Page 61 of Sin Bin

“Zoe?”

I turn to mysister. “Mhmm?”

She squirms under my stare. “I don’t want to be mean, but, like, would you go and do . . . something else? It’s bad enough that Mom told me that she’s coming to watch the second half oftheday.”

A burst of laughter escapes me. “What, am I ruiningyourgame?”

“Well, I mean”—she glances away at the rink—“it’s just that if you’re hanging around, Kyledefinitelywon’t talk to me. So, maybe youcould. . . ”

Message received, loud and clear. Planting my hands on my knees, I push to a standing position. Unlike most of the people in the ice rink, I’m not wearing skates. I may have developed a fondness for the game ever since working in Detroit, but I’ve never developed my ice-legs, ifyouwill.

Nope, I am currently content to stand on something that isn’tfrozenover.

“I’ll check in on you in a little bit,” I say, “or is that still too muchforyou?”

Tia shrugs. “It’lldo.”

It’ll do—soproper.

Tucking my binder under one arm, I climb down over the bleachers until I’m back on the firstlevel.

Today’s event is officially scheduled to begin in thirty minutes. After I discussed everything with Andre, it was relatively easy to pull Gwen in on the job. She knows countless media contacts in the area, and within three days, we had a waiting list for people who wanted to bear witness to the Blades’ first youth hockey camp. Even Walter managed to drum up some excitement in the last few days leading up to the event. The man hasn’t stopped singing my praises at the office, which is a major turn of events after theFame-speedodebacle.

But it wasn’t Golden Lights Media or my coworkers who turned out to be the most excited about today—one meeting with Andre, and his teammates were bursting at the seams withanticipation.

Then again, that might be because Andre left them little to nochoice.

Either they showed up and made the day a success, or he threatened to take it out on them inpractice.

With one glance around the rink, it’s safe to say that they allshowedup.

As I’m shuffling my binder into my bag, I sense Andre’s presence just before I hear his rough voice. “You pulled itoff,Zo.”

My eyes close at the nickname. “No,” I say, as he steps in front of me, “wedid it. Seriously, I couldn’t have pulled this offwithoutyou.”

His fingers brush mine, and I lift my gaze to his masculine face. Hard jawline. Soft, full lips. High cheekbones. The man is too handsome for his own good. “How about we agree todisagree,then?”

I tilt my head. “Do you evenknowhow?”

“Howtowhat?”

“Agree with someone,” I say with a smile. “I didn’t think it was in yourgenetics.”

He returns my smile, albeit his is a little rustier. “It’s a learned skill set. Thankfully, my teachers have let me out of theirevillair.”

Overhead, I hear the speakers kick on as the Blades’ coach, Hall, takes to the microphone to introduce the players onebyone.

“Shouldn’t you go over there?” I ask. “Rejoin your brethren for the day’sactivities?”

Slowly he shakes his head. “I will, but not yet. First, I need you to do somethingforme.”

Immediately, my brain goes to the direst situation. A kid has landed on a skate. A kid has thrown a puck at somebody’s face. A player has accidentally whacked a kid with astick.

Andre’s hand touches my shoulder, then cups the curve of my neck with a deep laugh. “Slow down, Zo. You’re already thinking theworst.”

“Well,yeah,” I mutter, “but look where we are. It’s a liability waiting to happen, which is why we have insurance in case somethinghappens.”

“Nothing is going tohappen.”

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