The drive to the restaurant was surprisingly comfortable, filled with continued tactical discussion. Libby found herself leaning forward, gesturing as she made her points, completely absorbed in the debate. She told herself the energy between them was just the excitement of finding someone who actually understood hockey analytics at her level. Nothing more.
The private dining room was already half-full when they arrived. Players, coaches, and support staff mingled with drinks, the atmosphere relaxed but underlaid with playoff intensity. Conversations quieted noticeably when Liam and Libby entered together.
"Here we go," Libby murmured.
Liam's hand finally made contact with the small of her back, his palm warm through the thin fabric of her blouse. The gesture was subtle but clear, a public acknowledgment of their supposed relationship status.
Chase approached first, his grin barely suppressed. "So nice of you two to join us. Liam, did you actually leave the film room voluntarily, or did Libby have to drag you?"
"I came willingly," Liam replied dryly.
"That's a first," Chase said. "Usually we have to send a search party before team dinners."
"I'm very persuasive," Libby offered.
The words hung in the air for a beat too long, the implication hitting her a second after she'd said them. Heat flooded her cheeks. "About hockey. I mean. Persuasive about leaving the film room. For team events." She was making it worse. "I'm going to stop talking now."
"Please do," Chase said, clearly struggling not to laugh. "Before you dig yourself any deeper. Jane's already here, by the way. She saved you seats—far enough apart that you won't have to be too persuasive."
They found Jane at a table with several players and their partners. She'd managed to position herself strategically—close enough to Chase to be appropriate, but not so close as to be obvious. The woman was a master of subtle relationship navigation.
"Everyone, this is Libby," Liam said simply as they sat down, his hand briefly touching her chair back as he pulled it out for her.
A blonde woman across the table leaned forward with obvious curiosity. "I'm Natalie, Jensen's wife. So you're the one who finally cracked the D'Arcy code!"
"I wouldn't say cracked—" Libby began.
"He's never brought anyone to team events," Natalie continued, clearly delighted by the gossip potential. "We had a betting pool going about whether he was secretly dating someone or just allergic to relationships."
"Sorry about this," Jensen interjected with an apologetic look. "The wives had their monthly brunch today. They've been drinking mimosas since noon."
"We have not been drinking since noon!" Natalie protested, then paused. "It was eleven-thirty." She turned back to Libby and Liam, undeterred. "Anyway, how did you two actually meet? Was it during an interview?"
"Umm... kind of," Libby said carefully, aware of multiple ears listening.
"But you've only been covering the team for what, two weeks?" another woman asked. "That's some fast work, Liam."
Libby felt Liam tense slightly beside her. Before she could formulate a response, he spoke.
"We met before she started covering the Steel," he said, so matter-of-fact that it took a moment for people to realize he was actually answering. "I reached out after reading her mid-season analysis of the Springfield Falcons' defensive restructuring. Her breakdown of their penalty kill adjustments was... illuminating."
"You read my articles?" Libby asked, genuinely surprised.
"All of them," Liam replied, meeting her gaze. "Your breakdown of our power play evolution was particularly good. Though you did miss?—"
"The adjustment to the umbrella formation, I know," Libby interrupted. "I had a word count limit."
"Wait," Natalie said, looking between them with delight. "You fell for each other while arguing about hockey strategy?"
"Is very romantic," Varlenko boomed from across the table. "Like Romeo and Juliet, but less stabbing!"
The table laughed, and Libby felt some of the tension ease. As dinner was served, she found herself relaxing into the rhythm of team conversation. Liam remained quieter than most, but his presence was steady beside her, occasionally offering dry observations that made her laugh despite herself.
During the main course, Jensen called down the table. "Liam, what's your take on Reeves's glove side? Coach thinks we should go high, but I'm not seeing the opening."
"It's not about going high," Liam replied, already reaching for the salt shaker to demonstrate. "His shoulder drops when he's tired. Third period, you aim for?—"
"That's completely wrong," Libby interrupted without thinking. Everyone turned to stare at her, but she was already grabbing the pepper mill. "Look, his shoulder doesn't drop—his whole stance shifts. Watch." She positioned the pepper mill as the goalie. "When he's tired, his weight transfers to his right skate, which opens up the five-hole, not the glove side."
