Page 11 of Lucky Shot (Moonshot Hockey #1)

I swivel around so quickly, my braid flips dramatically over my shoulder and into my face. I brush it back with one hand, seething. “My name is not Red. It’s Ruby .”

For one moment he looks stunned at my outburst, then his usual bored stare returns.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving. You win.” My voice wavers. Dammit. I really don’t want to cry in front of this guy.

“Osmosis didn’t work?” he asks dryly.

I glower back at him, then stomp forward. He’s in his skates but standing on some sort of rubber mat just off the ice. I march right up to him, close enough that I could poke him in his stupid, broad chest. Warmth radiates off him, reminding me how cold I am.

“I get that your dad blindsided you with this whole thing, but I was blindsided too. At least you didn’t travel thousands of miles only to find out the man holding your career in his hands is the world’s biggest jerk.

Would it really be so awful to answer a few stupid questions?

Well guess what? I don’t need you. There are plenty of people out there who can help me and do it without being such an asshole. ”

My chest heaves as I get out the last part. Plenty might be a stretch, but there has to be at least one person willing to help me, right? If there is, I know Molly will find them.

His jaw works back and forth. It’s my cue to leave, but the crash of adrenaline is washing over me, and I am exhausted.

“One hour,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Camp is over at five. As soon as the kids are gone, you can ask me your questions. Then, we’re square.”

My muddled brain works entirely too hard to process his words.

“Wait. Now you’re going to help me?”

He turns, giving me his back as he steps back onto the ice. Then he pauses and looks at me.

“Why?” I ask.

His lips curve down. “Beats the hell out of me.”

I’m so cold, I’m numb. My butt hurts from sitting on the bleachers and my stomach is growling mercilessly.

I spend the time waiting for Nick sitting back in the stands with the parents. I alternate between watching Nick and the kids on the ice, editing my book, and going over my questions to ask him.

I thought I was going to have plenty of time to get everything I needed so I whittle the list down to what I think are the most important things.

While I work, I sneak glances at the woman next to me.

She’s nearly finished the book now. “A gripping page-turner,” one headline boasted.

“You won’t be able to put it down,” another said.

I hate that they were right. And I really don’t like the way hating someone this much makes me feel.

I’m not cut out for it. I love people and I like to think they’re generally good.

I might hate that he’s made me question that more than anything else.

Three hours later, the kids are finally done. I can no longer feel my fingers and have taken to sitting on them.

Nick changes out of his skates into regular shoes and helps corral the children to their parents. He accepts handshakes from the men and smiles politely back at the women who thank him.

Once they’re all gone, he makes his way to me. My pulse picks up speed as he takes the seat next to me. He smells like the ice and a hint of something woodsy and masculine.

“Hi.” I reach for my laptop, open it, then tilt my screen down so he can’t read it. It isn’t personal. I have a hard time letting anyone read my words until I’m finished with a story. It’s too messy. Too rough.

“I have exactly one hour.” He rests his hands on his legs, drawing my attention to his thighs. They’re big, straining the fabric in a way that makes my pulse pick up speed. Attracted to someone’s muscular thighs…that’s a new one for me.

I blink back my focus and angle myself so I’m facing him with my computer still on my lap. “Great. Should I jump into the questions?”

He nods.

“Okay.” I read the first one. “Can you walk me through a typical hockey game?”

He blinks.

“Is that not what it’s called?” I glance back at my notes. “Is it called a match or something?”

“No. It’s a game, but…” He seems to struggle choosing his words. “There isn’t really a typical way it goes. It varies based on so many factors.”

“Okay, then let’s just go through the last one you played.”

“You want me to describe in detail an entire hockey game?”

I can feel the heat in my cheeks and the tightening of my chest as my blood pressure rises. Is he trying to make this more painful or does he just frustrate me that easily?

One hour, I remind myself.

“I’m trying to get a feel for what happens. I know there’s a disc and you try to get it in the basket by whacking it with your stick but I’m a little lost on everything else.” My lips are so cold that even talking feels weird.

He stares at me, unspeaking, for several long moments, then opens his mouth as if to speak, but before he does, a shiver wracks my entire body. I narrowly save my laptop from crashing to the floor.

“Are they going to turn the heat up in here now that the kids are done?” I ask.

He tilts his head to the side, then slowly his gaze moves over me. “You’re cold.”

Not a question. A statement.

“Freezing.”

“It is an ice rink.”

“Yes, well, I packed for summer.”

He stands like he’s going to leave, and I have a momentary panic that he’s changed his mind about helping me.

“Come on.” He tips his head to indicate I should follow.

I grab all my things and stand. My butt tingles and my legs protest the movement. I am so cold I don’t think I’ll ever be warm again.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere you won’t turn into an icicle.”