Page 84 of Ice Mechanic

I smile and wave, so,sograteful that Rebel forced me to practice my picture-taking skills.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Play the game, April. Play the game.

Camera lights flash in my face.

Questions yell from all around.

Overwhelmed, I look for somewhere to point my attention and unwittingly catch sight of Chance on the ice. He looks like an intimidating mass of gear and muscle. How tall is he again? He seems bigger than usual. Is it because of the skates?

My fingers curl into fists and I force myself not to notice how his dark, Prince Eric hair is mostly hidden under a helmet with pieces sweeping just over his vivid blue eyes.

“Excuse me.” Rebel waves her hands wildly in front of the flashing cameras. “The game’s about to start. April will answer all your questions later.”

I rub my shoulders, shivering. The air conditioner isblastingin the arena. I knew it would be cold, but I didn’t anticipate it’d be Arctic-tundra cold.

Yeah, yeah. I’m aware it’s my fault. It was a risk not to wear a jacket, but I had to make sacrifices for my grand entrance.

“Excuseme!” Rebel sounds like she’s reaching the last of her patience. “You can’t do this here!”

The reporters ignore her, continuing to swarm me.

Footsteps thump on the bleachers above and I glance up, noticing a bunch of security guards pouring into our section. A bear of a man charges ahead of them. He looks like he could pick all the journalists up and kick them out himself.

“Hey, April. I’m Max, Chance’s friend.”

“I remember you,” I mutter.

“Chance sent me to escort you down to better seats.” Gesturing with an arm the size of a cannon, the bear-man says, “Follow me please.”

I grab Rebel’s hand, dragging her with me. I’m not sure if Max’s invitation included my best friend or not, but it does now.

The security guards hold the reporters off while Max weaves through a series of brightly lit hallways. We make it to the lower ring of the stands, closer to the ice.

“I still have some things to take care of.” Max checks his watch and a slight, disgruntled look crosses his face. “So Bobby will escort you to your seats.”

“Thank you,” I say, sensing his barely-restrained impatience.

He smiles tightly and dashes off.

I remember Chance mentioning that his best friend is the owner of the team, and it strikes me then that Max probablyhad better things to do than rescue a teammate’s girlfriend from reporters.

“April!” Bobby appears before us, smiling brightly. He’s dressed in the team colors, blue and black. “And Rebel. Don’t you ladies look lovely?”

“Thanks, Bobby.” Rebel tosses her hair.

“This way.” Bobby takes the lead. “Watch your step, April. Don’t trip in that pretty dress.”

I smile, happy to be in the company of someone whoisn’tsticking a camera in my face.

“Is this the VIP section?” Rebel teases, following Bobby down the stairs.

“Unfortunately, we don’t have one of those. Chance requested that you sit on the glass, but not too close since it can be overwhelming for your first game. Thisisyour first game, right?” He peers at me.

“Uh, my first game in person? Yeah.”

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