Page 51 of Expose on the Ice

"Carter, man, everything okay here?"

I whirl around to see Tank approaching. Although he has a casual smile on his face, it’s far from friendly. He glances between Lily and me, clearly sensing the tension, and probably worried about what I might do at a public event.

"Get lost, Tank," I snap, barely sparing him a glance. "This doesn’t concern you."

Tank hesitates, shifting his weight nervously. "Are you sure? Because it looks like?—

"I said get lost!" I roar, my patience finally snapping.

Tank raises his hands in surrender and backs away, watching from a respectful distance, and leaving Lily and me alone oncemore. I turn back to her, my jaw clenched so tight it aches, and it takes all my willpower not to explode further.

"We’re done," I say instead, my voice cold and final. The words taste like ash in my mouth, but I force them out anyway. "No more interviews. No more access. No more tricking me into thinking you give a shit. No more making me feel feelings that are total bullshit. No more dresses. No more cleavage. No more flirting."

"Carter," she sobs. "I?—

"You got your story. Now leave me alone."

Lily’s face crumples, a tear finally escaping and trailing down her cheek. For a split second, I feel a pang of regret, an urge to reach out and comfort her. But I squash it ruthlessly, reminding myself of the pain her actions have caused.

"I mean it, Lily," I say, my voice low and dangerous. "Stay away from me, my family, my team, and mypast. If I see you sniffing around for more dirt, I’ll make sure you never work in sports journalism again. I will make it my life’s work to destroy you."

"Carter, please," Lily pleads, reaching out to touch my arm, her sobs turning into heaving gasps.

I jerk away as if her touch burns. "Don’t," I warn, my voice cracking slightly. "Just… don’t."

CHAPTER 20

CARTER

As I slump onto the barstool, I signal the bartender for a whiskey. Neat. Double. The burn as it slides down my throat is a welcome salve to the gaping wound that reporter had cleaved into my life, thatLilyhad inflicted on me.

But, if nothing else, I’d limited any further damage that could occur. I’d cut Lily out, protected myself from further betrayal, ensured nobody found out about the cover-up, and buried any brief romantic feeling six feet deep.

So why do I feel like shit?

The bar is mercifully quiet, just a few regulars nursing their drinks. No one to recognize me, no one to ask me questions. I’d chosen this dive precisely because it was the last place anyone would expect to find me. The ice is my usual refuge, but now everyone knows that, thanks to Lily’s digging.

I knock back the rest of my drink, gesturing for another. The bartender raises an eyebrow but complies. As he sets the fresh glass in front of me, he moves away, clearly catching the vibe that I’m not in the mood to talk.

A chorus of laughter catches my attention. I turn, my eyes landing on a group of women near the pool tables. I hadn’t seenthem before, tucked around a corner of the bar. But as I look at them, one of them looks back at me, and clearly recognizes me.

Shit.

The woman says something to her friends, shares a smile and a laugh with them, and makes her way over to me. As she does, I size her up. She’s attractive, in a different way than Lily. Where Lily is all subtle curves and warm smiles, this woman is all sharp angles and cool style.

She’s dressed to kill in a tight black dress that fits like a glove, despite her lack of curves. The neckline plunges dangerously low, and the hem barely skims mid-thigh, showcasing long, toned legs. She looks sharp enough to cut yourself on.

"Hi," she says as she slides onto the stool next to me, her eyes sparkling with interest. "I’m Indiana."

I grunt, taking another swig of my whiskey. "Not interested in talking."

She raises an eyebrow, her lips curving into a smirk. "Who said anything about talking?"

I turn to face her fully, my eyes trailing over her body once more. I find myself drawn to the stark contrast between her and Lily…

God, how do I get my obsession with that reporter out of my head?I ask myself silently. Then, the answer is crystal clear.Well, Indiana it is…

"You always dress like you’re headed to a nightclub?" I ask, my voice gruff.

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