Page 18 of Mistletoe Face Off

Macy looks at me as though I’m speaking in a foreign language. “What are you talking about, Mommy?”

I shoot her a smile. “Mommy’s just being silly.”

We climb out of the car and trudge across the sludge-smeared parking lot and into the arena. The place is thumping with pop music playing over the sound system and a crowd abuzz with excitement in the bleachers. I flash my press pass at a security guard, who waves me through to a cordoned off area next to the plexiglass—a perfect view of the ice for my wannabe figure skater daughter. A wannabe figure skater daughter who is too scared to get on the ice herself, that is.

Looking around, it's as though I've stumbled into a parallel universe where all its inhabitants are freakishly tall with impossibly broad shoulders and good looks. Several of them look me up and down, grinning, and I do my best to hold my head high and smile pleasantly but not encouragingly. I've got a job to do today, and sadly for me, that job includes not only talking with these man-apes, but tracking down the elusive Harrison Clarke to probe him about his past so I can dazzle my boss with my journalistic skills—and secure that promotion to the National News team.

Of course I've got no idea what skeletons Harrison has lurking in his closet, but then I guess a lot of water has passed under the bridge since we were at high school together. Twelve years, to be precise. Who knows what he could have got up to in that time?

Tonight I intend to find out.

And, if I'm completely honest with myself, it would be nice to see the guy I used to crush on once more, even if it's only to ask him questions he won't want to answer.

“Well, hello again,” Lorcan Stanbridge says as he sidles up next to us.

I thought I sensed slime nearby.

“What happened to your costume? You made one sexy Mrs. Claus, you know. I liked it a lot,” he says with more than a hint of lasciviousness.

“Did you meet my daughter, Lorcan?” I ask pointedly. Coming onto me in front of my daughter? If I didn’t already dislike the guy, I sure would now.

Lorcan’s eyes flick to Macy briefly. “Hey there, kid. You a fan of ice hockey?”

“No. I’m a fan of figure skating,” she replies, and I can't help but smile.Atta girl, Macy.

“Ice hockey’s way cooler, you know. I could get you one of my jerseys, and one for your mom,” he replies but Macy just looks at him blankly.

“Thanks but no thanks,” I reply.

Lorcan shrugs. “Your loss, baby.”

“Is Harrison Clarke here today?” I ask, not thinking it’s either my or Macy’s loss in the slightest. I look around. I might not have seen him in person since we were at high school, but he's a well-known face in this city. I'm sure to recognize him if he were here.

“What do you want with Clarke?” Lorcan drawls.

“I'm a journalist, remember? I'm going to ask him some questions.”

“I’ll answer any question you want. Why not ask me?”

I plaster on my sweetest smile. “Because you're not Harrison Clarke.”

The smarmy look on his face drops briefly before he pulls it back together. “He'll be here later,” he sniffs before he turns to leave, clearly giving up on flirting with me.

Thank goodness for that.

Lorcan Stanbridge is the kind of guy who makes my skin crawl.

After a while, and no sign of Harrison Clarke, the VIP area all but empties out of oversized men, and I'm not surprised when someone announces that the Blizzard are about to take to the ice.

Macy and I find a couple of seats, and with their theme song playing, and the announcer calling out each player’s name as though they're about to play an actual game, they sail out one at a time onto the ice to rapturous applause from the audience, many of whom are wearing their numbers on their jerseys.

I watch with interest as Dan Roberts, the team captain, slides across the ice, grinning and waving at everyone. He's quickly followed by Fletcher “The Steel” Steele, then Liam Carruthers, Lorcan the Slime—not his actual name, just the one I’m using in my head—Dion O’Neill, Chase Robinson, Hunter “The Enforcer” Adams, and their goalie, Casey Phillips.

Just as I'm beginning to wonder whether Harrison Clarke has left the team altogether, out he comes onto the ice as his name is called and the assembled masses clap and cheer and call his name, as though he just hit the winning goal in a Stanley Cup match.

He stops and waves at the crowd, his handsome face lifted in a confident smile that lights up his features, just as it did back in high school. His green eyes sparkle with mischief, and his strong jaw and dark groomed hair make him look rugged, athletic, and refined at the same time.

He looks my way and entirely against my will, my belly does a flip.

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