Page 65 of Anatomy of a Player

“I’m glad you brought up your job, actually, because it begs another question.”

For someone who loved questions and digging, I realized I didn’t like it when I wasn’t the one digging.

“Isn’t it a conflict of interest? To behanging out”—she didn’t actually use air quotes, but her voice made it clear she’d meant to put them there—“with a hockey player while writing an article that talks about how unfair it is that they get so many perks? What are you going to do about that story?”

My next bite of ice cream was to combat misery. “I don’t know, okay. I’ve caused this big stir online, and apparently people are talking about it on campus, so obviously there’s a lot of interest in this kind of story. And my editor’s counting on me to write it—there’s a spot just waiting for me to take it and make it mine. It’s what I’ve always wanted, and it’d be great career-wise. But now that I’ve been around the guys…I don’t know if I can write it the way she wants me to.”

I stared into the chocolate ice cream like it might hold the answers—all I saw was a chocolate covered almond, so I settled for popping it into my mouth. “Does it make me a bad journalist if I can’t fully separate myself?”

“I don’t think so,” Lyla said. “I think caring is the mark of a good journalist. But I also think that if you don’t tell Hudson about it, and then it comes out… He’ll probably think you used him. So, if you really like him…?” She looked at me, clearly waiting for me to confirm or deny, although I’m sure we both knew how I felt.

“I do. I told myself I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. The more I get to know him…” My heart squeezed. “I like him. I want to see if it could be more.”

“Then I’m afraid you’re going to have to tell him about the article—beforehe reads it in the paper. The thing about hockey guys is they’re tough, and they can take hit after hit, but they’re people with real feelings and real hopes and dreams. They’d never admit it, but they can get hurt, and more than just physically.”

Now I worried about the position I’d put Lyla in. All I’d been thinking about was that front page article and getting over stupid Trevor, who was now just a blip on my radar.

But that reminder made me question my judgment all over again. Maybe I was jumping in too fast, ready to abandon everything for a guy who might’ve only been sweet-talking me.

“What would your editor do if you told her you couldn’t write it?” Lyla asked.

All my research. Everything I’d poured into my article. Articles,I remembered with a pang of guilt. Two that would cast Hudson in a bad light, even though I could hold back the “Anatomy of a Player” one easily enough. But I thought of all those people who’d commented on my survey about athletes’ perks, and it seemed unfair their voices wouldn’t be heard, especially the ones who’d worked to remain civil and used facts and statistics to support their side.

“I’d never get a chance at a front page article again,” I said. “Lindsay will be so pissed—she’ll say that after taking a huge chance on me, I wasted her time. She’ll fire me—and that’ll look so bad when future employers check out my work history. How am I going to get a job with a serious news outlet when I can’t even keep a college one?”

I could keep everything strictly factual, without the angry spin I’d first felt. How could anyone be mad about facts?

Would it really make Hudson mad? Would it mean we couldn’t be together?

I thought about the way Hudson talked about the team… They were his family. I didn’t think he’d understand that I was trying to simply show that there were perks to being an athlete.

I abandoned the ice cream because I knew I could eat the whole gallon and it wouldn’t help. I needed to do some soul searching. The problem was, the only thing I could think about was Hudson.

From the way he’d grown up, to his mom, to how understanding he’d been about my mama. To kissing him. His body under mine…

Hudson, Hudson, Hudson.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Whitney

Hudson showed up the next night wearing a button-down and jeans, and basically looking so yummy I had one of those I-can’t-believe-he’s-actually-going-out-with-memoments.

His jaw slackened as he took me in from head to toe. I’d gone all out, with an emergency trip to the hairdresser to freshen my highlights, and an outfit that’d always earned me appreciative looks. The pushup bra worked wonders with the lacy neckline of the shirt, and while the skirt was way too short to provide proper warmth for Boston in early November, I’d paired it with my over-the-knee gray suede boots.

Besides, the heat in Hudson’s eyes warmed me up, despite the cool waft of air coming from the open door, and his reaction made it worth risking a few minutes of cold between buildings and the car.

He leaned in and kissed my cheek, his minty-fresh breath skating across my neck. “Did I say we were going out? Suddenly all I can think about is staying in.”

I tiptoed my fingers up the line of buttons on his shirt, finding it funny he was the more conservative one for once. “Unfortunately for you, I feel like being high maintenance tonight—don’t want to make it too easy for you.”

“In that getup, I’m pretty sure you can be anything you want to be.” He laced his fingers with mine and happiness danced across my skin and settled in my chest.

On the way to the parking lot, I asked if he’d been cleared for practice, and he excitedly told me he had, he’d just have to wrap the ankle for a while. Once we reached his truck, he opened the passenger door for me. I had to stretch to climb in and I heard Hudson swear under his breath when my skirt hiked up. The intoxicating power I felt with him sang through my veins, and I couldn’t wait to explore it further, after we’d gone to dinner and we were alone again.

“So, where are we going?” I asked when he climbed in and fired up the truck.

“An Italian steakhouse in the Back Bay. I’ve never been there before, but I’ve been told it’s where you take a girl when you’re trying to impress her.”

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