Jenna pursed her lips. “Huge fan of the hockey.”
The corner of Gentry’s lip curled. “Ah. Just not a fan of the channel, then.”
“First time I’d seen it.” Jenna tugged at the neck of her sweater. She was normally freezing at work, but now seemed to be having an extremely inconvenient hot flash.
“Maybe it’ll grow on you.”
Jenna’s throat closed, and instead of hindering her vision, the light from the windows made Gentry glow like a damn angel.
“I love the channel, personally,” Owen cut in. “In fact, Jenna, wasn’t I the one to introduce you to Country’s content?”
Jenna scrambled for an answer, but before she opened her mouth to defend herself, John blew out a breath.
“Jenna? Your list?”
“Right, of course.” She breathed a silent sigh of relief then turned her screen toward Kessler, John, and Gentry. “I noticed that one of your top clips included commentary on whether Svensson should’ve been benched, and since the Avalanche are playing Saturday?—”
“We could talk about Hamilton,” Gentry cut in.
“Exactly.” Jenna looked up, which was a poor life choice. Gentry’s eyes were locked on hers again with such intensity, they smouldered.
“That call was bullshit, by the way.”
Don’t panic. He’s talking about the game. Jenna straightened, flashing an understanding smile. “You can’t say that on the air.”
Gentry raised an eyebrow. He wet his lips and spoke slowly enough she could hear every consonant. “Then why do you want me?”
Jenna swallowed hard. “I—I don’t, it’s the network that?—”
“You can say whatever the hell you want.” John leaned in. “We’re delayed five seconds normally, but we’ll increase that to eight. Our technical team will be prepped to censor anything they need to, and Jenna will be in the control room.”
That was news to her. She didn’t mind hanging in the booth with Tasha and Liam, but it wasn’t normally where she stayed during broadcasts.
Gentry looked between the three of them. “You’re okay with that kind of controversy?”
Kessler grinned. “I only ask that you make me look like the good guy.”
That time, Jenna did roll her eyes. Kessler was well-liked by viewers, but next to Country? Gentry Maddox was a player. He was raw, crass, and a down-home, true Alberta boy. Their viewers were going to lap him up like stray kittens who just found a warm dish of milk.
Gentry nodded slowly. “So I show up, talk to this guy,” he motioned at Kessler, “and say exactly what I think while the games are playing live.”
John grinned. “A bit more complicated than that, but yes. You’ll be doing the studio segments. The games will still be called by regional sportscasters. You’ll need to go through the rest of that list with Jenna, then I’ll need you to come in for media and broadcast training sometime before Saturday. We’ll work with your schedule. You’ll be here by four o’clock on Sat?—”
“Can’t be here till six-thirty.”
John’s smile slipped. “The broadcast starts at seven.”
Gentry didn’t apologize. “I’m aware. I have a game at four. I’ll need to get showered?—”
“You can shower here.” John pushed up from his seat. “We’ll have wardrobe and makeup ready.”
“I’m not wearing makeup.” Gentry followed John’s lead and scooted his chair back.
Jenna flipped the cover over her tablet. “You have to wear makeup, Gen—Country. Otherwise, you’ll look like you have an iron deficiency next to Kessler.” Her cheeks flushed at her near slip. By the look on his face, Gentry didn’t miss it.
His eyes danced. “Are you saying I’m pale, Jenna?”
Her heart skipped at the sound of her name slipping over his lips. “I’m saying you clearly don’t have a Tan de Soleil membership.”
