Page 7 of The Romance Line

I don’t have the heart to saymaybe neverso I reply, “I hope so.”

As he rolls up the cables, he stops suddenly mid-roll. “Oh, did you hear?”

The wordsdid you hearnever lead anywhere positive. I glance around, making sure no one’s within earshot. “Did I hear what?” I ask with false bravado, pretending this will be good news when my gut already tells me it’s not.

Ian flashes an apologetic smile. “Lyra Raine’s in town.”

My smile takes a dive straight into the Puget Sound. “She is?” I scratch out.

A sigh of resignation comes from the podcaster. “She’s here for a surprise show tonight. Although I guess herconcert’s not a surprise anymore,” he says. “She dropped it on social this morning.”

This is bad. This is really bad. The entertainment press will leach onto Max after the game, trying to corner him, to find out if this means he’s back together with the pop star who broke his heart more than a year ago. The press loves a second-chance romance, and they won’t stop until they get a response or a rise out of him.

I’ll have to run some serious interference for the goalie who hates me. “Appreciate the heads-up, Ian,” I say, grateful for the tip and ready to track down Max and warn him. “I should get out of here. I’ll find Joe and let him know I have to take off.”

The tour will have to wait.

“Take care, Everly,” Ian says, then snaps his podcast case closed.

“And hey, be sure to eat a bag of dicks,” I say as he heads to the door.

With a chuckle, like he can’t believe what he’s saying, he calls out, “And you…eat a bag of dicks yourself.”

Laughing, I shoo him off, then spin around and beeline to the coffee counter. As I walk, I tap out a message to my counterpart on the Seattle team, asking for some help tonight with security. When I reach the counter, I look up again, tucking my phone away. Joe’s serving a customer, and once he’s done, he flashes me an awkward smile. “Can I show you around?”

“Actually,” I say, frowning apologetically, “I’ve got a pressing thing I need to take care of.”

He frowns too. “Shoot. I’m sorry to hear that.” In no time, he moves around the counter, leaving a tattooed gal with a pierced nose to handle the rest of the customers, while he comes to me, standing awfully close. I don’t needto know what he ate for breakfast—sausage and coffee, I think.

I inch back, and now I’m the awkward one. “Me too. I was looking forward to the tour. Maybe next time.”

He steps closer again, not getting the hint. “Definitely. Also, I’ve been expanding in San Francisco and would love to get your thoughts on that.”

Hoisting up my bag higher on my shoulder, like I’m using it as a wedge to shoehorn myself a little bit of personal space, I inch away a second time. “I’m not sure how I can help, but if I can I’ll do my best,” I say. It’s not quite a no, but I’d like it to be one without being rude.

“And maybe,” he says, his lips crooking up as footsteps echo behind me, likely coffee shop customers milling about and grabbing their drinks, “I could take you out to dinner there? They might not have a bag of dicks but I’m sure we can find something good.”

Well, that escalated quickly.

“I’m not sure,” I begin, working on an excuse that’ll be diplomatic since we sort of have a business relationship.

He slides closer, cuts in with, “It’ll be fun. I promise.”

But before I can say another word, a wall of a man is right next to me. Like he came out of nowhere.

He’s tall and glowering as he stares at Joe like he wants to rip him apart. “She’s busy that night.”

Max Lambert is here, turning down the date for me.

What gives him the right to speak for me? I scrunch my brow and turn to him. “How do you know?” The question flies out of my mouth.

Max lifts a coffee cup, then takes a long, leisurely sip. When he’s done, he says, “You’re booked most nights.” There’s zero remorse for butting in—only certainty that he’s done the right thing.

I narrow my eyes at the big hockey star who’s inexplicably here. “You don’t know my schedule or when he’s coming to town.”

Max shrugs, like he’s completely unfazed. “I took a guess. Bet I’m right.”

I’m so shocked he’d turn down a date for me, even one I was hunting for a way to turn down myself, that I don’t even know what to say next to him.

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