Page 40 of Head Over Skates

Owen presses a protective hand on my lower back as he guides me down the street.

"Where do you live?"

"The Regency Apartments… on Queen."

"Do you have a car?"

I shake my head. Who needs a car in Toronto?

"And you walk home from the arena every night? All alone?"

"It's not that far."

He shakes his head in disbelief. "I'm walking you home. No arguments."

I don't have it in me to argue. I nod gratefully, and we set off down the street, shoulders hunched against the chill.

As we walk, Owen keeps up a steady stream of mindless chatter, for which I'm thankful. The normalcy of his voice helps calm my frayed nerves. Owen's deep voice rumbles with amusement as he regales me with funny stories from the locker room, like the time the rookie Mason slipped on a puddle and faceplanted right into the buffet table. It's nice to see this softer, sillier side of the usually stoic team captain.

The biting wind seems less harsh with Owen's bulk shielding me. I sneak glances at his chiseled profile when he's not looking, taking in the strong line of his jaw and the way his nose turns up slightly at the end.

By the time we reach my apartment building, I'm feeling much more like myself. We pause outside the front door and I turn to Owen, laughing as I recall what he said to that guy in the bar.

"Touch her again, and no one will ever find you? Where did that come from?"

He shrugs. "I probably got it from a Robert DeNiro movie."

"Thanks again for coming to my rescue tonight," I say sincerely.

He waves me off. "Don't mention it. What are fake boyfriends for?"

My smile fades. "Oh, right. I almost forgot." Then a thought snags. "Were you… following me?"

"No. You left the arena before I had a chance to tell you the news I learned. Luckily, Griffin saw you chasing after Mark. It didn't take much sleuthing to find you."

"You… have news?"

"I overheard Coach talking to someone in his office. They were behind a door—I didn’t see who it was. Apparently, there was a gum wrapper found among the broken trophy case glass. A detail we didn't know because we're not the police."

"Then it couldn't be Mark," I say. "He told me he has trouble chewing things because of cracked fillings."

"That's what I wanted to tell you."

"That Mark has dental problems?"

"No. But thank you for that information. I wanted to tell you that I don't think the thief was Mark. The wrapper is from a premium chewing gum called Éclat d'Érable. They only sell it in Quebec."

I gasp. "The Nordiques!"

"It would seem so."

"That's kind of a stretch, though. Pinning a crime on someone based on their chewing gum preferences."

"We're playing in Quebec City next week. Come with me. Maybe you can find clues that I can't."

"Um… hard pass."

"Why? I checked the schedule. There are no events at the Dome next week."

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