Page 1 of Date with a Devil
Chapter 1
Austen Marlowe
“This iswayharder than it looks,” Robert Thomas said. The athlete’s pizza dough was a chunky blob that became a patchwork of holes the second he tried to stretch it.
“Right?” Austen said with a giggle. As the host ofDate with a Devil,Austen went by ‘Austy.’ Austy was a lot more charismatic and confident than her real-life persona.“It really gives you a newfound respect for the guys who can just fling it into the air, doesn’t it?”
Journalist and hockey player stood side by side, wearing flowery aprons, while Austen’s two-man crew filmed from across the counter.
“Yeah.” Robert threw his pizza dough next to Austen’s with aplop. “Yours lookswaybetter than mine. People are gonna watch this and think I’m a pigeon.”
Ever since she’d started this job, Austen had learned that ‘pigeon’was one of the many strange words in the hockey player lexicon—it meant something similar to stooge.
“Relax!” Austen bopped the athlete’s shoulder, leaving a flour imprint of her fist on his shirt. “Looking like a pigeon is half the fun. People like to watch you pros get out of your comfort zone. It makes you athletes seem human for once.”
“Hm. I guess,” he said.Robert played wing and, at only eighteen years old, was one of the Devils’ several rookies this year.
“So, Robert.” She paused. “Y’know, it feels weird calling you ‘Robert.’ Do you go by Rob or Robert?”
“Robbie, actually.”
“Robbie.” She giggled. “I like that. That’s cute.”
“Cute …?” He made a noise like he was disappointed, despite a toothy grin.
“So,Robbie,you’re a young guy playing second-line minutes in the NHL. You have to be pretty happy with your six goals and eight assists so far this year.”
“Yeah, it’s okay,” he said. “I wish we were winning more, though.”
“We all do,” Austen said, ready to breeze right along into happier subjects. “So, who has helped you out the most this year, adjusting to life in the NHL?”
“Oh, that’s easy—The Big D. He’s been amazing. He’s really taken all of us rookies under his wing. I don’t know what we’d do without him.”
“Really? Dane DeHardt?” Austen might have accidentally scoffed. “That’s surprising.”
“Yeah. I thought so, too. I was intimidated when I met him, but he’s a really good guy. Not at all like what you read about.”
Austen briefly glanced up at the camera with a slight frown. She knew that this part of the interview would probably end up being cut. She changed subjects again.
“So, Robbie, I asked some of the guys on the team about you.”
“Uh-oh.” The rookie nervously tensed. “What’d they say?”
“They told me you’re big into music.”
“Yeah.”
“In fact, they told me that you’re the team DJ—the guy whose phone is always pumpin’ the jams in the locker room to get the boys amped up before a game. I’m told that’s a pretty big honor for a rookie to have.”
“Yeah,” he said. Robbie was soft-spoken and didn’t have a lot to say. Poor kid was painfully shy.
“Your teammates also told me your nickname in the locker room is ‘Matchbox,’ ” Austen said.
“Yeah,” Robbie grumbled. “But they won’t tell me why.”
“Your name is Robert Thomas and you wear number twenty. I thought the whole ‘Matchbox Twenty’ thing was intentional. Are you telling me it’s not?”
He looked at her as if she were speaking in hieroglyphics.“Matchbox Twenty? What does that even mean?”
