and simple.

“Alright. And let’s be honest with each other. If either of us feels like this isn’t working, we say so. No dragging it out,” Ziggy says, her eyes meeting mine with a determined look.

“Deal,” I say, extending my hand. “So, are we on the same page?”

She takes it firmly. “Deal, we’re on the same page. Just remember, I still barely tolerate you.”

Shaking my head, laughing to myself, I say, “And I can’t stand you either. But maybe that’s what makes this work.”

We clink our glasses together, sealing the unconventional agreement. Despite the annoyance between us, we have found a way to make it work, at least for now.

We stay at the bar for a while longer, enjoying the atmosphere that the win has brought to the place. But as the night wears on, I grow more anxious to take Ziggy back to her hotel. I poke her in the thigh and motion toward the door. We slip out of the bar unnoticed, making our way back to her room. It’s much closer than my place. As soon as we are inside her room, the passion between us flares up again. We don’t waste any time diving into each other with the same fervor as the night before.

Afterward, we lie tangled together, our breathing slowly returning to normal. Ziggy drifts off to sleep, her head resting on my chest. I watch her for a moment, the rise and fall of her breath calming me. As I float into sleep, I’m surrounded by the apprehension this arrangement brings. This arrangement isrisky, but the chemistry between us is undeniable. For now, it works, and I’m not about to question it. Tomorrow will bring new challenges, but tonight, I’m exactly where I need to be.

Chapter 23

The next few weeks pass in a whirlwind of travel, games, and unplanned rendezvous with Elliot. Each city brings new challenges, both professionally and personally. As a rink-side reporter, I am starting to find my footing, and strangely, Elliot has become an unintentional mentor in my journey to becoming a better reporter. His help comes in many forms, but the most obvious way is when he intentionally tries to press my buttons or piss me off. Every bit of his attitude makes me want to do better.

The rest of his mentoring is more subtle. After games, during our version of pillow talk, he'll talk about strategies and player mindsets, offering insights that I’ve not considered. With each piece of advice, whether meant to help me or not, I take mental notes to later apply his knowledge to my interviews and reports. I don't notice a difference in my day-to-day work. It isn't until a particularly grueling interview with the Red Wolves's coach, Nolan Wilder, that I realize just how much his tips have influenced my work.

Coach Wilder is in a foul mood after a tough loss, but I manage to steer the conversation toward their upcoming strategies. "What adjustments do you think the team needs to make for the next game?" I ask, channeling Elliot's words.

He looks at me, surprised. He has seen me at my absolute worst, after all. It’s nice to be able to move past that. "That's a good question. We need to focus on our defensive plays and make sure we're supporting our goalie better. It's been a weak spot lately."

My interview with Coach Wilder earns me praise from my producer, who notes how much more insightful my questions have become. Hockey might not mean much to me on a personal level, but it still gives me pride to know that I’m being recognized for my work. This new found pride is laced with irritation. Am I really becoming a better reporter because of Elliot?

Our interactions are competitive, each of us pushing the other to our breaking point. It isn't just in my reporting but also in the way we approach our...arrangement. Each time we meet in a new city, it feels like a game to see who can maintain the upper hand. The tension that comes from our argumentative natures is wild, coating us in a constant undercurrent of rivalry and attraction.

In Boston, after a narrow win for the Red Wolves, Elliot and I find ourselves out with the team. I’ve really started to enjoy hanging out with the rest of the team. All of them have this way of bringing me out of my shell and allowing me to let loose. Elliot has always brought out a different side of me, but now, even he brings out the playful side. Our banter is constant, always pushing each other to break, and that energy always turns sexual. When we finally end up back in his hotel room,the competitive edge translates into passionate intensity, each of us determined to outdo the other. Our desire to outshine one another fuels every touch and every kiss until we are entwined together in a fiercedominationof pleasure. The friction between us is a perfect storm, leaving us both breathless and craving more.

"You're getting better at this," Elliot says one night, his voice tinged with amusement as he brushes a strand of hair from my face.

"At what?" I ask, already getting annoyed with him, assuming that he is talking about sex.

"Reporting. Your questions are sharper and more insightful. I've noticed." He says.

I shrug, trying to hide the satisfaction his words bring. "Maybe I'm just really good at my job."

He smirks, leaning in to kiss me. "Maybe. Or maybe you're just finally paying attention."

Despite the banter, there is a kernel of truth in his words. I am paying attention more than I care to admit. And it’s making me a better reporter. Each game, each city, brings new opportunities to hone my skills, and I tackle them with a newfound confidence.

In Chicago, the Red Wolves have another close game. They manage to pull off a win against the Cyclones in the final minutes, and the postgame buzz is evident. I throw myself into my reporting, asking the players pointed questions and capturing the excitement of the victory. As the night winds down, I find myself in a familiar routine, my phone buzzing with a message.

:Room 1452.

Meet me in an hour

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