Page 26 of Face Off
Emerson snorts, and something sharp slices through me at the sound.
I don’t like that he’s making her laugh. I don’t like that she thinks he’s funny, and I liked it better when it was just the two of us.
The applause on the other side of the wall breaks up my pissy mood, and the door to the media room swings open. Piper gestures us inside, and she glances over Hudson’s shoulder.
“Where is Liam?” she hisses.
“Sorry, Piper. He said something about a bird and a cage.” Hudson blushes, and he scratches his right ear, his nervous tic he does when he’s uncomfortable. “I know it’s a lie, and I’m sorry I have to be the one to tell you.”
“That man.” Piper huffs and grabs my arm, yanking me toward the table. “Too late now. You all are up.”
“Hey, Red,” I say, making sure to keep my voice soft enough so the reporters can’t pick up on it. “If you need a break, tap your nose and I’ll start talking about tiny dicks or something.”
“Bonding over genitalia doesn’t mean we’re friends, Miller,” she says.
“Wouldn’t dream of assuming anything of the sort, Hartwell.”
NINE
MAVERICK
These reporters are pissingme off.
We’ve been here for an hour, and they won’t give Hartwell a second to breathe.
As soon as she finishes answering one question, another is thrown at her like we’re in the middle of a goddamn tennis match. I’m exhausted just listening to her, and I can’t keep up with how quickly she pivots from talking about her college career to what she’s most looking forward to this season.
I get it—she’s a hot commodity.
The story everyone wants to read about.
ButJesus Christ.
Can’t they let her stop for half a second to take a sip of water? She keeps reaching for the bottle in front of her, but she hasn’t had a chance to open it.
“Emerson,” a squirrely looking guy calls out from the second row, getting her attention. “This all must seem like a lot of unnecessary production for a hockey team who hasn’t won more than twenty games in the last couple of seasons.”
I narrow my eyes when I recognize who’s talking to her.
It’s Simon Buttecker, the same asshole who once wrote a scathing article on Hudson’s defensive weaknesses the day afterhis mom passed away from cancer. The piece of shit who called him out for beingdistractedduring games, as if Hudson was on the beach in Saint Tropez instead of visiting his sick mother in the hospital every chance he fucking got.
Nothing good comes from that fucker’s mouth, and I brace myself for whatever bullshit he’s going to spew Hartwell’s way.
“Maybe,” Emerson says. “But the Stars still generate over a quarter of a billion dollars in revenue every year. My ECHL team didn’t make a profit last year, so I think a little fanfare is fine. Plus, it’s nice to feel important. Who wouldn’t want a red carpet rolled out for them?”
Everyone in the room laughs. Simon sits up straighter, getting ready to go for the kill. “You’re coming into the NHL as the first woman to play a regular season game with a team. How do you think you’re going to stack up against the men in the league? Do you think you’ll get minutes, or just spend time riding the bench?”
My fingers curl around the lip of the table and my eye twitches. Hudson stiffens beside me, and the grin he was wearing disappears from his face.
“I hope I’m going to do well,” she says, giving off no hint that she’s irritated by his question. “I’ve always relied on my speed, and I’m going to use that to my advantage when I’m playing against athletes who are larger than me. As for how many minutes I’ll get, that’s for Coach Saunders to decide. I’m honored to be here, no matter if I’m on first line or fourth line.”
I had a little bit of media training when I was a rookie, but eventually it boiled down to not being a dick and never throwing anyone under the bus. It’s obvious Emerson went through something more intense, because she’s way more cordial than I would be.
“Your stats are impressive.” Simon pauses, and his grin is lethal. “For a female athlete. I noticed your assists?—”
“Hold up,” I say, and every head in the room turns to look at me. I crack open the water bottle that’s sitting in front of Emerson and shove it toward her. “We’re not going to do that.”
“Do what?” Simon asks, and he’s lucky there is a barrier between us.
