Page 47 of Icy Pucking Play

"He was helping me with a part of Ryland’s feature and our hands touched and he got this look in his eyes like…" I stop at her raised eyebrow. "Not the point."

"Right. The point is he freaked out when his past came up."

"Exactly! Which I get, sort of. I mean, everyone knows about the messy divorce, but..." I trail off, thinking about the way Evan had looked at Clark. Like he wanted to commit murder. "There's obviously more to it."

"And your reporter instincts are tingling."

"No! Well, maybe a little. But not because I want to write about it!" I finally snatch the ice cream back. "I just...I want him to trust me enough to tell me."

"Even though you're literally writing a story about his family?"

"That's different! That's about Ryland and hockey and..." I groan, shoving a spoonful of cookie dough in my mouth. "God, this is so messed up."

"Is it though?" Cynthia settles onto the couch beside me. "Messed up, I mean?"

"What do you call falling for your story subject’s uncle while also maybe crossing ethical boundaries and definitely mixing professional and personal lines?"

"I call it being human." She steals the carton again. "Also, you said 'falling for’."

"I did not."

"Did too. Just now. 'What do you call falling for your story subject’s uncle’?" She mimics my voice badly. "Finally, she admits it!"

"I admit nothing." I burrow deeper into my blanket fortress. "And even if I did—which I'm not—it doesn't matter now. He made it pretty clear today that there are lines I'm not supposed to cross."

"Evan, talk to me," I'd pleaded, reaching for him. "What's really going on?"

The look he'd given me—like he was seeing someone else, someone who'd hurt him—made my chest ache.

"Drop it, Sophie."

"No." My reporter instincts had kicked in, unable to ignore the story unfolding in front of me. "There's clearly history there. Something about 'ambitious women' and…"

"I said drop it!"

“Hey, let’s focus back in on reality…” Cynthia waves the spoon in front of my face. "You're spiraling again.”

“I’m not…spiraling.” I pause. “Am I?”

“You sure are. You spiral when you’re replaying conversations in your head—trying to figure out where you went wrong."

"I do not…" I stop at her knowing look. "Okay, fine. Maybe I do. I just can’t stop thinking about it and wondering what would have happened if I said something different."

"Want to know what I think?"

"Will it involve more ice cream?"

"Obviously." She hands the carton back. "I think you're both idiots."

I choke on my bite. "Excuse you?"

"You heard me. He's an idiot for pushing away someone who clearly cares about him and his family. And you're an idiot for letting him."

"I'm not letting him! He's the one who…"

"Who what? Got scared? Put up walls? Acted like the grumpy person everyone knows him to be?"

"Well, when you put it like that..."

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