Page 15 of Tempting the Teammate
Two camera crews had beaten us there, positioning themselves strategically around the space. One focused on Andrei and Phoenix, who’d claimed a high-top table near the windows. The other crew hovered near the bar, ready to follow my movements through whatever scenario the producers had planned.
Phoenix looked relaxed in a way I rarely saw during official team functions. He wore a simple black sweater that made his dark hair look even darker, and his usual captain-mode intensity had softened into something more approachable. When hesmiled at something Andrei said, the expression transformed his entire face.
Andrei, by contrast, looked like he was preparing for surgery. His jaw was tight, his shoulders rigid, and he kept glancing at the cameras with the wariness of someone who’d rather be anywhere else.
“First round’s on me,” I announced, heading toward the bar.
The bartender was a grad student I recognized from campus, someone who’d probably been briefed about our presence but was playing it cool. As I waited for our beers, two women approached from the opposite end of the bar.
They were perfectly cast for this scenario: attractive without being intimidating, friendly without being aggressive, clearly college students but polished enough to look good on camera. One was a redhead with freckles scattered across her nose, wearing a green dress that brought out her eyes. The other was blonde with the kind of smile that suggested she was genuinely enjoying herself.
“You’re Griffin Shaw,” the redhead said, her voice carrying just enough surprise to seem spontaneous. “From the hockey documentary.”
“Guilty as charged,” I replied, falling easily into the rhythm of flirtation that had apparently convinced Jen Harding I was campus Casanova material. “Though I have to say, I’m much more charming in person than on television.”
The blonde laughed, a sound that was bright and genuine. “I doubt that’s possible. You were pretty charming on-screen.”
“You watched it?”
“Everyone watched it,” she said. “Half my sorority is obsessed with your friendship with the Russian guy.”
“He’s not Russian,” I said automatically. “Well, not entirely. His grandparents were, but he’s from Chicago.”
“Even better,” the redhead chimed in. “We love a good origin story.”
The conversation flowed naturally, helped by the fact that both women were clearly comfortable with cameras and skilled at maintaining the banter that would edit well. The redhead introduced herself as Chloe, a drama major who’d probably been chosen specifically for her ability to play this scene. The blonde was Sarah, also a theater student.
But hired or not, they were good at their jobs. Chloe had a quick wit that kept me on my toes, and Sarah had a way of listening that made me feel genuinely heard. When I invited them back to our table, their enthusiasm seemed real enough.
“Your friends won’t mind?” Sarah asked, glancing toward where Andrei and Phoenix sat.
“They’ll love the company,” I assured her, though I wasn’t entirely convinced this was true.
The walk back to our table felt longer than it should have, weighted with the awareness that cameras were capturing every step. When we arrived, Phoenix looked amused, and Andrei looked like he’d swallowed something unpleasant.
“Ladies, meet my teammates,” I said, sliding into my chair. “Phoenix is our fearless captain, and Andrei is actually a big softie.”
Andrei’s glare could have frozen the beer in my hand, but he managed a polite nod.
The conversation that followed was a masterclass in group dynamics. Phoenix, bless him, stepped into the role of wingman with surprising enthusiasm, regaling the women with stories about team bonding and the challenges of leadership. He talked about his boyfriend, Jaxon, a dancer with the campus ice-skating troupe, who was currently preparing for their production ofThe Nutcracker on Ice.
“He’s playing the Nutcracker Prince,” Phoenix said, his voice warming as he spoke about Jaxon. “Twenty-seven costume changes and enough stage makeup to supply a Broadway show. I keep telling him he’s going to outshine the professional tours, but he just gets nervous and starts practicing his triple axels in his living room.”
Chloe was interested, asking questions about figure skating that revealed she actually knew something about the sport. Sarah had turned her attention to Andrei, attempting to draw him into the conversation with questions about photography and his impressions of campus social life.
But Andrei was having none of it. Every response was clipped, professional, and designed to end the conversation rather than encourage it. His face had taken on that carefully neutral expression I recognized from interviews when he wanted to give the cameras nothing to work with.
“You don’t talk much, do you?” Sarah observed, not unkindly.
“Not when I don’t have anything interesting to say.”
The response was delivered with enough edge to make Sarah blink, and I saw her interest shift from intrigued to uncomfortable. Within ten minutes, she’d excused herself to find the restroom and hadn’t returned.
Chloe stayed longer, clearly more committed to whatever role she’d been asked to play. She was good company, funny and intelligent, the kind of person I might want to spend time with under different circumstances. When Phoenix excused himself to call Jaxon, she leaned closer to me across the small table.
“So tell me,” she said, her voice dropping to a more intimate register, “what’s it like being famous?”
“I wouldn’t call it famous,” I said. “More like temporarily interesting.”
