My brain actually short-circuits for half a second.
My eyes are wide as pucks. “You came to a hockey game and got bored? I’ve never heard that one before. My team may have been off its game, but there was plenty of action tonight. Goals, penalties—a guy even stopped the puck with his shin.”
I know I sound defensive, but I don’t care.
Hockey is anything but boring. It’s speed, precision, and controlled chaos. It’s the crack of sticks, the roar of the crowd, the split-second decisions that can make or break a season. It’s everything, at least to me. And she just—meh’d it.
“Right,” she says, averting her gaze. “Guess I was too busy exploring the buffet in the VIP lounge. Did you know they have lobster there?”
“I’m allergic to shellfish.” I give her a pointed look. “So, you’re reporting on a sport and you’re not even watching it?”
She shrugs. “Stripes lost, right? Even with that goal from you, the Stars were better. I got the highlights. That’s what matters.”
A ridiculous spark of satisfaction flickers in my chest. At least she watchedsomething. She paid attention. Even if she pretends she didn’t.
Still.Boring?
Beneath that spark is a sting under my ribs I didn’t expect. I don’t need everyone to love hockey the way I do. But part of me—the stupid, hopeful part—wants Harper to see what I see. To feel the surge of electricity when the puck hits the back of the net. To understand why this sport built me, saved me, gave me a life.
“Unacceptable,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. My tone is playful, but there’s a thread of real protest hidden there. “You can’t say hockey is boring if you haven’t watched it properly.”
She arches an eyebrow. “Properly? Am I supposed to be perched in the front row, wearing a jersey and shaking around a foam stick or something?”
“Um, yeah. That’s a good start. I’ll send some stuff over for the next game.”
If she’s going to cover this tournament, she’s going tofeelit. Even if I have to drag her there.
“I’m not doing it,” she says, leveling me with a stare that makes me feel more alive than I have in a long time.
“Yeah, you are.” I lean closer. “And in return, I’ll take you to a charity gala tomorrow.”
“Charity gala?” she asks, her curiosity clearly piqued.
“For the preservation of the oceans. A cause that’s dear to my heart.”
“I haven’t seen anything about a gala on your schedule, except the one on the eighteenth.”
“Oh, you’ve memorized my schedule?” I say, grinning despite myself. “I’m touched.”
“I’m just doing my job. Don’t flatter yourself,Baptiste,” she says—and the sound of my name rolling off her tongue sends a shiver through my entire body. It’s the first time she’s used it. Looks like the stupid nicknames are finally out the window.
“Suure.” I nod. “So, we have a deal? I guarantee it won’t be boring, and they’ll probably have lobster.”
She cocks her head to the side, a smile building slowly on her lips. “Well, then I have no choice but to say yes.”
11
Harper
The next day when I return from yet another afternoon of watching practice sessions and interviewing players, I have a surprise delivery waiting in my room. A bag with a Stripes cap, a foam finger, and a jersey boasting Number Two and Baptiste’s name printed across the back. My chest warms as I pick up the note that comes along with it:
“So you canproperlyenjoy the game tomorrow. Hockey isnotboring.”
I chuckle under my breath, shaking my head as I place everything neatly on my dresser for tomorrownight.
Tonight, on the other hand, I have to wear something a bit more classy. My job taught me you can get roped into a black-tie event out of the blue, so I always pack an evening dress. I also know from experience that I might stain the dress before I even leave the room, so I brought a backup. I opt for a simple backless black satin dress with black stilettos.
I’m doing my makeup when my phone rings, and my grandma’s face appears on the screen.
