Page 7 of Icy Pucking Play

But Lexi was very clear: if I wanted to shadow Ryland Daniels, I had to be there for morning practice. All of morning practice. Including the ungodly hour when they actually arrive.

I check my phone again, which still shows Ryland's text:

Ryland:Meet me by the players' entrance. Can't miss it.

Except I absolutely can miss it, because everything looks the same in this maze of concrete and steel. Left takes me past the weight room. Right leads to...another hallway that looks exactly like the last one.

Great. Just great.

At least I had the foresight to stop for coffee. Nothing says, "please don't hate me for invading your space", quite like caffeinated peace offerings.

One black coffee for Evan (because of course I remember how he takes it), one fancy caramel thing for Ryland (courtesy of his Instagram stories), and one triple-shot vanilla latte for me (because…I’m still not awake).

A door slams somewhere ahead, making me jump.

Okay, new plan: follow the noise. Where there are sounds, there are people. Where there are people, there are directions.

I round the corner at full speed—and slam directly into a wall of solid muscle.

Coffee goes everywhere. And I mean everywhere.

My laptop bag hits the floor with a concerning thud. My purse spills its contents like a piñata at a kid's birthday party.

And there, standing in front of me with vanilla latte dripping down his previously pristine practice jersey, is Evan Daniels.

Fuck. My. Life.

"I—oh God—I'm so sorry!" I drop to my knees, frantically grabbing for the napkins that are definitely not going to be enough for this situation. "I didn't see you! I was lost, and then I heard a noise, and I thought maybe it was Ryland, but obviously it wasn't Ryland because you're you, and now you're covered in coffee, and…"

"Sophie." His voice is surprisingly calm for someone wearing my morning beverage. "Breathe."

Right. Breathing. That's a thing people do when they are calm and collected. Something I need right now.

I inhale shakily, still clutching a fistful of napkins like they might somehow fix this disaster. "I can wash that for you. Or buy you a new jersey. Or move to Antarctica and never show my face again."

Is that...is that a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth?

"Don’t worry about it," he says, though I absolutely will. "What are you doing here? You don’t work here anymore."

Uh oh. Does this mean it’s explanation time? He must not know about the Ryland piece yet.

"About that..." I start gathering my scattered belongings, buying time. "I'm actually here for…"

"Uncle Evan!" Ryland's voice echoes down the hallway. With sandy-brown hair and gray-green eyes, he’s the spitting image of his mother—Evan’s sister. “You're early! And...wearing your coffee?" His eyes travel to me. “I see you met my new shadow."

I risk a glance up. Evan's expression has shifted from almost amused to something much more guarded. The temperature in the hallway drops about ten degrees.

“Your…what?" Evan coughs out.

Ryland runs a hand through his hair—a gesture so similar to his uncle's it's uncanny. “You didn't give me a chance to break the news to you."

"Break what news?" Evan's voice has gone dangerously quiet.

"Sophie's the reporter fromSports News Now," Ryland says quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid. "The one doing the feature on me."

If I thought the hallway was cold before, it's practically arctic in here now.

Evan's jaw tightens. "No."

---