“I will. And also, I happen to know we sold out of the sweater with your name on it in the gift shop right after that game.”
“Hey, tell Durand to consider that when we negotiate my next contract,” I say, grinning.
“I’ll do that.” She picks up a single paper from her desk. “So about this interview. The Gazette wants to interview one of our players for a feature section, and when they called me about it, I immediately thought of you. You’re not usually front and center when it comes to press.”
That’s an understatement. I avoid interviews as much as possible, which is easy when there are star players like Anton, Luca and Jonah on our team.
“I’m not sure I’ll have much to contribute,” I admit to Mira. “I’m pretty boring. I’m single. Luca’s got Abby and the kids, and Anton’s got Mia and the girls. Jonah’s dating an FBI agent and the press can’t get enough of them.”
“Fans want to know more about everyone on the team, though. You’re kind of a mystery to them. This is a profile story, so it’ll be all softball questions. An interview or two, a photo shoot, and that’s it.”
I shrug. “If you’re sure you want me to do it, I’ll do whatever you need.”
“Great, I appreciate it.” She hesitates before asking, “Is there anything I need to know about? Something that could come up in an interview like this and surprise me?”
I consider her question, and then shake my head. “I can’t think of anything.”
“Okay, good. Because there are things, things that sometimes aren’t even bad, that come out during feature stories that I’m just not expecting, and then I’m scrambling to get more information when other reporters call me to follow up. Does that make sense?”
I nod. “I get it. But honestly, I’m an open book.”
“You haven’t had a serious relationship in…?” Mira looks at me inquisitively.
“In a while,” I confirm.
“But you have had them, at some point?”
“I don’t know, define serious.”
She folds her hands on her desk. “Just level with me, okay? Are you secretly in love with a married woman or anything? A man, maybe? I just need to know.”
“Hell no. And no, I’m not in love with a man now, nor will I ever be,” I answer, laughing.
Her face relaxes as she says, “That’s good…”
“Is it the hair? You’re not the first to ask if I’m gay.” I quip.
Mira smiles. “No, it’s the complete lack of serious relationships with women. I did a standard background check on you when I started here, and there was one relationship in college with a woman for a couple months, and that’s it. You kind of have a reputation for…”
“What? Manwhoring?” I scrunch my brow in frustration. “I don’t use women, so that’s not really fair if people say that about me.”
“No, it’s…the opposite, actually. You’re known as a huge flirt with women who never…closes the deal.”
“Jesus.” I shake my head and look away. “So that automatically means I’m gay?”
“I don’t know, Kit. You’re leaving me to guess. I figured you were either gay—which would be great, by the way—or you secretly wanted a woman you can’t have.”
“Like Mia with Anton.”
“Right. And if that’s the case, it would really help me out to know, and it would stay confidential between us.”
“If there was anything like that, I’d have no problem telling you. But there’s not. I like women a lot. I’m just not the kind of guy who uses them for one night, that’s all. I’m so busy with hockey that I don’t get a chance to meet many women that I want to pursue more with.”
Mira smiles. “Well, I think if you just go into this interview and be yourself, you’re going to have lots of women beating down your door.”
“Only because I’m one of the only single guys left on the team,” I crack.
“When the Gazette contacts me about the interview and photos, do you want me to coordinate a time and place or do you want me to give them your cell number so you can do it?”
“Give them my cell.”
“Okay. Thanks for doing this, Kit. I think my husband and Claudia may have some competition for president of your fan club soon.”
A wave of unease passes over me, but I hide it with a grin. “Bring it on.”
Chapter Three
Molly
* * *
A week after my meeting with Lou, a mix of sleet and snow falls during the half-mile walk from my El Train stop to home. January in Chicago is no joke—it’s freezing and windy, car tires sending gray slush piles up onto the sidewalk. I burrow my chin down into the collar of my coat, trying to shield my face as much as possible.
My umbrella broke from a big gust of wind as soon as I opened it, so by the time I finish climbing the stairs to my gram’s second-floor apartment, I’m shivering. Not to mention exhausted from my thirteen-hour workday.