Page 51 of Head Over Skates

Sawyer is probably the worst flirt of the whole bunch. If anyone on the team is a player, it’s him. He could use getting shot down a peg or two.

I hear the oohs of the guys inside, like I just threw down the gauntlet. Hendrix Ellis sneaks up behind Sawyer with a wet towel and smacks it right on Sawyer’s butt.

“She got you there, bro.”

I don’t stick around to find out what happens next, especially since Coach Knight is rounding them up to enforce order. I don’t envy his job.

Once the second period starts, I wait a while until most of the staff clear out. When I think it’s safe, I creep down the hallways looking for the coach's office. I can hear the dull roar of the crowd filtering down from the stands above me. There are still lots of people walking down the hallways, but not as many while the game’s on.

I move away from the main action and get a little lost before I find a stretch of hallway with offices. They look pretty nondescript. I jiggle a few doorknobs, but they’re all locked. I'm starting to think this is pointless when a voice startles me frombehind. I nearly jump right out of my body, but a gentle hand lands on my shoulder.

“It is I, mon cherie.”

Whew. I just got caught jiggling doorknobs by Alphie, the Zamboni driver and almost peed my pants. What has my life come to?

I press my hand over my chest, sucking in a deep breath. “Alphie! You startled me.”

He smiles warmly, giving more definition to the deep lines around his eyes.

“I used to have a different effect on pretty women,” he says with a wistful expression. “When I was a young man.”

“If you were any more charming than you are now,” I say. “You probably broke more than a few hearts.”

He laughs and shakes his head, signaling toward the door across the hall. It has Claude Rousseau’s name on it. “They lock the doors.”

“Oh really?” I swallow hard. “Not that I care.”

He winks, producing a huge ring filled with keys. “If someone were to go inside this office, they might find information on how to beat Les Nordiques.”

I feign innocence, but Alphie grins at me as he unlocks the door, then presses his finger to his lips. “Shhh. I didn’t see a thing.”

Rising to my tippy toes, I kiss him on the cheek, and a blush of red sprinkles his face.

“You sure know how to woo a girl.”

“My dear,” he says. “If I were fifty years younger, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

The flirty confidence in his sly smile arouses not-so-unwelcome thoughts of Owen. “I believe you,” I say, and as he walks away, I check my feelings.

I am not falling for Owen. Nope.

My heart beats like crazy as I sneak inside the office. I am not built for this. Even when I watch movies where the character breaks into places, I can hardly breathe until the scene is over. The ones where they’re downloading evidence on a thumb drive are the worst. I’m always certain someone will catch them. I do not have a thumb drive. Are those even a thing anymore?

I scan the room, looking for anything suspicious. Diagrams and stats cover a whiteboard. Equipment bags litter the floor. After what feels like an eternity of fruitless searching, I'm about to give up when a glint of gold catches my eye. There, in the corner of the room, sits a glimmering bowl of gum. Not just any gum though—Éclat d'Érable, known for its gold foil wrapper.

“Oh you are so guilty,” I whisper into the dark.

Suddenly, the doorknob turns. I shove a few pieces of gum in my pocket just as Claude Rousseau walks in. He eyes me suspiciously.

"What are you doing in my office?" he demands in a French accent.

I scramble for an excuse. "I, uh, was looking for the bathroom. Sorry, I got lost!"

He continues staring me down, unconvinced. Why is he back here and not rinkside? Is it second intermission already?

I force a smile and slip past him before he can question me further. My heart is still racing as I go search for Owen. He’s not going to believe this.

17

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