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"It's gotten heavier."

"Guitars don't gain weight, Stevie."

"They could. With humidity," Stevie says, and I have to bite my cheek, because she is the single worst liar I have ever witnessed and I once worked in the entertainment industry.

Dylan squints at his sister, unsatisfied, and then slowly, horribly, his head swivels toward me.

"Hey… wait a minute."

"Hm?"

"You never showed up at the Ski Bar last night either." Dylan waves a finger in my face. "We saved you a seat. Baxter drank your drink."

"I got busy."

"Busy." Dylan's eyes narrow. "Is that why Miles never showed up either?"

Stevie turns from the boards and looks at me, then at Miles gliding across the ice, then back at me. Her mouth drops into a perfect delighted O.

"The dress worked!"

I become deeply, professionally interested in the practice. "That's a fascinating drill they're running out there. Very tactical."

"They're having a water break," Dylan says.

"Audrey Fields." Stevie grips my arm. "You're blushing."

I am one second from full exposure when movement behind the glass saves my life.

Big Mike appears at the viewing lounge overlooking the rink, standing there in a wool coat, watching Miles with the expression of a man holding all the cards to this tournament.

A few seconds later, Miles blows the final whistle, and Big Mike leans toward the ice.

"Stratton. Got a minute? Stay back after the boys head in."

Miles's whole expression changes. The easy captain vanishes and my own stomach does something ridiculous and swooping that I have no contractual right to feel.

Please, I think, gripping the boards. Please let this be good.

Dylan and Stevie go quiet beside me. The last of the Wildcards file off the ice, and Miles skates alone toward the glass where a billionaire waits.

I watch him go, my heart lodged somewhere it absolutely should not be for a Christmas-only arrangement.

Have we just been caught?

Chapter 8

Miles

The Wildcards leave the ice after practice and I stand there shitting myself.

Am I in trouble?

Have I done something wrong?!

Did Audrey say something about what happened last night and now I'm being sent home for inappropriate behavior?!

"Ah, fuck. My legs are dead," Baxter announces, dragging his stick behind him. "Coach Dave never makes us skate suicides. Coach Dave respects us."