Page 16 of Head Over Skates

After toweling off and getting dressed in comfortable clothes, I find her in the hallway. She's carrying her purse and looks like she's just finishing up for the night. Her wavy blonde hair is pulled back in a messy bun, face scrubbed clean of makeup. Even in jeans and a hoodie, she looks cute, though I'd never admit it.

A slow smile spreads across my face as I remember the "compliments" she paid me in that sassy blog post last night. It's time for a little payback.

"Going somewhere, Kitty Cat?" I ask, leaning against the wall to block her exit.

Those whiskey eyes widen in surprise. "Jablonski? What are you still doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question. But I think we both know the answer."

She blinks those big hazel eyes innocently. "What are you talking about?"

"You know what." I cross my arms. "That blog post you wrote last night."

"Oh, that." She waves a hand. "I said lots of nice things about you, too. The donations you make, how you're the team's leading scorer..."

"You also called me 'cocky,' 'hot-headed,' and 'unable to take criticism.'"

She shrugs. "I mean, it's not untrue."

I clench my jaw. She's infuriating. "It's completely uncalled for. You're supposed to be writing fluff pieces, not critiquing my personality."

"I'm a journalist, Owen. I call it like I see it."

“Journalist? I think you’re using that term a little too freely.” I take a step toward her. She stands her ground, chin lifted defiantly. "So here's the deal. You're not leaving my sight until you write another post—a positive one that I approve of. And I'm going to watch you write… Every. Single. Word."

She lets out a sharp laugh. "Yeah, that's not happening."

"Well, I'm not taking my eyes off you until you do. So either we go to your place, or you come to mine." I let my gaze travel down her body.

She shudders. "Ugh, I don't trust you alone at my place, and no way am I going to your sex lair."

I roll my eyes. "It's just a nice bachelor pad."

"Uh-huh. Well, we can stay here if you want me to write a new post tonight. But we are not going anywhere alone together."

I look around the empty hallway and grin. "The Zamboni office it is."

I grab her hand before she can protest and lead her down the hall. I am not prepared for the shot of electricity straight to my chest from the feel of her skin. But I’m committed to it, so I hold on tight. She grumbles but doesn't resist. This might actually be fun.

We settle in the tiny office, knees bumping under the cramped desk. With every touch, my stomach coils with a feeling that’s been dormant in me for a long time. But I’m here to play it cool, so I lean back and clasp my hands behind my head, watching as she pulls up the blog on her laptop.

"Go on then, compliment away," I say with a smug grin.

She types a few words, then pauses, nibbling her lip in concentration. I find myself staring at her mouth and have to drag my eyes away. Focus, Jablonski. This is about revenge, not about how hot she looks right now.

I watch her bite her lip in concentration, leg bouncing with nervous energy. Man, she's cute. And fiery. I can't remember the last time someone stood up to me like that. It's kind of hot.

Stay focused, Jablonski.

"So what are you writing about me?" I prod. "My charity work? Hockey skills? Chiseled abs?"

She lets out an exaggerated sigh. "Yes, Owen, I'm writing all about your perfect abs and how you score goals left and right and donate millions to orphaned baby pandas."

"Now you're getting it," I laugh.

She shakes her head, suppressing a smile. "I can't concentrate with you looming over me."

"Oops, my bad." I make a show of leaning away to give her space, but keep my eyes glued to the screen.

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