Page 13 of Fractured Ice

"We can talk through the logistics," I say. "Maybe later, you could come by, we could—" My brain is supposed to say common room or kitchen or literally any room that isn't the next word that comes out of my mouth. "Head to my room."

Sienna looks up from her phone.

I hear it the second it lands. The way it sounds. The way it sounds given this morning and the kickball and you look good wet, and every single thing about the last eight hours… I watch her expression do something that is not good.

"Your room," she says.

"I didn't mean⁠—"

"Let me be really clear with you." She takes one step forward, and I actually have to work to hold my ground because she's got about six inches on me in terms of sheer force of energy. Her finger comes up and presses once into the center of my chest. "I'm not one of your jersey chasers. I'm not here because I want to spend time in your room or anywhere that isn't directly related to this project. This is professional. There's nothing happening between us. There will be nothing happening between us."

"Sienna, I wasn't⁠—"

"Nine AM," she says. "Tomorrow. I'll come to the hockey house. We'll do the first interview in the kitchen or the common room or somewhere that has other people in it." She holds my gaze for one more second and it takes everything I have not to look away. "Don't be late."

She turns and walks away before I can put together a single coherent response.

I stand there in the January cold and watch her go. I feel like an absolute idiot, which is a feeling I've spent years collecting specifically in her presence. Knox is somewhere behind me, I can feel it. I turn around and he's ten feet away with his hands in his pockets trying very hard to look like he wasn't watching all of that.

"That was brutal," he says, then he starts soundlessly laughing, desperately trying to hide it, and failing.

"I said my room."

"I heard." He wheezes out a laugh.

"I don't know why I said that. My brain said common room and my mouth said my room."

He’s trying to compose himself. "These things happen."

"Do they happen to you?"

"In your defense," he says, walking over, "she didn't walk away. She gave you a time to meet, at least."

I look at him. "I’m sure that’s only because she had to for the project."

"Still… nine AM tomorrow," he says. "She's coming. She's mad, but she's coming." He claps me on the shoulder. "That's something."

I look back in the direction she went. She's already gone, disappeared around the corner of the building, and all that's left is the cold air, the feeling of her finger against my chest, and nine AM tomorrow burned into my head like a notification I'm never going to dismiss.

Knox is right. She's coming.

She's furious and she made it very clear that she thinks I'm exactly the kind of guy she's already decided I am, so I've got a lot of ground to cover and probably not a lot of chances to cover it.

But she's coming.

I can work with that.

4

Sienna

I'm there at nine on the dot because I always try my best to be on time, and also because showing up late to something I already had to argue my way into would be professionally humiliating.

The hockey house is a large Victorian just off campus, clearly owned privately and rented out to college students, just like the house I’m staying at, two streets down. I knock twice. Nothing. I try the handle and the door swings open, which tells me everything I need to know about the security situation here, and I step inside.

The common room is mostly empty. Someone's left a half-eaten box of cereal on the coffee table. There's a hockey bag in the corner that may or may not have been there since the fall. And Knox Carter is sitting on the couch with his feet up and a bowl of something. The second he sees me, his entire face does something deeply suspicious.

"Sienna Park," he says, like I'm the most entertaining thing that's happened to him all morning.