I clear my throat. “I’m fine. Completely fine. Zero thoughts, zero feelings, zero stress. And yes, before you ask, I’ve already mapped out my schedule so I can be there in case any paparazzi gets ‘creative’ and tries to manufacture another scandal. It’s called preventative crisis management.”
Harper smiles like she knows I’m lying.
Which is rude.
***
Zoolumination is… breathtaking.
Glowing silk lanterns shaped like animals tower above the pathways: tigers, cranes, jellyfish, dragons. Strings of warm lights loop through trees, and music drifts through the nighttime air while families drink cocoa and wander through the exhibit.
The Nashville Outlaws are sponsoring tonight.
Which means I’m responsible for: ? The merch tent ? Autograph station ? Photo booth ? Raffle board ? Livestream interviews ? Preventing Bryce Blackhorn from doing anything that becomes a viral headline.
So really, just a light workload.
I finish taping the last raffle sign, then step back.
Everything’s good. Professional. Controlled. For now.
And then, because the universe hates me, my brain drags forward the memory I am trying to bury:
Bryce’s breath against my throat. The way he saidstop me… or don’t.The way I didn’t.
I groan quietly and rub my temples.
“Thinking about your boyfriend?”
I nearly launch my water bottle like a weapon.
Dex Harper grins, holding two cups of hot chocolate and demonstrates no sense of personal space.
“He’s not my...”
“Yep. There it is,” he says smugly, handing me one. “The denial pitch. Heard it before. Often means yes.”
I inhale slowly. “Thank you for the drink. Please leave before I commit a felony.”
Dex beams. “Love the energy.”
***
The rest of the team arrives in scattered waves.
Colby signs autographs with hearts over the i’s. Eli lets toddlers slap his helmet. Gabriel Shelly silently draws a penguin doodle on a kid’s hoodie like some mysterious dad-energy Picasso.
And then…
I feel him.
Before I see him.
Bryce walks in wearing a black coat, leather gloves, and a hat with unfairly soft-looking hair peeking out from beneath the fabric.
A little girl tugs on his sleeve.
“’Scuse me… are you the one who hit the puck super fast?”
