Page 13 of Power Pucking Play

"And you think that means you know me because we attend the same holiday dinners and exchange pleasantries?"

“You? Exchange pleasantries? That's rich."

He blinks, and a hint of heat floods his long-lashed eyes. "I seem to remember us exchanging quite a few...pleasantries inside your hotel room at the All-Star Afterparty."

My face heats, and I hope the bright lights in the practice facility will hide my blush. "That was a mistake."

"Really? Because I don't seem to recall you complaining at the time. Quite the opposite actually."

I open my mouth to retort, but then I remember our conversation about truth and decide to take a different approach.

"Fine. Maybe it wasn't a mistake, but it was just one night. And I've known you for much longer than that. You're more than just a wild party boy and a skilled athlete. You're also someone who cares deeply about his family and his community."

Gio's expression softens as he listens to my words. "And how do you know all of this?"

"I pay attention. I know that as much as you annoy your sister, she, for some reason, absolutely adores you. I know yourNonna's sauce is your favorite comfort food. You like pineapple on your pizza. You change your socks at least three times a day, and you can quoteGoodfellasfrom beginning to end." I'm tempted to smirk. "I hear your Joe Pesci impression is pretty spot on too."

He chuckles, and for a second, I forget that we're in a crowded gym with the rest of his team working out nearby.

I forget that I hate him with the fire of a thousand suns and that I'm supposed to be here to get a story, not consort with the enemy. Instead, I feel myself being pulled toward him.

"Impressive. You've been doing your research," he says with a hint of admiration in his voice.

"It's called being a good journalist."

"I think most people would refer to that as stalking."

"You can call it whatever you'd like. But after this feature, they'll be calling me the best damn journalist in Chicago. And they'll be calling you the best damn defenseman in pro hockey."

Gio's dark eyebrows arch towards the sky. "And how exactly are you going to achieve that?"

"Just leave it to me. Give me a chance to show the world, the Blades execs, the fans, another side of Gio De Luca."

He looks at me for a long moment, his emerald eyes searching mine. At this close enough distance, I can feel the chill coming off his uniform. And yet, there's something warm in his gaze that stirs something inside of me.

Finally, he nods.

"Okay, Stalker. You've got yourself a deal. But on one condition."

I nod, almost afraid to move.

"You let me watch, read, and approve everything before it goes live," he says firmly, his eyes narrowed in warning.

It's not an ideal situation—no journalist wants their subject to have the final say on their work. But if this is what it takes to get the story, I'll take it.

"I'll make sure your agent has full access to what you need. As for your approval, I'll do my best to incorporate any changes you suggest. But ultimately, it's my story, De Luca." I hold up a hand when his brows lower in a glare. "Unless you'd like to be traded, or, I don't know, be released from your contract and spend the rest of your afternoons, doing that Joe Pesci impression in your OCD socks."

His jaw clenches. I can almost see the gears turning in his head.

As for me, I have one final nail to drive into the coffin.

"Tell you what," I say, an idea starting to take root. "Come to Sal Carmine's event after your next game. If you still hate the idea of working with me after that, I'll walk away. No hard feelings."

Gio turns back to me. "Sal Carmine? The hockey legend?"

"The one and only. He's throwing a charity event. Lots of big names will be there."

I can see the temptation warring with his stubbornness.

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