Page 37 of Head Over Skates

"Alright, more than sometimes," he admits. "I'm trying to work on it, though. Be less of a… what did you call me before? An egotistical meathead jock?"

I cringe, recalling the blog post from a few weeks ago. "Okay, yeah, I may have gotten a little carried away with the insults."

We share a tentative smile, the lingering awkwardness between us dissipating.

A charged silence fills the tiny office. Owen shuffles his feet.

"So listen, there's something else," he says finally. "Mark's been shooting his mouth off in the locker room about catching us last night. Now the whole team thinks we're hooking up."

My eyes go wide. “What?! Well, that's just great.”

Owen shrugs. "The guys have been giving me a hard time about it all day. I denied it at first, but that just made them tease me more. And, I figured it's better they think that than know we were snooping around like Scooby Doo."

I groan internally, already dreading the increased attention from Owen's loud, boisterous teammates. The last thing I need is to be the center of the hockey team's rumor mill. And I certainly don't want it to get to my friends. This is a huge mess.

"So I was thinking," Owen continues, fixing me with those bedroom eyes, "Maybe we should just let them believe we're together?"

I hesitate, chewing my lower lip.

He grins. "No funny business, I promise. You can go back to hating me after we solve the case."

I roll my eyes at his attempt to be charming. But despite myself, I feel a little flutter in my chest.

"Fine," I say, trying to sound nonchalant. "But this is a business arrangement only. No hanky panky."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he replies with a wink.

This is surely a terrible idea. But as Owen saunters back, I have a feeling this could spiral out of control if I don’t do something drastic. We need to find more evidence on Mark so I can get out of this arrangement.

I watch Owen swagger out of the office, no doubt heading to brag to his teammates about our supposed "hookup". Ugh. This is not good. The last thing I need is to become locker room gossip fodder for those Neanderthals.

But I have more pressing issues to deal with right now. Like figuring out who actually stole that trophy. As juicy as it would be for my blog followers, I just can't bring myself to falsely accuse Mark unless I'm 100% certain he's guilty. Which means it's time to do a little sleuthing of my own.

After the game ends, I linger around the arena parking lot, bundled in my warmest winter coat. I'm waiting to see which direction Mark heads after he finishes up his equipment manager duties. Sure enough, after about fifteen minutes, I spot him trudging down Front Street on foot.

I have a hunch where he might be going. Time for some good old-fashioned tailing. It’s much easier in the movies, though.

Just as I suspected, he heads straight for The Crowned Loon. It's the bar where most of the team hangs out after games. And the perfect place to try to get Mark to spill some secrets after a few drinks.

I wait a few minutes after Mark goes inside before following him in.

I slide inside, wrinkling my nose at the stale beer smell permeating the whole place. The bar is packed and noisy. As a woman frequenting a hockey bar alone, I might as well be wearing a sign that says "Puck Bunny Seeking No Strings Attached Fun."

But desperate times call for desperate measures. I need to get Mark talking, and this is his domain.

I spot him bellied up to the bar, beer already in hand. He's chatting with the bartender, but I can't quite make out what they're saying over the din. Even in his civilian clothes he looks uncomfortable, shoulders hunched, leg jiggling nervously.

"Fancy seeing you here," I say brightly, plopping onto the stool next to him.

Mark startles, sloshing some foam over his glass. “Oh, hey Emily.” He looks around. “Where’s Owen?”

I swat an imaginary fly. “Psshh. Oh, that guy? He’s not my boyfriend or anything.”

Now Mark is genuinely confused. I can imagine he just sees me as Owen’s lovesick girly. Another notch on his hockey stick.

“Yeah,” I say, trying to appear like one of those worldly ladies. “Just felt like checking out the infamous Crowned Loon. I can see why you guys love it here." I force an enthusiastic grin.

Mark eyes me suspiciously. "No offense, but this doesn't really seem like your scene."

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