I can practically feel the color drain from my face. “Oh, that’s okay. You don’t need to save us tickets.”
“Nonsense. You have to come. It’s important that you go to at least a few games each season. How else will you truly understand what we’re doing here? And besides, it’s so much fun. The team always goes all out for the employees at the home opener. They cater dinner, give everyone gear, and most of the team stays after the game to sign stuff and take pictures with the kids. It’s a great time.”
It does sound fun, and Reed would probably love it, but all I can think about is Logan’s angry expression the last time we saw each other.
“I won’t take no for an answer. You’re new in town and to the organization. You need a night of fun. And I need to meet that cutie-pie little brother of yours.” Tess taps the photo of me and Reed I keep on my desk. “Don’t you think he’d love to go?”
He would. I know he would.
Knowing when I’ve been defeated, I sigh and offer my boss a smile that is the equivalent of waving a metaphorical white flag. “Okay, yes, of course we’ll go. It sounds fun.”
Or it would, if I hadn’t slept with one of the players and then pretended not to remember him. That’s what I get for trying to have a night of adult fun. Lesson learned, universe. Lesson learned.
“Alrighty. You head down to the ice. Text if you need me, but don’t let those boys leave until every single thing in that wagon has been signed. If you need to yell at them, do it. Show those overgrown boys who’s boss.” Tess gives me a wink, then saunters back into her office, leaving me with a wagon full of swag and a stomach full of knots.
“Sure,” I mutter to myself. “Show them who’s boss. Right.” Shaking out my hands, I force myself to grab the handle of the wagon and start the long walk to the ice. It gives me far too much time to think.
Did Logan tell his teammates about me? Do they all know I slept with him? They must, because I was definitely getting some weird looks that day in the weight room.God, that’s humiliating.
“I’m a walking example of why one-night stands are dumb,” I whisper as I slowly make my way down the halls of the arena. My feet drag like a death-row inmate shuffling to her doom.
It takes forever and no time at all to get down to the ice. Joe, the security guard I met that first day on my tour with Bryson,waits for me by the tunnel where the players usually enter. The older man flashes me a bright smile and takes the wagon from me.
“Miss Blair, so good to see you.” He stretches a hand out in front of him, indicating that he’ll follow me to the ice. “The team is almost done with practice. Why don’t you have a seat right here, and I’ll let the coaches know you’re ready.”
Nerves are jangling around inside my body, but I take a seat in the first-row aisle seat Joe indicates. I offer him a shaky smile as he parks the wagon, then heads toward the bench where a few men in Rogues’ gear gather, clipboards in hand.
Just keep your eyes on Joe. Don’t look at the rink. Don’t search for the Viking.
Theswishof blades racing over the ice, the sharpcrackof pucks hitting the blades of hockey sticks, and the shouts of big men in pads and practice gear draw my attention. No matter how many times I tell myself not to look, it’s hopeless. I’m too curious not to watch them.
Lifting my face, my gaze immediately connects with the intense glare of steely gray eyes. The contact only lasts for a second or two before Logan’s attention is drawn back to the action on the ice, but it’s enough to make my face heat with embarrassment and my stomach flip unpleasantly.
Logan Byrne looks at me as though he hates me.
It shouldn’t hurt. I don’t know him, and he sure as hell doesn’t know me. But the rejection stings, regardless. It’s my fault. I’m the one who pretended not to remember him, but what was I supposed to do? The way he looked at me that first day of work—like I’d tricked him somehow—what good would have come from admitting that I remembered him? He was very clear that night in LA that Logan Byrne isn’t a relationship guy. So what if I panicked? It’s not like he would have asked me out on a date or anything.
No, I did what I had to do to protect a brand-new job. Reed depends on me, and nothing—and no one—is worth risking his welfare for.
“All right, men,” a handsome middle-aged man with rich brown skin and close-cropped hair shouts after blowing a whistle. Coach Fry, if I remember correctly. “Good work today. Now, I know you’re all tired and want to get home, but each of you needs to sign some promotional items before you leave today.”
The announcement is met with a chorus of groans, and I wish I hadn’t been in my office when Tess was looking for someone to take care of this task.
“I know, I know,” Coach Fry says, rolling his eyes. “But this is part of your job. So hurry up and hit the showers so you don’t knock Blair here out with your stench, then come back and sign some pucks. Got it?”
My face must be as red as a tomato with how hot my cheeks feel when every eye turns to me. I give an embarrassed little wave, because of course I have to do something completely lame, and a few of the guys chuckle. Not Logan, though. Logan shoots daggers at me with his eyes.
When the team exits the ice and files past me, I train my eyes on my hands, which I’m wringing in my lap. What feels like ages later, the last skate-clad pair of feet have passed me by, and then a pair of sneakers stops within my line of sight. Lifting my head, I’m met with the smiling face of Mike Fry, the head coach of the Rogues. He holds his hand out for me to shake, kind eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Miss Sherman, so nice to meet you.”
I stand, shaking his hand, and return his smile. “Mr. Fry, hi.”
“Please call me Mike,” the coach says with a chuckle. “Mr. Fry was my dad.”
“Mike,” I correct myself.
“The guys shouldn’t be long. They all know what’s expected of them, so I don’t anticipate any of them giving you trouble, but you holler if they misbehave, okay?”
