Page 74 of Sinful Secrets

If he won’t answer my call, maybe he will read my messages.

Please call me and let me explain my side of things.

Please Spencer.

I don’t want to lose you. I love you.

It’s not what you think it is.

I haven’t done anything to deserve the freeze from you.

Please, Spencer, just talk to me.

Please.

I’m so sorry for not telling you about the detective when he approached me.

There are only so many ways to apologize, and I’ve pretty much exhausted my means. There’s nothing else I can do to try to get him to listen to me.

An idea pops into my head. Maybe one of his teammates is still at the arena and knows where Spencer is. A surprise visit before the game tonight will make him listen.

Right?

It has to be worth a shot.

I grab my duffle bag, phone, wallet, and keys and head downstairs to my car. The drive to the arena only takes a few minutes. I park in my assigned spot and speed walk to the arena.

After dropping my bag in the locker room, I make my way down the player’s tunnel. Several cleaning and event staff give me a head nod as we walk past each other.

I guess everyone is gone for the day.

I’m about to turn around and head to the locker room, but the sound of skates scraping the ice grabs my attention.

Practically running, I make my way to the ice where someone is skating down and back the length of the ice. The man has short brown hair, similar to Spencer.

My heart sinks into my stomach as the man turns around and skates toward the other end of the ice.

It’s not Spencer, but it could be one of his friends.

I lean against the boards and watch as he pushes himself for several minutes without taking a break. When he gets to one net, he skates around the back of it before heading back toward the other.

Is he training this hard right before a game? Is he injured and trying to get back to peak performance?

The mystery man isn’t wearing a Savannah Sharks uniform or pads, for that matter. Maybe he’s an athletic trainer and wants to get in a cardio session before tonight’s game.

The man continues skating down the ice and back until his gaze catches mine. A smile forms on his face as he skates over to me.

His beard is like Spencer’s. It’s trimmed and neatly combed, but his golden brown eyes are more mysterious than Spencer’s blue gaze ever could be.

I return his smile and hold up my hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your workout or stare at you like I have no manners. I was looking for someone.”

He laughs and stretches his hand out. “Gage Roberts, and I’m used to having an audience. You can’t be in this sport and have performance anxiety.”

I recognize his name from my research on the team. He’s Spencer’s teammate, wears the number eight, and is a defenseman.

Shaking his hand, I say, “Savannah Whitlock.”

His eyes light up, like he recognizes my name. “You’re one of the new ice girls, right?”

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