Kit grins. “As long as you don’t tell the world I drink right out of the milk jug.”
“Sir, have you no regard for humanity?”
“I could pretend like I only do it since I live alone, but I’ve been doing it my whole life. I’m just a bad boy, I guess. A total rebel.”
“The world will soon know the truth.”
Kit’s gaze is locked on mine, his voice warm. “If you want to come to my place and get photos of me drinking from the jug, you’ve got my number.”
I picture him shirtless in the morning, sweatpants sitting low on his hips and his hair messy as he swigs his milk. I’m not doing well at this whole keeping-it-professional thing.
Picking up my pen, I say, “I’m starting the real interview now.”
“I’m ready. Ask me anything.”
I want to ask him to kiss me. It’s ridiculous, because I don’t really want him to kiss me here and now, over chips and salsa at La Fiesta. But it’s the only question my mind can come up with in this moment.
“Um…” I clear my throat. “Just give me a second.”
“Yes. I love going downtown. Is that what you want to ask me?” There’s a hint of a smirk on Kit’s face.
Holy shit. My face burns with embarrassment and my girly bits clench with desire all at the same time.
“Molly? Why are you blushing? You do know I’m talking about the city, right?” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Wait a minute. Did you think I meant—”
I cut him off. “No. We aren’t having this conversation right now.”
Kit takes out his phone. “Can you let me know when we are? Because I’d like to go ahead and get it on my calendar.”
I can’t help smiling. “Don’t tease me. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can…talk about things.”
His eyes gleam with intensity. “I’m really looking forward to talking about things with you.”
I force myself back from the magnetic pull I feel toward him. I’ve got deadlines to meet, and I really do need to finish this story. Preferably without melting into a puddle over my interview subject.
“What do you think are some of the important issues facing hockey as a professional sport?” I ask.
Kit’s expression turns serious. “Oh, man. I’ve got some pretty strong opinions on one thing, and that’s diversity. I feel like we, as a sport, and also as individual players, need to work a lot harder on making hockey more accessible to kids. Not having access to an ice rink, or a coach or even hockey equipment is a barrier many kids in both urban and rural areas can’t overcome without help. And if we want to be a sport that appeals to everyone in terms of fans, then we need to make the sport more accessible for all to play, too.”
His answer is unexpected, and it touches me. I don’t let it show, though. I’m taking notes quickly to keep up as Kit talks.
“I also think we need to be more transparent in how we handle complaints against players for things like domestic abuse and sexual assault,” Kit says as our food is delivered to the table.
“Thanks,” I say to the server, my pen poised above the paper as I wait for Kit to continue talking.
“Thanks, this looks great,” Kit says to the server.
As soon as the server is gone, he continues. “We can’t be a bunch of good ole boys who come into allegations of misconduct with a bias. If you think of a guy as ‘one of your own’ and you don’t want to find anything he did wrong, you won’t. And that’s not fair. It’s not fair to anyone.”
His thoughtful answers on issues that actually affect others and not himself have me feeling more attracted to Kit than ever. I figured he’d talk about growing television ratings or lowering ticket prices. But he surprised me in a good way.
“Are there specific cases of allegations against players that you think could have been handled better?” I ask, my reporter instincts covering for me.
A small smile plays on Kit’s lips. “I’m not commenting on that.”
“Do you personally contribute to efforts to open doors to hockey for kids who otherwise couldn’t play?”
“I do. There’s a player fund for it. Every player on our team contributes and the Blaze Foundation has a fundraiser for it every year. I feel like we need to do more, though. Outreach to companies, fundraisers—with awareness comes money.”
My phone buzzes in my bag, and I reach for it. Normally I wouldn’t look at my phone on a Sunday, but it could be my gram.
When I look at the screen, I see that it is my gram calling.
“Sorry,” I tell Kit. “I have to answer this.”
He waves a hand. “Go ahead.”
“Gram? Is everything okay?”
Gram is breathing hard. I immediately panic.