Grayson tapped his stick against the boards as we passed. “Keep pushing.”
I did.
And every time I drove the middle or set up a pass for him, I felt the pace sharpen, the partnership settling into place, until the only thing in the building that mattered was the next play.
*
The arena doors were still spilling the last of the crowd when I stepped outside, bag slung over my shoulder and adrenaline still sitting in my stride. The night air carried the sound of engines turning over and people arguing about overtime, but I noticed her immediately.
Sage stood near my truck, hands in the pockets of her faded jeans, leather jacket swinging open.
“I thought you don’t like hockey,” I said as I drew up to her.
“I don’t.” She stepped aside enough to let me toss my gym bag into the passenger seat. “Just wanted to see you be invisible, like you said.”
“And?”
She shrugged. “I still don’t like hockey.”
“Touche,” I said, laughing softly. “But you still came tonight, which I’ll take as a compliment.”
“I wouldn’t suggest that. Not just yet, anyway.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “What are you up to?”
“I figured out how you’re going to pay me.”
“Pay you?” I asked. “I thought my payment was settled at the exhibition.”
Her mouth twitched, but she didn’t take the bait. “Do you want to know what it is or not?”
The nerve of this woman. But I wasn’t going to let her have it this easy. “You have some nerve extorting me over something that isn’t even finished.”
She laughed at that, head tipping back slightly, and the sound cut through the leftover arena noise still drifting across the lot. The brightness of it hit somewhere low in my chest and settled there.
“Technically,” she said, stepping closer, “it’s supposed to be unfinished. Have you looked it up yet? The tattoo?”
I hadn’t.
I’d thought about it. About the lines she’d inked into my skin and the space she’d left open on purpose. But I hadn’t gone searching for the meaning. After I’d left Purple Rose that night, it didn’t feel necessary.
“No,” I said. “I figured I’d let the artist explain her masterpiece.”
“Hardly a masterpiece.”
“Right. It’s a work in progress I’m apparently still paying for.”
She bumped her shoulder lightly against my arm as she passed me, heading toward the far end of the lot. “Come on.”
I fell in step beside her, spotting a dark gray Nissan under one of the lights, clean but unremarkable. Sensible, practical, and the opposite of the trucks and sports cars scattered around it.
“That’s you?” I asked, trying to hold back laughter and judgment at the same time.
She stopped beside the driver’s door and stared at me. “I’m not a pro athlete, Aiden. I have to work within my humble budget.”
I walked around the front of the car, dragging my fingers over the hood as I went. “Well, if you start charging your clients actualmoney for your work, maybe you’ll afford something a little better.”
“Shut up and get in,” she huffed, but a grin tugged at the corners of her mouth.
