Page 11 of Date with a Devil
Austen watched as he slid the bulky hockey pants off his narrow waist and down his tree-trunk legs. Beneath all his equipment, DeHardt wore black athletic tights. The stretchy material was practically painted onto every muscular mound and deep crevice of his massively built legs.
She saw something else, too. She hadn’t tried to see it, much lesswantedto see it. It was just—there. Begging to be seen. It was big and long and it was unmistakably snaking down his left thigh.
Maybe Thayer thinks his pinky is a lot bigger than he realizes,Austen thought wryly.
Quickly, she forced herself to look away. “You’re not going to get naked in front of me, are you?” she asked, hoping he hadn’t noticed that her voice suddenly sounded quite husky.
“Maybe you’d like that,” DeHardt teased with a laugh. “But nah. Just taking all that sweaty gear off, sweetheart.”
“Please stop calling me that. It’s degrading and I’m not your sweetheart.”
DeHardt’s teammates laughed and cheered. They seemed to like it when their leader got put in his place. If their brief mutiny bothered him, he didn’t show it.
“So you want me to do your show,” DeHardt began. “My question is, why are you asking me to do this interviewnow,and not, say, a year ago?”
Austen took in a deep breath. She had a responsibility to pitch the interview to him in good faith, even if she didn’t want him to do it.
“Because we all read the news and see the headlines. Because we read the ridiculous things you say on a daily basis. Because this time, you called our fans idiots—”
“Wrong,” he interjected.
“—and people in the organization are starting to get frustrated with you. Like it or not, Dane, your reputation matters. And right now, yours sucks. You might be a really good player who scores a lot of goals, but you’re coming across like anassto everyone who matters. Including the fans.”
“And your show is supposed to improve my reputation somehow?”
“Yes?” Austen said unconvincingly. It was clear that she didn’t believe it herself.
“So, I go out on a fake date with you, you interview me, and you’re telling me the interview will actually be favorable?” DeHardt asked.
Oh God, he’s not actually considering this, is he?
“I mean, as favorable as it can be,” she muttered. “But you’ll have to actually work with me andtrynot to be an outrageous asshole.”
DeHardt’s teammates laughed again. Someone shouted, “Forget it! Best to run away while you still have the chance!”
Believe me, I want to,she thought.
“Interesting,” DeHardt remarked. “Because it seems to me that the goal of your show is to make us look like brain-dead jocks for laughs on the internet.”
“Simply not true.” Austen turned to address the familiar faces among DeHardt’s teammates. “Does anyone have any grievances with the way we portrayed you on our show? Does anyone feel that the public response to your video was negative? Does anyone regret doing the show?”
DeHardt’s teammates jutted out their bottom lips, shook their heads, gruntednope.
“There you have it,” Austen said. She was ready to end this charade. “Seems like you’re the only one who holds that opinion. So? What do you say?”
“ ‘So,’ what? What exactly are you asking me?” Dane smiled, his stark white teeth obnoxiously gleaming. “Because I noticed you haven’t actuallyaskedme yet.”
Austen groaned. He wanted her to grovel? Fine. Whatever. If that’s what she had to do to get this over with, then she’d do it.
“Dane DeHardt, will you please come on my show,Date with a Devil?”
“Hmmmmm.” The hockey player made a big show out of rubbing his chin as if he was lost in deep thought. It was an act which couldn’t fool Austen—she knew the athlete wasn’t capable of deep thought in the first place. “But wherever would we go? I’m not sure where I’d take a girl for a first date …”
She rolled her eyes. His feigned interest was so obnoxious. “You wouldn’t have to worry about that, that’s my job.”
“Oh, neat. What a relief.” He mopped the nonexistent sweat from his brow. “Hmmmm.” DeHardt pretended to agonize over the decision for a few more moments before finally throwing up his hands. “Nope. Sorry. Not interested.”
An audible sigh of relief escaped Austen’s lungs.Finally.It was over.
