Page 18 of Expose on the Ice
I grit my teeth, plastering on a neutral expression as I finally reach an open chair. Tank catches my eye from across the table, giving me a wink and a grin.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Ms. Paparazzi,” he says, his voice carrying over the low murmur of conversation. “Good to see you, sweetheart.”
Again, I grate a bit at the pet name, but let it go. Tank has been one of the few players to welcome me and give me answers, and I’d rather not burn that bridge over something trivial.
As I settle into my seat, I feel the weight of several of the players’ gazes on me. Some are merely curious, others openly hostile, and at least one is a little sleazy.
I shift uncomfortably in my chair, suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of exposed skin. The sleeveless blouse and pencil skirt I’m wearing feel woefully inadequate under the scrutiny of dozens of pairs of male eyes.
I do my best to ignore them, focusing instead on the menu in front of me.
“So, Lily,” Ethan ‘Echo’ Hale leans in from my left, his voice low. “How’d you swing this gig? Road trips are usually sacred ground.”
I meet his gaze evenly. “Same as you, Echo. The general manager said I had a ticket to ride, I packed a suitcase, and here I am…”
He raises an eyebrow at both my use of his nickname and my bluntness. “Yeah, but our job doesn’t involve sticking our noses where they don’t belong.”
As I mouth some diplomatic reply, I risk a glance down the table at Knox, only to find him staring right at me. His gray eyes are stormy, filled with a mix of anger and something else I can’t quite place. Frustration? Fear?
But I swear I also see him biting his lower lip, just for a moment.
I don’t have an opportunity to consider it further because Mark stands and clears his throat. The din of conversation dies down, replaced by an expectant hush that makes my skin prickle. It’s clear that this group of alphas knows to shut up around the team’s general manager.
“Alright, gentlemen,” Mark begins, his voice carrying easily across the room. “Before we dig into our steaks, I’ve got a quick announcement.”
I straighten my spine, willing myself to look calm and collected, even though I feel none of that. This is the moment of truth. Will the team accept me and open up to me, or will I be spending the next few weeks as a pariah?
Mark’s gaze lands on me. “As some of you may have noticed, we have a special guest with us tonight.” He gestures in my direction. “Lily Grant from the Star will be with us for the trip.”
A low murmur ripples through the group. Despite the comments earlier, it’s clear none of the players had expected me to join them on the entire road trip. I catch a few sideways glances and raised eyebrows. Knox, at the far end of the table, looks like he’s just bitten into a lemon.
“Now, I know this isn’t our usual protocol,” Mark continues, his tone brooking no argument. “But Ms. Grant has been tasked with writing an in-depth piece on our team, and one of our players, and we’ve agreed to give her full access for the duration of this trip. The coverage will do us good.”
He pauses, his eyes narrowing slightly as he surveys the room. “And when I say full access, I mean it. Ms. Grant will be present at practices, team meetings, and meals. She’ll be staying at our hotel and traveling with the team. It’s a level of access we don’t grant often, and she has my full blessing.”
There’s another ripple of murmurs, louder this time. I catch fragments of whispered conversations – “Is he serious?” “What about our privacy?” – and fight the urge to sink lower in my chair. My “I’m a serious journalist” facade is melting, but I hope enough remains to hide my nerves and self-doubt.
Mark holds up a hand, silencing the chatter. “I expect you all to treat Ms. Grant with respect and professionalism.” His voice takes on a steely edge. “She’s here to do a job, just like the rest of us. Anyone who has a problem with that can take it up with me personally. And trust me, you don’t want to do that.”
I feel a rush of gratitude towards Mark. He might have ulterior motives for wanting me here, given the team’s slide and his desperation – expressed clearly enough during my eavesdropping in the parking lot of Baxter Stadium – foranythingto paint a good picture and turn the team’s fortunes around.
“Welcome aboard, Lily,” Tank’s voice booms from across the table, as he raises his water glass in a mock toast, drowning outsome of those complaining. “Hope you’re ready for some quality time with the boys.”
I manage a smile, grateful for the friendly face. I know Tank is a leader on the team, so his stamp of approval might help some of the others accept me. “Thanks, Tank. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Yeah, I bet you are,” mutters a voice from somewhere to my left. I don’t catch who said it, but the implication is clear.
I take a deep breath, willing myself to appear unfazed. I’d known this wouldn’t be easy, but I hadn’t quite prepared myself for the reality of being thrust into the middle of a tightly-knit group of alpha males. The truth is, at least some of them consider me little more than a piece of meat, and I’m suddenly self-aware that I’m young, good-looking, and the only female here.
And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a flash of curiosity about what dozens of testosterone-fueled hockey players might have in mind for me…
As the conversation gradually returns to normal around me, I risk another glance down the table at Knox. He’s still staring at me, his expression unreadable. When our eyes meet, he holds my gaze for a long moment before abruptly pushing back from the table, standing, and stalking towards the exit.
Suddenly, every eye in the room is on him.
Then on me.
The team has figured out there’s something odd between us, and I can feel the unasked questions in the air: What thehellhappened there? Isshethe reason Knox is playing like shit? And now we’re going to be sharing planes, hotels, and buses with her?