ANASTASIA
The coach stood up from his front seat early in the flight and reminded the players to cooperate with the short interviews for the team’s social media page, but the younger players treated the whole thing like a comedy show.
I walked down the narrow aisle with my camera and the small lapel microphone, and the rookies immediately began shouting and waving their arms to get my attention first.
Miller kept interrupting everyone’s answers, and he leaned directly into the camera frame to make a ridiculous face just as his teammates started to speak about the game. Another teammate refused to stop making funny faces behind the lens from his seat across the aisle, and I had to restart three different recordings because I couldn’t stop laughing at their behavior.
"You guys need to be serious for just two minutes," I said, and I laughed as I adjusted the focus lens on Miller, but he just shook his head and pulled another dramatic expression.
"Serious is not in my job description, Ana," Miller grinned, and he leaned even closer to the microphone. "The fans want personality, and I am giving them high-quality entertainment."
Even some of the older players joined in on the fun after a while, and they leaned over their headrests to yell out jokes, and they told me that the fans deserved to see what the team was really like away from the ice rink.
Cassian’s interview turned into the funniest one by far, and he sat fully forward in his seat while waving his hands around to direct the lighting. He kept
pretending he deserved all the credit for the recent win against Boston, and every single player sitting nearby immediately started arguing with him and throwing crumpled paper napkins at his head.
"I basically carried the entire defensive line in the third period," Cassian said, and he looked directly into my camera lens with a wide, confident grin. "The fans know who the real MVP of that match was, and it definitely wasn’t Miller."
"You were sitting on the bench for half of the third period, Brooks," Kier yelled out from three rows back, and the entire cabin broke into loud laughter.
"That was strategic resting, Kier," Cassian shot back without missing a beat, and he pointed a finger at my camera. "Tell him, Anastasia. You saw how hard I was working out there."
"I saw you complaining about your hair after you took your helmet off," I replied, and the surrounding players burst into another round of cheers.
"That is a low blow, Ana," Cassian laughed, and he adjusted his collar while looking straight at me. "Make sure you edit that part out. We need to keep my reputation clean for the media."
"I am not editing anything out," I told him, and I tapped the side of my camera. "I am sending every single second of this directly to the marketing director, and he is going to post the whole thing."
"You wouldn’t do that to me," Cassian said, and he leaned a little bit closer to the lens with that constant smirk on his face. "We both know the fans prefer my good angles, and you are far too nice to ruin my image."
"Try me, Cassian," I said, and I smiled as I backed away from his row.
After finishing with everyone else in the back rows, I packed up the extra cables and walked slowly toward the front of the plane because Thiago was the only interview I had left to complete. My heart did a quick flutter as I got closer to his seat, but I forced my expression to stay completely calm.
He was sitting by the window with a playbook open on his lap, and his pen was resting on the page. He looked up the second I stopped right beside his row, and his deep grey eyes met mine.
"Do you have a few minutes for the official team page?" I asked, and I held up the lapel microphone so he could see it.
"Yes," Thiago said, and he closed his playbook immediately and set it on the empty seat beside him.
He agreed right away, but getting actual answers from him was much harder than filming anyone else on the roster. Every single reply he gave was short and serious, and he kept his eyes fixed directly on the lens without blinking or changing his flat expression.
"We played a physical game, and we executed the coach’s plan perfectly," Thiago said, and his voice was completely level, and he did not smile once during the first four questions.
"Can you talk a little bit about the momentum going into the upcoming home matches?" I asked, holding the camera as I waited for him to give me something more than a few words.
"We take it one game at a time," Thiago replied, and his steady gaze never shifted. "We practice hard, we fix our mistakes, and we prepare for the next opponent."
After my fifth question received another flat, one-sentence response, I finally lowered the camera down to my chest, and I let out a soft sigh.
"You are probably the worst interview on this entire plane, Thiago," I admitted, and I looked at him directly. "Even Miller gave me more words to work with than you did."
To my absolute surprise, his strict expression softened, and the corner of his mouth twitched up into a small smile.
"Some of us prefer to let our play on the ice do the talking, Anastasia," Thiago said, and his voice was surprisingly calm as he looked up at me from his seat.
"That doesn’t help me make a good video for the fans," I said, but a quiet laugh escaped my lips anyway.
I packed away my microphone wire, and I turned around to leave the front section of the cabin to head back to my seat.
As I turned toward the aisle, his fingers suddenly touched my shoulder, and the unexpected contact made me freeze on the spot. His touch was warm and a sudden wave of heat rushed through my skin right where his hand rested against me.
He apologized immediately seeing how startled I was by the movement, and he pulled his hand back quickly.
"The strap was sliding down your arm," Thiago explained, and his voice sounded a bit tight as he looked away toward the front bulkhead. "I thought your camera would fall."
I looked down and realized the strap had indeed slipped off my jacket, and I quickly adjusted it back into place with trembling fingers.
"Thank you," I murmured.
Thiago nodded once, and he immediately withdrew his hand completely and looked back down at his open playbook, pretending to read.
We never spoke about the touch for the rest of the flight, but as I walked back to my seat in the rear cabin, my shoulder still felt warm where his fingers had just been, and I couldn’t stop my mind from racing the entire way home.