Page 113 of The Fake Out Flex

"No worries. Let me know if you need anything."

We exchange fist bumps, then Evie and I leave.

"You okay?" I ask, wrapping my arm around her as we head to the elevator bank.

"Yeah. Fine. Sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned work. It's depressing, and I didn't want to bum you guys out even more. It's been a rough night for both of you."

I press the button. "You can bum me out anytime you want to. Use me as a sounding board during our chat dates, if you want."

She smiles, but the sparkle doesn't reach her eyes. "Thanks. I appreciate that. I've actually come up with an idea for a story."

"Care to share?" I ask as we step into the elevator.

"Not yet. But it's gonna be big."

"I'm intrigued."

"Good."

"All right. Be vague and mysterious, then."

"I intend to. I will say this, though. It airs in two days, and I strongly recommend you try to catch it live."

"I'll have to see where I'll be and what I'll be doing, but I'll do my best."

We're mostly quiet on the ride back to the hotel room.

I'm worried about Evie. I can tell when she's masking her problems, and she's masking big time tonight.

I'm concerned for Culver, too.

He's two years older than me, and while twenty-seven isn't ancient in normal-people years, the average retirement age for hockey players is between twenty-eight and thirty. An injury at his age could spell the end for his career, which I'm sure is the last thing he wants. Hockey is his life.

And I'm nervous about what I want to bring up with Evie. But it's a good nervous, if that makes sense?

Spending time with her, whether it's in person or on our chat dates, is changing me. I've taken Dawn's advice to heart, and I'm opening up to Evie even more. It feels good. A bit strange since I'm not used to being like this, but good.

"What floor are you on?" I ask her once we're in the hotel lobby.

"Fourteen. You?"

"Sixteen."

We hop into the elevator and ride up without a word.

I'm exhausted. Physically and mentally. Tonight's been bruising, and I have an early-morning flight to catch tomorrow, headed to Florida for our next game.

When the doors ping open on the fourteenth floor, I step out with her.

She turns to me, clearly surprised. "What are you doing?"

"Escorting you to your room, naturally."

"Right. Because the fourteenth floor of The Four Seasons is renowned for being a place no young lady should walk unescorted."

"Especially at this late hour," I play along.

She rolls her eyes and giggles as we head toward her room.

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