Page 27 of Icy Pucking Play

But he just says, "Sure, Uncle Evan. Same time tomorrow?"

I nod, grateful for his discretion. Another thing that makes him different from Clark—he knows when to push and when to let things lie.

Once he's gone, Sophie turns to me. "I should get going too. Got to transcribe my notes and…”

"Have coffee with me."

The words are out before I can think better of them.

She blinks. "What?"

"Coffee. Do you have time?"

"I...yes. But…"

"There's a place around the corner. Good coffee. Quiet." I take off my mask, mostly to give my hands something to do. "We should talk about...boundaries. For the feature."

"Boundaries," she repeats. "Right. For the feature."

"Unless you have somewhere else to be?"

"No! I mean, no. Coffee sounds good. Great. Very...professional."

Professional. Right. Because that's what this is.

Never mind that I've been thinking about how she felt pressed against me during those golf lessons. Or how she doesn't seem to care about who I am and what I do—she just treats me like...me.

Or how she just faced down Clark Ellis armed with nothing but old game footage and scary-accurate research skills.

"Let me just..." She gestures to her notebook and camera. "Five minutes?"

"I'll meet you out front."

She nods and hurries off. I head to the locker room, very deliberately not watching her go.

“Nice job, Casanova,” Ryland says from where he's apparently been eavesdropping. “So subtle.”

"Shouldn't you be showering?"

"Shouldn't you be admitting you like her?"

I throw my blocker at him. He dodges, laughing.

"Just saying," he calls as he heads for the showers, "coffee is a good start!"

Kids these days. No respect for their elders.

Twenty minutes later, showered and changed, I find Sophie waiting by her car. She's swapped her practice gear for jeans and another one of those Blades hoodies she seems to live in, her near-black hair falling in waves around her shoulders.

She looks soft. Touchable. And very dangerous.

"Ready?" I ask, pushing away thoughts that have no business being in my head.

"Lead the way."

The coffee shop is exactly as I remembered—quiet, tucked away, the kind of place where no one looks twice at a hockey player and a reporter having coffee at eight a.m.

"So," Sophie says once we're settled in a corner booth, "boundaries…"

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