Page 8 of Hot Mic, Cold Ice

“I’d say it was our defensive line stepping up when we needed it most. They really held the fort and gave us the opportunity to capitalize on our chances.” Coach Wilder says, looking around the table at the surrounding players.

Her voice grates my nerves as soon as I hear it, not even needing to look up to be certain it’s her. “Elliot, there were a few shaky moments out there for you. Can you walk us through what was going on in your mind during the game?” Her voice trembles slightly. The room falls silent, everyone’s eyes now focused on me.

Of course, she goes right for me. It’s like she can sniff out my weaknesses. Damn her. For how grating her voice might be, she is visually stunning. Grumbling my answer, I say, “Look, I was getting peppered out there.” I stop and sigh, “I just concentrated on trying to stay focused. It was a tough night, butwe pulled through. That’s all that matters.” I look up and make eye contact with her.

She has vibrant, chestnut-colored, almond-shaped eyes that are full of intensity. They are framed by perfectly shaped eyebrows. Her face is flush from embarrassment, but her complexion still has a natural radiance with a hint of a sun-kissed glow. I’d like to know how her cheeks flush when she comes. Woah, buddy. Where did that come from? I shake my head to will away that train of thought. The questions and answers keep going, and as they do, the sexy as hell, equally annoying reporter’s attention goes with it. It gives me the opportunity to really give her a once over. After all, it’s only fair after the view she got earlier.

She has striking curves, even as the rest of her speaks of elegance or opulence. It says a lot about who she probably is as a person. Her athletic build hints at an active lifestyle, but her overly highlighted, dark brown hair–that look that women pay hundreds for at the salon–drives the point home that she is as girly as they come. Hot damn, is she beautiful. I shake myself loose from my daydreams to listen to another reporter yammer on with his questions.

“There was a lot of back and forth on the ice. How did the team manage to keep up the energy?”

I’m thankful for my teammates for picking up the energy that I’m not contributing to this interview.

“We just kept pushing, you know? It’s all about staying in the game mentally and physically. We trusted each other out there and the crowd really helped, too. Their energy gave us that extra boost we needed.” Ford, the Captain chimes in.

The postgame interview quickly spirals into a disaster, starting with the barnacle’s probing questions. “Coach Wilder, any changes we can expect for the next game against the division rivals?” she asks the coach directly.

I take another moment to observe her. Her outfit is bold compared to everyone else around here. It is hard not to notice her. Her vibe exudes a sophistication that is better than everyone else’s, easily making her stand out in any crowd. The coach, Nolan Wilder, ever the professional, gives her a better answer than she probably deserves. “We’ll definitely be working on tightening our strategy. There are a few areas we need to improve, but we’ll review the footage and make the necessary adjustments.”

The reporter’s big eyes then land on me again, clearly obsessed. She asks, “Elliot, can you elaborate on what went wrong for you tonight?”

I bite the inside of my cheek before responding. I clench my jaw, the irritation bubbling up. “What’s your real name, Barnacle?” I shoot back, unable to hide my annoyance. I must admit, I love watching her jaw drop open in mortification as I address her on live TV.

Her face flushes red, and she stammers, “It’s Ziggy.” She looks down at her notes, her hands shaking as she tries to regain her composure.

I sigh, deciding not to make this a total annihilation. “Just an off night. It happens. I’ll be back to form by the next game.”

The room is tense, and the other reporters are taken aback. Ziggy, visibly struggling, quickly shuffles through her notes, looking for another question to ask, but her voice falters.

“Let me ask you a question, Ziggy. Is this your first time behind the camera?” Ziggy looks like she’s ready to either explode or cry. Feeling a little bit bad about my outburst, I say something else before she can, “because you really have made this a Gong Show.”

I don't feel bad enough to stop, but I will give her credit. When her mouth opens to speak again, she asks a question instead of cussing me out. “It takes two people to make a terrible interview. What is your excuse?”

I will give it to her, she doesn’t just take my attitude at face value. “I can barely speak English on a good day. I usually have to run things through one filter before I say it, but with you, I’m using at least two filters.”

“Funny,” she says, glaring at me. “Any thoughts on the upcoming game, Elliot?” I guess she is back to pretending to be professional.

I curtly respond, willing this to be over. “We’re gonna be ready. That’s all I’ll say. Oh, and next time, try to be less like a teacher giving a pop quiz and more like actually trying to have a conversation.”

Thankfully, another reporter speaks up to change the subject, “Coach Wilder, any injuries or updates on player conditions?”

Nolan nods. “No major injuries, thankfully. We’ll have a full team ready for the next game.” The coach, sensing the awkwardness, puts an end to the madness. “We are going to call it. Thanks for your time, folks.”

The interview limps to an end, leaving Ziggy looking flustered and out of her depth. Everyone around me shiftsuncomfortably. The experience ends on a painfully awkward note, leaving everyone uneasy and dissatisfied. As we wrap up, Ziggy’s face is a strong mixture of frustration and embarrassment. I watch as she storms from the room, hoping to never be tortured by her again.

As the room clears out, Nolan pulls me aside, his expression one of concern and frustration. “Elliot, what the hell is wrong with you tonight? You’ve been off your game since the start.”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “I’m sorry, Coach. I lost my cool out there.” Glancing toward the direction Ziggy went, the irritation still bubbles under my skin. “But it’s that reporter, Ziggy. She barged into the locker room twice, ruined my pregame routine, and threw me off my game. It’s hard to focus when you’re dealing with that kind of chaos right before a game.”

Nolan crosses his arms, his frustration evident in his stern gaze. “I understand that interruptions can be distracting, but you’re a professional, Elliot. You can’t let one reporter throw you off your game like that.”

I nod, knowing he is right. “I know, Coach. I’ll do better next time. I just...need to find a way to deal with her. I tried to stay focused, but her presence kept lingering in my mind.”

Nolan’s expression softens as he places a hand on my shoulder. “I get it, Elliot. But you have to learn how to block out distractions. It’s a skill that separates the great athletes from the good ones.”

Taking a deep breath, I make a mental note to work on my mental resilience. “You’re right, Coach. I need to develop bettertechniques to maintain my focus, regardless of the chaos around me.”

He nods approvingly. “That’s the spirit, Elliot. Remember, you have the talent, so don’t let external factors dictate your performance.” Feeling slightly better than before, I meet his piercing gaze.

---