He threads a pass across the ice to 19, who's lighter on his skates and with golden hair. That looks like Felix Leroy. Left wing. Showoff, if the scouting notes are to be believed.
Felix flicks the puck to 44, Liam Quijada. Right wing. His turn at the blue line sends up a shower of ice crystals that sparkle under the rink lights.
They reset, then explode into motion, rushing down the ice in perfect sync. Silas controls the play, reading his linemates. He sends a crisp pass to Felix, who catches it smoothly and feeds it to Liam without looking.
Liam one-times it back to Silas. He winds up. Shoots.
Top corner, score.
Nice shot.
Felix throws his arms up, skating backward, grin flashing as he chirps at Liam. Liam says something back that makes Felix shove his shoulder, laughing. Silas is already resetting the drill, focused.
Damn, they really looked like they shared a brain there.
I should knock. Announce myself.
Instead, I stand there a moment longer, watching Felix catch a pass behind his back, watching Liam stop on a dime, watching Silas cut a hard line across the neutral zone…
Right before his gray-blue eyes lock on mine through the glass.
He stops dead, the edge of his blade scraping a harsh line in the ice.
Felix follows his line of sight. Liam, too. Three sets of eyes on me now, and I feel like I’ve wandered into a predator enclosure.
Right then. Looks like I'm busted.
I lift my hand and knock, knuckles smarting against the cold pane, then give a small, businesslike wave.
Silas says something I can’t hear. Felix points toward the far end of the building.
I make my way along the wall and find a door… which is heavier than it looks. I brace my boots in the snow, tighten my grip, and push.
It gives suddenly, and I stumble half a step forward into the rink, my shoulder bumping something hard.
Silas.
His hands shoot out automatically, gripping my upper arms to steady me. The contact is brief, but enough for an electric prickle to arc down my spine.
His eyes flick down to where my fingers are still wrapped around the handle, then back up to my face. He pulls the door open the rest of the way, and the other two glide up behind him like bouncers. Up close, they're even more imposing. They're allwell over six feet, and the skates make it worse. I'm craning my neck just to meet their eyes.
“Can I help you?” Silas finally asks, voice low, rough, and about ten degrees colder than the ice behind him.
I roll my shoulders back, finding my balance again, and offer a smile that has won me plenty of hostile witnesses.
“Naomi Quinn,” I say. “I work with Mia. We have a four o’clock meeting about your contract situation.”
He looks at my extended hand like I’m offering him a lawsuit.
Great start.
“The lawyer,” he says.
“That’s one of my job titles, yes.” I let my hand fall, unfazed, and keep his gaze. “I also answer to Naomi, or Ms. Quinn if you’re feeling formal.”
Felix's mouth twitches, a dimple flashing and disappearing just as fast. Liam's expression stays neutral, but his gaze takes a slow, deliberate trip from my boots to my face, assessing, cataloguing.
“Weather’s turning,” Silas says. “Roads ice fast up here. You should head back before it gets bad. We’ll reschedule.” He starts to angle the door closed with his shoulder.
