“You clean up good, Cross.”
“Me?” He looked me over without pretense. “That explains the double takes, and that old guy’s jaw on the floor when you walked in.”
I smiled, heat creeping up my neck. “This old thing?”
And he laughed softly, extending his arm so I could hook him in. No ceremony, just a typical show of gentlemanly behavior. I took it, letting him steer me toward the bar. People shiftedaround us, conversations bending, then snapping back into place. I caught a few curious glances but nothing that made me feel I didn’t belong here. The Surge logo glowed behind the bar, etched into glass that reflected the room back at itself.
“Drink?” he asked.
“Something light,” I said. “I want to remember this.”
His mouth curved. “Smart.”
We talked around safer topics at first. The venue, the turnout, the absurdity of seeing former rivals laughing together under chandeliers. He kept things easy, jokes timed to keep the air buoyant. When I nudged the conversation toward his recent headlines, his answers slid sideways.
“Management giving you grief?” I asked, keeping my tone neutral.
He shrugged, eyes flicking toward the crowd. “Nothing new. Nothing I can’t handle.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I’ve got tonight,” he said, then bumped his shoulder lightly against mine. “Come on. There’s better stuff to talk about, to see.”
He pulled me into motion before I could refuse, guiding me through the room with a confidence that felt practiced. Servers moved past with trays of food, small plates disappearing into eager hands. Landon snagged two and handed one to me.
“Eat,” he said. “This stuff goes fast.”
I took a bite and laughed. “I’m actually starving, so I’ll need about two more of these.”
We drifted toward the edge of the dance floor, music threading through the space without overpowering it. Couples moved withvarying degrees of commitment, some all in, others treating it like a suggestion.
“That banner,” I said, nodding overhead. “That’s the expansion year.”
Landon glanced up. “What do you mean?”
“They changed the logo halfway through the season because people hated it.”
He blinked. “Huh, can’t say I remember that.”
“And they were wrong,” I added. “The original had better balance.”
He stared at me for a beat, then shook his head. “You always surprise me with the stuff you have stored in that head of yours.”
I spotted T-Bone Benson near one of the high tables, unmistakable even out of uniform. “See him.”
Landon followed my gaze. “You mean the legend.”
“Two hundred and ten goals,” I said. “Three hundred and fifteen assists. And he still complained about his ice time.”
Landon barked a laugh. “That tracks.”
He waved T-Bone over, introductions flying easily. T-Bone’s eyebrows climbed when I rattled off stats without hesitation.
“You’ve been studying,” he said.
“Watching,” I corrected. “For years. My dad has been dragging me to games since before I could walk. He says my first word was ‘puck’.”
Landon watched the exchange with something like pride flickering across his face. When Danny Vaughn joined us moments later, taller than I expected, presence still intact even out of the spotlight, my breath caught.
