Page 3 of Date with a Devil
“Oh! That’s cool. Well, if it doesn’t work out—I was just, y’know, thinking that maybe you could give me your number. So we could maybe do something like that for real, someday?”
Her heart filled with a mournfulness. She hated to let a guy down—or at least, she hated to let down a young, clueless guy like Robbie, who clearly didn’t know what he was doing.
“Oh, Robbie. I had fun hanging out,” she said, beginning to frown, “but this is just my job.”
He stared at his shoes. “Yeah, that’s what I figured. Sorry to bother you. I’m such an idiot.”
He started to walk off, but Austen grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back.
“Robbie. You’re a really nice guy.” She didn’t have the heart to tell him that he had alotof growing up to do before she’d consider dating a guy like him. “But we work for the same company, understand? The Devils have a fraternization policy. I could get fired for something like that.”
“I know.” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t even have asked you out in the first place, but … well …”
“But what?”
“Big D challenged me to get your number at the end of the date. He said I should try to extend the night and see where things go.”
“Is that right,” Austen said flatly.
Why am I not surprised?
Chapter 2
Dane DeHardt
Dane DeHardt towered over the reporters that surrounded his locker room stall. The group of journalists thrust digital recorders upward into the six-foot-four athlete’s face, each clamoring for their turn to ask him a question.
“Another demoralizing loss tonight, Dane,” one reporter began, with a note of phony sympathy. “At a certain point, all this losing has to weigh heavily on you.”
The twenty-seven-year-old hockey player toweled at the sweat that beaded along his chiseled jawline and waited for the reporter to finish asking his question. But a growing silence told him that a question wasn’t coming. Precious seconds passed, and the muscles in the star winger’s wide neck began to strain with impatience.
“Is that it?” he replied. “Did you want to ask me an actual question? Or are you just gonna waste my time by making statements?”
Ever since the local media proved itself hostile to the struggling Dallas Devils, the outspoken athlete made it his goal to be just as vindictive in return.
The reporter shrank and began to stammer. “Well—er—I wanted to hear your thoughts.”
“My thoughts about what?”
“L-losing.”
“Still not a question. You just lost your chance.” With a wave of his hand, Dane dismissed the reporter. “Listen, guys, if you want to interview me, at least do your job and be ready. Next.”
There wasn’t a shortage of reporters willing to follow up. As much as the two parties despised each other, the love-hate relationship was mutually beneficial. Dane, the lone bright spot on a bad team, didn’t mind being the lightning rod for the team’s failures. His comments gave the journalists what they craved—controversy—which drove readers to their articles amidst an otherwise unnoteworthy season.
“… I think you know what my colleague was trying to ask, Dane: is all this losing starting to frustrate you?”
“I’m a hockey player. I want to win. Losing is frustrating. I don’t think that’s any secret.”
He pointed at another reporter, granting him the floor.
“Dane, do you think the team culture in this locker room is to blame?”
“No. ‘Culture’ is bullshit. Just another lazy buzzword that you guys created. Isn’t it funny how a winning team always has a good culture and a losing team always has a bad culture? That’s because winning is all that matters. Culture is fake—winning is real. Winning cures all.”
Bemused, the reporter scoffed. “Actually, I asked your coach the same question earlier, and he agreed with me and said, quote,the culture might be part of the problem, yeah.”
“Oh, there’s a ringing endorsement if I’ve ever heard one,” Dane said with a scoff. “Look, you asked me the question and I told you what I think. Sorry if it’s not the answer you were looking for, but I guess you’ll write whatever the hell you want to write anyway, right? Next.”
