Page 8 of Tempting the Teammate
“That was fantastic,” she said, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. “The chemistry between you two is exactly what we were hoping to capture. Mind if we do a quick follow-up interview?”
Griffin shrugged easily. “Sure.”
I wanted to refuse, to disappear into the anonymity of the locker room, but Griffin was already following Jen toward a quieter corner where a cameraman waited with handheld equipment.
“Just a few questions about the practice,” Jen assured us as we settled against the wall. “Nothing too heavy.”
The camera’s red light blinked on, and suddenly, every word felt weighted with significance.
“How did that feel out there?” Jen asked, her question directed at both of us but her gaze settling on Griffin.
“Where do we get our ideas from?” Griffin joked, making me laugh. I poked his rib cage with my elbow. He cleared his throat. “Great,” Griffin said, his natural charisma shining through, even under the artificial lights. “That’s what hockey’s supposed to feel like. Fast, competitive, fun. When you’re playing with people you trust, it doesn’t matter who’s watching.”
Jen nodded and turned to me. “Andrei, you seemed to take that confrontation with Mason pretty seriously. Is that protective instinct something we’ll see more of this season?”
The question caught me off guard. I hadn’t realized my response to Mason’s trash talk had been that obvious, that readable to outside observers.
“I don’t like guys taking cheap shots at my teammates,” I said, keeping my voice level.
“Even in practice?”
“Especially in practice. That’s where bad habits start.”
Jen made a note on her clipboard. “There’s an intensity to you that’s really compelling. The strong, silent type with a dangerous edge. Is that something you cultivate, or does it come naturally?”
Dangerous edge. The phrase sat wrong in my mouth. I’d never thought of myself as particularly dangerous, just private. But if that’s what the cameras saw, if that’s what the audience would see, maybe I should lean into it.
“I’m not here to make friends,” I said, immediately regretting how cliché it sounded.
But Jen’s eyes lit up. “Perfect. That’s exactly the kind of authentic attitude we’re looking for.”
Authentic. Right.
Griffin jumped in, maybe sensing my discomfort. “We’ve been best friends since before peewee days. I think I know how to handle him when he gets moody.”
The mention of our history, the easy acknowledgment of our bond, settled something in my chest. I glanced at him, and the corners of my lips ticked upward. Whatever else was happening here, whatever roles we were being asked to play, our friendship was real. It was the constant beneath all the performance and manipulation.
“How long exactly?” Jen asked.
“Almost ten years,” Griffin said without hesitation. “Our dads put us on the same team when we were twelve, and we’ve been stuck with each other ever since.”
Stuck with each other. He said it with such warmth, such obvious affection, that I felt some of the tension leave my shoulders.
“And that partnership translates to the ice?”
“Always has,” Griffin said, glancing at me with those hazel eyes that seemed to catch every source of light in the hallway. “Andrei sees things other people miss. He’s got this way of reading the play that makes my job easier. When he’s covering my back, I can take risks I wouldn’t normally take.”
The praise sent heat through my chest, unexpected and fierce. Griffin saw me, understood what I brought to our partnership in ways that went beyond statistics or highlight reels.
“What about you, Andrei? What’s it like playing with someone you’ve known for so long?”
I looked at Griffin, at the easy confidence in his posture and the genuine smile playing around his mouth. The camera captured everything, but for once, I didn’t care.
“It’s like having a conversation without words,” I said. “We don’t have to think about it anymore. We just know.”
Jen nodded, satisfied with whatever dynamic she’d captured. “Great. I think we have everything we need for now.”
The camera light went dark, and the artificial intensity of the moment evaporated. Griffin stretched, his jersey riding up slightly to reveal a strip of skin above his gear.
