Page 10

Ten

Logan

“O peration Letting the Fans See Me Woo,” I said with a grin, shrugging into my jersey in the locker room.

Jaymie, halfway through lacing up his skates, snorted. “You’re seriously calling it that?”

“Why not?” I said, leaning against the bench. “Sounds better than ‘awkward fake date in front of thousands of people.’”

Jaymie shook his head, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “You’re insane, you know that?”

I grabbed my stick and pointed it at him. “I prefer ‘committed to the cause.’ You’re helping, by the way.”

He blinked, straightening from his crouch. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. During warm-ups, make sure we’re light up right in front of the glass where Ava’s sitting. Big smiles. Maybe toss a puck her way for the cameras.”

Jaymie gaped at me like I’d just asked him to juggle flaming pucks. “You really want to drag me into your little romance novel PR stunt?”

“Yep,” I said cheerfully. “Consider it part of your job as my best friend and side kick. You’re good at playing that part!!” I could see the gears working in his head.

“You owe me for this, Bennett,” he muttered, finishing his laces. “Big time.”

“Add it to the list, whats the current favor count anyway?? 38? 39?” I said, slinging my stick over my shoulder as I headed toward the tunnel.

The energy in the arena was electric, the kind of buzz that made your pulse race even before you hit the ice. The stands were packed—fans waving jerseys and foam fingers, kids holding up signs with slogans like Logan Bennett is My MVP . The roar of the crowd hit me like a drug, familiar and exhilarating.

But tonight, my focus wasn’t just on the game. My eyes scanned the glass, searching for the one person who had me more on edge than any playoff game ever had.

There she was.

Ava sat glass-side, front and center, in one of the Hellblades’ jerseys—my jersey, to be exact. She’d paired it with dark jeans and those boots that hugged her legs like they were made for her. Her platinum blonde bob caught the glow of the arena lights as she leaned back in her seat, sipping from a soda cup with the kind of casual air that screamed I don’t belong here, but I dare you to call me out on it.

Her seat was prime real estate, right near the home bench, where she could see every play and every warm-up. And me? I made damn sure she noticed me.

I skated onto the ice, catching her gaze as I slowed in front of her section. Her hazel eyes met mine, and she raised an eyebrow, like she knew exactly what I was doing. I smirked, flipping the puck on my stick before tossing it up against the glass in front of her.

Jaymie skated over, playing his part. “Feeling the love already?” he muttered under his breath, loud enough for me to hear but quiet enough to keep the act intact.

“Shut up and toss her a puck,” I muttered back, grinning as I gave a mock wave to the crowd.

He sighed but did as I asked, flipping a puck that clinked softly against the glass. Ava blinked, glancing at it before looking back at us, her lips twitching like she was trying not to laugh.

The game itself was a symphony of chaos—skates slicing across the ice, pucks flying, and bodies colliding with the glass in bone-jarring hits. The roar of the crowd echoed through the arena, surging with every near-miss and blocked shot. I was in the zone, my focus razor-sharp as I wove through defensemen, my stick feeling like an extension of my arm.

But every now and then, my gaze flicked to the glass where Ava sat. She was leaning forward slightly, her hazel eyes locked on the action with an intensity that surprised me. She wasn’t just sitting there for the cameras; she was following the game, her expression shifting with every play. For someone who’d rolled her eyes at the idea of this “date,” she sure seemed invested.

By the second period, we were up by two. The first goal had been a beauty—a clean wrist shot by one of our rookies that sailed right over the goalie’s glove. The second was an assist from me, threading the puck through a sea of sticks to set up Jaymie for a one-timer that sent the crowd into a frenzy. Every pass, every shot, every play felt electric, the kind of rhythm you dream about as a player.

Then the third period hit, and things got tighter. The Carolina Cats clawed their way back, scoring two quick goals that tied it up and had the crowd holding their breath. The tension was palpable, every shift on the ice carrying the weight of the game as the clock ticked down.

With under a minute left, Coach called a timeout. We huddled by the bench, sweat dripping and hearts pounding, as he laid out the final play. Jaymie and I exchanged a look, no words necessary. We’d been playing together long enough to know what needed to be done.

When the puck dropped, we were ready. I snagged it off the faceoff, cutting through the neutral zone with speed, my stick handling smooth as I avoided a defender who lunged too late. Jaymie was on my left, perfectly positioned. I faked a shot, drawing the goalie toward me, and passed at the last second.

Jaymie didn’t hesitate. His stick connected, and the puck sailed into the back of the net with a satisfying clang . The red light flashed, and the arena erupted, the noise so loud it felt like the ice itself was shaking.

Jaymie skated toward me, grinning like a maniac. “Hell of a pass, Bennett!”

“Hell of a finish, like we always say!” I shot back, clapping him on the helmet as the rest of the team swarmed us in celebration.

The buzzer sounded moments later, sealing the 3-2 win. I skated off the ice with a grin, the adrenaline still pumping through my veins. This game, this win—it was exactly what I needed to shift the narrative.

As I passed by Ava on my way to the tunnel, I glanced at her again. She was standing now, clapping and cheering along with the rest of the crowd, her lips curved into a small, reluctant smile. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to feel like a win in its own right.

***

The press area after the game was as chaotic as ever. Reporters jostling for position, cameras flashing, and microphones thrust forward as soon as I stepped into the spotlight. Ava stood to the side, her arms crossed and her expression unreadable, but she didn’t look like she was regretting being here. Yet.

“Logan!” one reporter called out. “Who’s the lucky lady sitting glass-side tonight?”

I flashed a grin. “That’s Ava Carlisle,” I said easily. “She’s, uh... special.”

The reporter’s eyebrows shot up. “Special? Care to elaborate?”

“Let’s just say she keeps me on my toes,” I said, my tone playful but vague. I didn’t miss the way Ava’s lips twitched, like she was fighting back a laugh—or a grimace. Probably both.

The questions shifted to the game, which gave me a chance to focus on stats and plays instead of the strange thrill of seeing Ava in my jersey. When the press conference finally wrapped up, I headed straight for her.

“Well?” I asked, tilting my head as I approached. “How’d I do?”

“You mean on the ice, or in your little performance for the cameras?” she shot back, raising an eyebrow.

“Both,” I said, grinning. “Come on, give me a grade.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself. “You’re lucky I didn’t throw a tomato at you when you called me ‘special.’”

“Special is a compliment, Carlisle.”

“Not the way you said it.” She adjusted her bag on her shoulder, looking toward the exit. “So, what’s next on ‘Operation Woo’?”

I laughed, falling into step beside her. “You’ll find out soon enough. Don’t want to ruin the surprise.”

She groaned, but there was no real irritation in it. If anything, she seemed... relaxed. Comfortable. And for a moment, I let myself enjoy the fact that this crazy plan of mine might actually be working.