“Um—”

“But you know what? You’re both of those,” she yelled. “And we are done.”

“Your loss, sweetheart.”

“No, you piece of dog shit, it’s your loss because I am fucking amazing,” she announced before turning on her heel and walking straight out of the speed-dating event.

Fuck guys.

They sucked.

One would think, two weeks after the horrid speed-dating event, Brie’s life would have started to look up.

Alas, it hadn’t.

Standing with her eyes looking into the lens of the camera, she squeezed the mic with her fingers as she slowly breathed in and out. Things were supposed to be going great for her. They were coming up on the new year, and Brie’s goal of dating someone before New Year’s Eve was slowly but surely diminishing. Like a bug going straight into a fucking bug zapper. That was her life. In a way, that was okay. Things were crazy anyway. She was moving in to her new apartment the following day. The stress of having to cancel on the moving company since they cost so much more than she thought they would weighed heavy on her, and she also had the stress of issues with Rod. They had an appointment with Rod’s cardiologist the following morning, and that was taking up all the available space in her head.

Rod hadn’t been doing well. His heart was being a jerk, and she was worried. She couldn’t lose him. He was all she had left, and it scared her. Especially since he really didn’t understand the severity of his heart issues. He just wanted to be a regular twenty-two-year-old guy, and it killed her that he couldn’t. That he needed to be taken care of with kid gloves, and sometimes, it felt like she wasn’t what he needed.

That made her feel like a failure when it came to Rod, and she hated that feeling.

And as if that wasn’t enough, the Assassins had lost in a nasty three-zero contest. Tate Odder had the worst night of his career, being pulled and the new backup, Jensen Monroe, taking his place. Adding insult to injury, Jensen hadn’t let in anything. Great for Jensen, but bad for Tate since they were fighting for the top goalie position. Brie loved Tate, along with his wife, Audrey, but even she couldn’t hate Jensen. He was a nice enough guy, and while an interview with him wasn’t that big of a deal, it was the other person who was on the schedule that had Brie shaking in her knee-high boots and sweating down the back of her neck.

Looking up at a very handsome Jensen Monroe, she met his green eyes and nodded slowly. “The Canadiens were relentless tonight, forty-seven shots on goal, and you stopped twenty-seven in an amazing effort. Do you feel you’ve found your footing with the Assassins?”

Jensen nodded. “I do. I felt great tonight. I wish the offense had gotten something in, but Price was the picture of perfection,” he said, his voice so deep and rough, it was borderline sinful.

“He was, and some say you were too.”

He gave a bashful grin that brought out the sexy dimples in his cheeks. “I was brought to this team to provide backup to Odder. I feel I did that tonight on a night where he wasn’t there. We all have our bad games, and I’m lucky to be able to back up someone so talented. Plus, half those goals that went in were lucky goals.”

“Exactly. Two were redirected in off our players, and then one was hit off Odder’s back. How do those goals affect one’s mind-set?”

Jensen shrugged. “Each goalie handles games like these in different ways. I can’t speak for Odder, but I know that I have to leave it on the ice. And I hope he’s doing the same.”

“Me too. Thank you so much for taking the time to talk with me.”

“Anytime.”

“Thank you, Jensen.”

“Thank you,” he said, turning and walking down the hall. Before she shifted to face the camera, though, she saw him. Leaning against the wall, his face completely blank as he looked her up and down. He always did that. Looked at her like a piece of meat, which confused the hell out of her since he was so awful to her when they spoke. Chills went down her spine, and her hands started to sweat as she looked back at the camera.

“Don’t go anywhere, for when we come back, Vaughn Johansson will be with us. Stay tuned.”

Saying his name made her face twist in disgust.

“And we’re off,” Travis, the camera guy, informed her as she dropped her hand with the mic, taking the water that was outstretched to her. “Four minutes.”

She nodded as she swigged the water. Usually, she would talk to the player she was about to interview, but all she wanted to do was ask the egotistical prick who was coming toward her the three questions that were written out for her and then get out of there. The farther away from him she could be, the better. He was the downright biggest asshole she had ever met, and she did not like him.

At all.

Not even kind of.

Attracted, yes. Like, no.

And, yes, those were two totally different things.

Or, at least, that’s what she was telling herself.

Swallowing hard, she felt him moving before she looked over to see him coming toward her. His arms were crossed over his chest and his eyes on her. His face was red, his light brown hair wet with sweat, along with his shirt. He hadn’t showered; he never did. It was like he wanted to drive her crazy by being disgusting when she interviewed him. For some reason, everyone loved putting them together for these things. He always came up for interviews, and no matter how much she begged for anyone else, they kept giving her him. Why? It would always be a mystery because all he did was act like a complete douche.

“Two minutes.”

She swallowed hard before handing her water to another outstretched hand as her makeup girl came over and touched up her powder, then her hair. She had been covering the whole game, like she always did, but that didn’t take much effort. Still, they wanted her to look perfect. Which she guessed she did, especially when they made her stand on a box to make sure she was in the shot with the players.

The cons of being short.

There were more cons than pros, she felt.

“You dyed your hair.”

She didn’t even look at him. “I’m naturally a blonde.”

He scoffed. “No wonder.”

He was baiting her and she wanted to snap, but she looked at the camera as she rolled her eyes before gripping her mic tightly. She didn’t want to do this. She didn’t trust him to keep his composure. She was pretty sure he didn’t have any composure, nor did he even know what it meant. He was just a stupid hockey player who took too many pucks to the head. Yes, he may score a lot and he may be talented, but he was dumb. She didn’t like him. At all. Had she mentioned that?