"Starling": Two for Boarding Bonus Story

Starling

"I have a confession to make. I'm not a real hockey coach.

So why did I spend nearly a full year posing as one? And how did I get away with it despite negligible talent at the job? The latter I put down to the dual factors of me being a white man in his forties and no one expecting someone to do something that stupid. The former is a lot more complicated. Over the course of five articles, I will explain how I came to be in a position I was so tragically unsuited for, what I discovered while there, and how the culture of the NHL needs to change to better support their players and staff, and also avoid criminal charges in future."

(From “The Odds Are Never in Your Favor, an Exposé on the Betting Scandal at the Heart of the San Francisco Sea Lions,” by Ben Sinclair, published in The San Francisco Herald, 07/20/2025)

The second the door to the meeting room shut behind him, Ben's hands flew to the knot of the tie at his throat.

He groaned in relief when he got it loosened. It had been all of three weeks since he last wore a suit for season-ending interviews, and he had not missed it one bit. Who decided men had to wear this stuff for important meetings, anyway? Why couldn't he wear a nice cardigan? From the corner of his eye, he spotted a slinky slip dress, the kind slender women of a certain age managed to make look glamorous.

Ben was not slender nor was he a woman but he bet he could rock a slip dress and feel better doing it than he did with the darn tie. He wouldn't look glamorous, but his butt would look great and he would be comfortable.

The legs attached to the slinky dress wandered over to him. Too late, he recognized Olivia Starling's distinctive fake crocodile leather purse and her probing voice.

"Coach Morris!" She laughed brightly. "Although I guess that's not your real name, huh?"

"Ms. Starling. How can I help you?"

She hooked her hand into his elbow and led him toward the elevators. "Oh, you know me, always looking for the next scoop."

Her grip was extremely firm. Ben wondered what would happen if he said he wanted to take the stairs. He didn't, so he would never find out, but he had a feeling she'd tow him where she wanted to go either way.

"Sorry," he told her. "I just sold mine to your boss."

This time, her laugh sounded tense. "Oh, everyone knows about all that already. I'm sure your pieces will be…in-depth, but I'm more interested in what's new, you know?"

Beat reporting. This was why it was the worst. Ben shuddered at the thought he'd be going back to it next week. At least he was done with undercover work. And the gig he'd gotten—reporting on sports while not liking or caring about them—lacked the urgency of Starling's beat.

Although based on the sticker on her laptop peeking out from the top of her bag, she was more of football fan than hockey. Rough beat to be caught on, in that case; the hockey schedule was unrelenting. But it did provide news to report on near-daily.

"I don't know that I can give you anything helpful," Ben told her. They'd reached the elevator and he selected the ground floor. "You probably have more contacts in the Sea Lions organization than I do at this point."

"Oh, come on." She slapped him on the upper arm, not at all lightly. "You must have something to share going forward. What new scandals can we expect next year?"

He swallowed dryly and wished he had pulled his tie off entirely instead of just loosening it. "I think the team's looking forward to playing good hockey next season with no scandals to distract them."

As soon as the elevator doors opened on the San Francisco Chronicle's atrium, he escaped from her grip. "See you around!" he called over his shoulder and then all-but sprinted for the door.

He told Phil about it later, walking steadily on the treadmill as Phil did core work on the mat in front of him.

"She's always been nosy," Phil pointed out between grunted-out breaths.

"Mm." Ben eyed the sweat trickling down Phil's bare chest before it got lost in his chest hair. "She seemed kind of desperate to me."

"Well, yeah."

Ben blinked, forcing himself to look away from his husband's gorgeous body. "Huh?"

"She's our beat reporter. You showing up with a series of articles telling everyone all the stuff she's missed has gotta get her in hot water at work."

"Oh." That made a surprising amount of sense. Why hadn't Ben thought of it?

"You haven't worked with other humans in, what, fifteen years?" Phil rolled up into a seated position, abs clenching and releasing.

Ben licked his lips. "I worked with other people plenty."

"Okay, yeah, but you were interviewing them for your stories or freelancing. That's not the same as being in the same staff room or the same media room at the arena every day with the same colleagues. And she doesn't have it easy."

Her job seemed pretty cushy to Ben when he was sweating behind too-bright camera lights, trying to answer her questions. But Phil had a point. "I guess there aren't a ton of female reporters in hockey."

"Nope." Phil's mouth pursed around the 'p'. He grabbed his water bottle and sprayed a stream into his open mouth.

Eyes fixed on Phil's lips, Ben asked, "So am I just being a dick?"

Phil set his bottle down. The corners of his mouth turned up even as he spoke. "Maybe? I'm not up on the hot staff room gossip in the Herald's newsroom—"

"How are you younger than me and yet so much older?"

"—shut up. Maybe Starling's in hot water for missing the story going on under her nose all year. Maybe she's just nosy. Either way, you don't owe her anything."

Privately, Ben thought Starling was probably a not particularly good journalist not because she hadn't spotted a conspiracy under her nose but because no one on the team she was permanently assigned to liked talking to her. He'd never had a position as long-term as hers, but even for short jobs, rapport was essential.

"Okay. Well, I'm glad I don't have to do post-game media anymore."

Phil grimaced.

"It's different as a coach," Ben offered, although he wasn't sure it was true.

By the way Phil raised his eyebrows, he was very aware. He got to his feet and grabbed a towel, then wiped down his face. This awarded Ben a side view of his body, from his tensed biceps and the swell of his pecs to the line of hair down his belly to the waistband of his loose shorts.

Ben took a sip of his own water against his suddenly dry mouth.

"…should I tell everyone?"

Blinking against the blinding view of Phil's half-naked body, Ben mustered a belated, "Huh?"

"Should I let the guys know anything in particular about talking to her going forward?" Phil repeated the question with a casual air, but Ben could tell he was feeling smug about his effect on Ben. Rightly so.

He shut off the treadmill and got off it. "Nah. It's summer, it'll be months until they have to talk to her again, by then the story will have blown over." He hoped more than believed it to be true. A gambling conspiracy running through the highest levels of the organization was a big story, and summer break meant many players would be unavailable for comment. The clever approach would be to get ahead of the story and make statements, but Ben didn't work for the Sea Lions anymore and didn't want to mess things up more for them. Their PR department would have the better approach.

Guiltily, because the Sea Lions' PR department wasn't actually that good, Ben added, "Probably."

"Uh-huh," Phil said. He didn't sound convinced, but he also didn't head for the shower. Instead, he ambled closer to Ben and settled a big hand on the back of Ben's neck. "So," he said, close enough to Ben that Ben could smell clean sweat and feel the rise and fall of Ben's chest close to his own.

"So?"

"So, you want to keep talking about Olivia Starling, or do you wanna see what other machines in here we can get creative with?"

Ben checked his watch. "We have an hour before Charlie gets home."

The pressure of Phil's hand increased as he dragged Ben toward the adductor machine.

Ben followed willingly, letting all thoughts of hockey media and hockey in general slide from his mind.