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It didn’t take long for them to get into it again. Tyler tripped Logan with his stick, and Logan retaliated by body-checking him so hard it sent him sprawling onto the ice. The refs blew their whistles, but the crowd ate it up, roaring with approval as the two of them shouted at each other, their voices drowned out by the chaos.

Logan ended up in the penalty box again, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe he was stuck there while Tyler smirked from across the ice. The animosity between them was palpable, crackling through the air like static electricity.

By the time the game ended, Tampa had won, and I was genuinely surprised I cared about the outcome. Not because I wanted Tyler to win—I didn’t—but because I had wanted Logan to. The thought caught me off guard, and I quickly shook it off as the crowd erupted into a mix of cheers and boos.

I stood, brushing imaginary lint off my sleek coat, ready to leave. But then I noticed a Tampa Bay employee gesturing wildly at the fans in our section, motioning toward an open gate that led onto the ice.

What?

I froze, confused, until I realized he wanted us to go out there. People started filing down the stairs, chatting excitedly as they made their way down to the ice.

I hesitated.

“Miss, are you coming?” the employee asked, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I nodded, forcing a polite smile. “Of course,” I said, not feeling like I really had a choice.

My heels wobbled precariously as I stepped onto the ice, the cold biting through the thin soles of my shoes. The surface was slick, impossibly smooth, and I immediately regretted the decision I’d made to wear these death traps. I felt like a newborn foal, my legs trembling as I worked on not falling flat on my face.

Other fans seemed to be doing just fine, posing for pictures and taking selfies. Meanwhile, I clutched at the boards for dear life, cursing Tyler and the universe for putting me in this ridiculous situation.

“Just walk normally,” I muttered to myself, trying to channel every ounce of grace I didn’t have.

I was almost to the crowd of players and fans…when he was there.

Logan York.

He was standing in front of me, blocking my path. His skates dug into the ice with a casualness that felt deliberate, but it wasn’t his stance that stopped me. It was the look on his face.

Yearning. That was the only word that came to mind. Like I was something he’d been searching for and finally found.

It caught me off guard, that look. It made me falter, one foot sliding slightly on the ice, and I reached out instinctively for balance. My eyes locked on his, wide and unblinking.

“What—” I started, but the word barely made it out before he moved.

One second, he was standing there, staring at me like I was the answer to every question he’d never asked. The next, his hands were on my waist, strong and sure, pulling me forward. I stumbled, my heels slipping again, but his grip steadied me. And then his lips were on mine.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t hesitant. It was a claim, bold and unapologetic, like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment and wasn’t about to waste it. His hands tightened slightly, anchoring me against him, and for a heartbeat, I forgot to be shocked. I forgot everything.

I should’ve pushed him away. I should’ve said something, anything. But my brain short-circuited, leaving nothing but the feeling of his lips moving against mine, the faint taste of adrenaline and mint on his breath. The noise of the crowd swelled around us, cheers and gasps blending into a deafening roar, but I couldn’t process any of it.

What the hell was he doing? What the hell wasIdoing?

Somewhere in the chaos, I heard someone yell, “What the fuck?” But it barely registered until I felt Logan pulled away from me abruptly, his hands dropping from my waist. My lips tingled, still warm from the contact, and my mind struggled to catch up as I stumbled back, only to remember my heels had no grip. My arms flailed for balance, but the inevitable happened—I went down, landing hard on my ass with an unceremonious thud.

Logan’s eyes darted to me immediately, a flicker of anger…and guilt crossing his face. He reached for me, but a second later, Tyler was there.

And then all hell broke loose.

I pushed up from the ice, slipping and sliding my way back to the opening in the sides. I was desperate to get away before a camera got a clear shot of me amid the melee I was leaving behind.

But as I frantically tried to get away, I considered it a very bad sign…

I wanted to go back.

Just so I could see Logan York again.

CHAPTER6