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I glance over my shoulder at the one holding me. He’s younger than I originally imagined. Maybe in his thirties, with a reddish beard and hair. His eyes are brown. His jaw is square. He would be cute if he wasn’t looking at me like I might be a problem.
“Um…”
“Tell us the truth,” the first guy urges. “What did you hear?”
I shake my head. I should lie. I should just come up with something on the spot, but drunk brain doesn’t really work in time with my mouth. So by the time I consider making anything up, I’m already talking.
“Just something about getting money together. I don’t know what it was about. I’m sorry?—”
“She’s wasted,” one sneers.
I don’t know who. I’m focused on my shoes and the sudden urge to puke.
“Have another drink. On us.” The red beard guy slips a twenty in the front pocket of my jeans, and he spins me toward the door.
I stumble on my way out, but I definitely don’t stop.
At least I didn’t say I overheard all of their conversation. Getting the money together, not knowing what—that’s reasonable.
My shoulder hits the wall, and I let out a grunt of frustration. I stop in the hall and try to yank off my heel. I fumble with the clasp when they resume their conversation. Albeit a little quieter.
“It’s not a problem.”
“It might be a fucking problem.”
My heart is beating faster. They’re talking about me, aren’t they?
“We’ll discuss this on Friday. Do your part. Or else.”
I get my shoe off, then the other one. As soon as my heels touch the floor, I take off. And maybe I will have that next drink, if only to forget this conversation.
I swear, it’s like a scene right out of my book. Danger, a relatively hot, grumpy guy. But I didn’t fall over drooling, and I didn’t want to be there. And I’m definitely no heroine.
For a second, it kind of sounded like they were talking about rigging the Colorado Titans games for their gain. However that would work. I’d imagine if they fixed a game and bet against the Titans, they could rake in a good amount of cash. Maybe even more if they’re running their own gambling ring.
But that’s not possible. There are too many moving pieces in a hockey game, too many variables. It couldn’t be possible… right?
2
KNOX
I’m really fucking good at my job.
But not when I’m staring down the barrel of a gun.
It’s a metaphorical one, but a gun nonetheless. But I feel it aimed in my direction, ready to mow me down in a spray of bullets.
“Is that who I think it is?” Jacob Rhodes, my best friend, stops beside me. He follows my gaze up to the second level of the arena. “I’ve only seen her photo before.”
I nod slowly.
Aurora McGovern is at a fucking Colorado Titans game. We’re wrapping up our warm-ups, with half of our team already off the ice. We’re playing the New York Guardians, of all the teams. Before I was traded to the Titans, I played for the Guardians. I know, and am friends with, most of the Guardians. Except it’s all business now.
No hard feelings, but it would’ve been nice to get a few games under my belt with the Titans before facing my former team.
And now she is at the game.
A woman I swore I’d never lay eyes on again.
