The PT room door is right there. Marnie’s office. Safe harbor.
I duck inside without thinking, shutting the door behind me andleaning against it like that’s going to stop a six-foot-six wall of muscle if he really wants in.
“Doc, I need you to hide me,” I say, slightly out of breath. “Roman’s about to commit a murder and I’m too young and pretty to die.”
“I’m with a patient, Rodriguez.”
Patient?
I look past her and my brain completely screeches to a halt because Juliette is sitting on the treatment table.
Juliette. HERE.
I hear footsteps coming down the hall and I don’t think, I just drop, pressing myself against the side of the treatment table like that’s going to help.
Which puts me at eye level with Juliette’s bare calf.
Marnie’s asking me something. What did I do, why is Roman mad, something about posting videos without permission—I should probably answer her but I’m having trouble forming thoughts because I’m approximately eight inches away from the smoothest skin I’ve ever seen in my life.
“Rodriguez is behind the treatment table,” Marnie says right as Roman enters the room.
Narc.
Roman’s looming over me, threatening to make me eat my phone, and I’m deleting the video—both copies, yes, even the backup—while crouched on the floor next to Juliette’s leg while she watches all of this unfold with an eyebrow raised. If she didn’t think I was a complete idiot before, she definitely does now.
Three days later,we’re heading to the arena—Zach for practice, me for PT and boredom when I get an idea.
“Let’s stop by Pucks & Pucks.”
“We don’t have time for that.”
“We have plenty of time. Come on, I’ll be quick.”
“Choose somewhere else.” Zach’s grip tightens on the steering wheel. “It’s on the wrong side of the road. I don’t want to have to make a U-turn.”
“Since when do you care about U-turns?”
“Since now.”
“You’re being weird about this.”
“I’m not being weird.”
“You’re being so weird. Anderon’s daughter is probably working, I haven’t seen her in a while. She makes the best lattes.” I point at the next street. “Turn there.”
Zach rolls his eyes, but he turns.
The bell jingles as we walk in, and Mackie Anderson looks up from behind the counter. Her eyes land on Zach first before sliding to me.
“Rodriguez.” She leans on the counter. “Back for another maple latte your figure skater doesn’t want?”
“Peppermint mocha, actually. I’m evolving.”
“Groundbreaking.” She grabs a cup. “And for Zach?”
“Caramel latte,” I say. “Since he hated the black coffee last time.”
“Zach’s not really into caramel.” Mackie says it without thinking, already reaching for a marker. “He’s more of a hazelnut guy?—”
