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Pros, millionaires—they likely had a good grasp of what luck looked like. Piper grabbed her tote.
Dahlia walked her out. “Take the elevator to the tunnel level, turn left, and the ice rink will be straight in front of you.”
They hugged goodbye, and Piper rode the elevator down.
The doors swooshed open to cooler air with no signs of malfunctioning. Things were looking up. Piper rubbed her arms and walked through a tunnel toward the chill. The passageway stopped at a latched half-door. On either side, a low wall topped with plexiglass formed a barrier between the ice rink and the row upon row of light blue seats that extended all the way up to the white-beamed, brilliantly lit ceiling. The center of which had a giant rotating black puck holding a pale blue snowball lit from the inside. She’d been coming here since she was a kid but had never seen the stands empty.
She’d found the arena. Her heartbeat picked up, and she placed her bag by the gate. Now, she’d take on the lions.
CHAPTER 3
Out on the ice, Coach spoke to his huddled team.
“Focus, men. Hockey. Puck. Rink. This is not how I thought our first pre-season meeting would go. But there it is, circumstances change. I thought I’d be spending my first year getting you up in the rankings. Then some ice-blogger statistician, know-nothing posts that we have what it takes to win the Cup. Statistically. But that the teams’ social graces will prevent you men from being fan favorites.” Coach rubbed the back of his neck. “Social graces. In case you’re confused, they’re talking about your delinquent behavior. If that doesn’t chill your party school attitude, this might. Dodo’s taken a fiancée, name’s Dahlia. Brush up on your respect, boys. Don’t know what that means? Check with the Canadians.”
A voice came from the back. “How does the owner getting hitched affect us?”
“Well, you know those bar celebrations the organization hosts?” Number thirty-six said.
Number fourteen swiped his arms straight out to his sides. “Over.”
Piper needed to look up the names to go with the numbers, because from this vantage point, all she could detect was big guys and groans.
Number thirty-six skated back a foot, faced his team, and cupped his hands in front of him. He hopped them up and down. “Know those puck bunnies sneaking through the tunnels with special access?”
“Over.” Again, number fourteen was ready with the response.
This time their masculine groans held a whimpering undertone.
Jeez.
“Do we need to get Dodo a present?” asked number eighty-three.
Piper scanned the numbers, looking for the number she was interested in, number sixty-five, Mikah Czerski, aka elevator guy. And there he was. Her insides shimmied, hello handsome.
Mikah elbowed the guy asking about the gift. “Rookies should shut up and listen for the first few weeks.”
“Yeah.” One of the guys snorted his agreement.
The rookie shoved the snorter who pushed back. This went on until Mikah got between them. Mikah turned to the Coach. “Well, do we, Coach?” Mikah shamelessly echoed the question he’d shot down.
Coach held out his big hands, shrugged, and nodded. “Buy a group gift, have one of your girlfriends arrange a suitable present.”
More than one big guy shifted on his skates. Wise, because things were a-changing.
Piper opened the gate latch.
“After our preseason puck party hit social media, we got no girlfriends left. Well, maybe Captain’s. And Liam’s for sure. Bianca puts up with anything,” one of the guys in the back said.
“Shut up,” number fourteen said. He had to be Liam. “And don’t look at me. I’m not stupid enough to use the word wedding in the same sentence with a woman. They get thoughts.”
Yeah, sometimes women did get thoughts. The fact that it had to be said aloud as a special message was concerning.
Enough waiting.
Piper nudged the gate open and stepped down onto the rink. One second later, her stiletto-clad feet slid forward, and she clutched the top of the half-door to keep her balance. The purity pamphlet slipped from her pocket and flapped onto the ice like an embarrassing paper airplane trying to lift off to escape its own existence.
Not unlike her own emotions. Her back was to the men, but she couldn’t turn around on the slippery ice, not without taking a tumble in a minidress. This had to happen on G-string day. That bit of elastic covered zero areas where she wanted frostbite. She should have freaking asked for two thousand dollars for this step.
