“You’ll need to be more specific than that, Joe. What distractions should I be worried about?” Coach asks with a frown.
“Well, everyone is talking about the relationship between Navarro and Indigo Bloom. Not only are her parents the center of a media circus, but there’s speculation that she’s actually a well-known romance author.”
Coach Fry does not look impressed. “And?”
The reporter clears his throat, clearly not getting the kind of reaction he was hoping for. “Well, as if all of that isn’t distracting enough, there’s growing conjecture that Indigo Bloom wrote fan fiction ten years ago about herself and Navarro. It’s a trendingtopic in the bookish community, and it’s gaining traction in sports circles.”
My stomach drops. Not because I’m worried about Indie writing fanfic about us ten years ago—hell, I love that—but because the last thing my girl needs to deal with is more scrutiny.
Coach Fry looks my way, offering to field the question or let me handle it. I give him a nod. This one is mine.
“Why should it matter what my girlfriend may or may not have written ten years ago?” I ask the reporter.
He shifts in his seat but maintains his composure, even under the weight of my disapproving glare. “With the stalking situation that recently occurred involving Byrne and his girlfriend, are you not concerned that you’re dating a woman who’s been stalking you for ten years?”
Blood roars like a flooded, violent river in my veins until it’s all I can hear.
How fucking dare he?
Leaning forward in my seat, I glare at the asshole I’m going to get banned from future post-game press conferences. “Are you accusing Indigo Bloom of stalking me?”
The reporter clears his throat. “No, I’m simply asking if you’re worried that she could have been.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “Look. I don’t know if Indie wrote a story about us ten years ago, but if that’s true, I’d be fucking tickled. I’ll have to ask her to let me read it if she did, not that I’d confirm or deny it one way or the other for you.”
The reporter looks confused. Good.
“As far as the ridiculous stalking accusations? If one of us was stalking the other for the last ten years, it would be more accurate to say that I was the one borderline stalking her.”
The room erupts in murmurs. Coach Fry shakes his head, but Maddox covers his mouth to stifle a laugh.
“I met Indie when we were fourteen, and I’ve been obsessed with her ever since. We lost touch the summer after senior year, and I’ve spent ten years looking for her. So, no, I’m not worried that Indie could have been stalking me.”
“So you just recently reconnected?” the reporter asks, trying to save face.
“Look, I’m going to say this only once. Leave my girlfriend alone. My relationship with Indie is not open for discussion, nor is it available for public consumption. I won’t answer any more questions about her, and you are all going to back off and give her the privacy she wants and deserves. Do you understand?”
The reporter has the good sense to appear sheepish, muttering a quiet apology. The rest of them share a look before hands rise in a flood, the questions swinging back to hockey, our performance, and the series.
“You did good,” Maddox says in my ear, quietly enough that none of the mics should pick it up. “Do you think she really wrote a story about the two of you?”
“Is it weird to hope she did?” I ask, smirking.
He chuckles. “Hell, no. That would be cute as shit. You going to ask her tonight?”
“Obviously.”
“Keep us posted in the group chat.”
I side-eye Maddox. “I’m not telling you guys shit.”
He just laughs.
“Oh my god.”Indie buries her face in my neck when I pick her up and hold her close after the press conference. “I can’t believe you guys just won game one of the finals, and reporters are asking you about my teenage fanfic.”
My chest rumbles with laughter, shaking us both. “Baby, are you saying youdidwrite a love story about us?”
“Find me a hole so I can crawl into it and die,” she whines.