Page 7

CHAPTER 5

SLOANE

W alking into the arena felt like stepping into another universe. The crowd was a sea of jerseys, blues, whites, and greens with numbers on the backs of players I’d never heard of—their names echoing through the halls as fans shouted and laughed. There were huge smiles on everyone’s faces, a lot of them already halfway to drunk by the looks of it. I watched a group of couples, all of them shouting over each other, so eager to talk. They suddenly held their beers up and all yelled at once.

Definitely a different universe. I couldn’t have felt more out of place if I tried.

I fidgeted with my coat, suddenly very aware that I was one of the only people not wearing a jersey. I’d thought about buying one at the shop outside, maybe blending in a little, but that idea died quickly. If that had been something that Tyler wanted, he would have communicated it to Everett. It wasn’t like he had forgotten the specifics of my outfit for after the game tonight: four—not three—inch strappy black heels and black lingerie that “showed a lot of boob.” I figured if he could specify that, he would have specified if he’d wanted a certain outfit at the game besides “for me to look hot.” Tyler hadn’t hired me for my deep understanding of slap shots and power plays. He didn’t expect a thrilling conversation about his job—or anything else. He just wanted me to play the part of the perfect girlfriend for the cameras during the series and entertain him after.

It was unfortunate that the idea of what came after made my stomach twist.

I mulled over our interaction before the game and how I was already annoyed by Tyler.

He tugged me closer, his grip tightening. “You ready to make me look good?”

I swallowed hard and nodded. “Always.”

“That’s my girl,” Tyler said, his voice low and possessive, like he was proud of himself for owning me for now.

I bit the inside of my cheek, forcing another smile. I could play the part. I could pretend. But inside, I was already counting the minutes until it was over.

Narrowly missing being taken out by a woman’s long ponytail as she whipped around, I shook off my thoughts and walked up the tunnel that led to my seat.

I hesitated at the top, watching the players warming up on the ice. Some of the Dallas players were standing by the glass, talking to a group of gorgeous women in the front-row seats. I watched as the Dallas goalie held up his glove, and a woman who looked strangely familiar held up her hand on the other side to match him.

It was corny, but adorable, and there was a strange ache in my gut as I watched the group.

Having a partner in life, what did that feel like?

I couldn’t even comprehend it.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to steady the nerves rattling in my chest. This was just another job. Another game.

And I had chosen this.

That’s what I had to tell myself when the nights became long, and I wanted to throw up just from their touch, and it didn’t feel like I could continue.

I had chosen this.

And I deserved everything that came with it.

All I had to do was get through the series, act the part, and keep my head down.

I spotted Tyler leaning against the glass near where I would be sitting, his arms crossed, his gaze sweeping over the arena like he owned the place. Maybe that was an epidemic among NHL players, being full of themselves. As far as I knew he wasn’t a huge star—that would have made Everett balk at the job for sure—so Tyler was just one of those guys full of themselves for no apparent reason except he had been born. He noticed me coming down the stairs and flashed me a smirk as I approached. “You look hot,” he mouthed.

I forced a smile in return, trying to channel my role. I’d obviously never been a devoted girlfriend, or a girlfriend at all, but swooning seemed to be a requirement for the job title, right?

I could pretend to swoon.

He lifted his chin at me and winked before pushing off the glass and skating away.

I swallowed the bile creeping up my throat and pasted on a smile, even though no one around me seemed to have noticed the interaction.

Absentmindedly scanning the ice, I blinked when I saw one of the Dallas players…staring.

Thinking he must be looking at someone else, I glanced behind me, but there was no one. When I turned around, he was still looking.

Why was he staring at me?

And then…he took off his helmet. I wasn’t prepared for the jolt of lust that hit me the moment his face came into view. The rough edge of his jawline, sharp enough to cut through ice. The mess of blond hair, damp with sweat, falling haphazardly around his forehead. His eyes—bright, intense, dark green, like the forest at dusk, dangerous and consuming. Even from my seat, I could feel the intensity behind them, like he saw through everything and everyone. Like he could see me.

I couldn’t look away.

For a split second, everything around him seemed to blur, the noise of the arena fading into the background as I took him in. His expression was serious, focused, but there was something about the way his lips tugged at the corner in a small smirk that made him impossibly hotter to me. He wasn’t just good-looking—he was gorgeous, the kind of face that made everyone else pale in comparison.

He wiped a tattooed hand across his forehead, shaking out his hair, and I realized now I was the one staring. Not just staring—gawking. My pulse quickened, a flutter of nerves and something else—something I didn’t want to acknowledge—rising in my chest.

I yanked my gaze away, finding Tyler on the ice skating toward me. He leaned against the glass and smirked. Pinning my practiced, plastic smile to my lips, I pretended I was madly in love as he blew me a kiss.

So much for trying to stay under the radar.

Heat rushed to my cheeks—not the good kind, but the kind that made you want to crawl under your seat and disappear.

For some reason I found myself glancing at the Dallas player again.

He was a few strides away, near the edge of the ice, his stick gripped tight in his hands. Even with the helmet on, I could see the fury radiating off him. His entire body was coiled, his jaw clenched so hard I thought he might snap his mouthguard in half. Dark green eyes burned under the shadow of his visor, locked directly on Tyler with a ferocity that made the air feel ten degrees hotter.

Well, that was interesting. He looked like he wanted to kill him.

I glanced between the two of them, trying to piece it together. I was sure I would hear about it from Tyler later.

* * *

I hadn’t been sure of what to expect for my first hockey game.

But it certainly hadn’t been this.

Hockey, it turned out, wasn’t boring at all.

I’d also found out the name of the Dallas player I’d been drooling over—Logan York—and that the glare I’d seen him give Tyler…was because they hated each other.

“Fight! Fight! Fight!” the crowd chanted as Tyler and Logan dropped their gloves and went after each other for what felt like the millionth time of the game. Fists were flying, bodies slamming into the boards, helmets scattering like loose change on the ice. I couldn’t stop staring, a grin sliding onto my lips as Logan landed a vicious punch that sent Tyler reeling. Blood sprayed from Tyler’s mouth, dotting the ice like red confetti. The crowd went wild. That was what I liked to see.

“Wow,” I muttered under my breath as Logan shoved Tyler into the boards once more with enough force to make the plexiglass rattle. Tyler snarled something at him—something I couldn’t hear, but could guess, judging by the murderous look on Logan’s face. The ref tried to separate them, but Logan landed one last jab before being dragged away, his eyes still locked on Tyler like he wanted to murder him in front of the entire arena.

I bit back a laugh. Tyler, sputtering and furious, skated toward the penalty box, blood dripping onto the ice. Logan followed him moments later, slamming himself onto his bench with a grin that looked downright feral.

“They’re both insane,” I whispered, half to myself, as the game resumed.

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 was I doing?

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.