Page 149 of Evil Hearts

“I was apologizing for my teammate’s loathsome behavior,” he growls.

It’s all I can do to keep from hopping on his lap and humping him. Something is seriously wrong with me—but not him. “Oh, no! Please don’t apologize for him. You can’t control other people’s actions. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Actually, it was,” he admits, starting to curl up again, only stopping when I push back on his shoulder to straighten his spine. “I was telling another player, King Silverbow, about how I follow your photography career on social media. I loved the harp seal photoshoot, by the way. You totally should have come first in Wildlife Wonders’ annual contest. I mean, the honorable mention was good, but there wasn’t a cash prize. You deserved to win. When you showed that baby seal lying on its mother’s side, its little eyes so full of wonder, I just—”

“You know my work?” I gasp, cutting him off—and pulling myself back. The expression on his face when he talks about baby seals has my pants trying to unbutton themselves.

“Right! Big fan! But, erm… That’s how Grendel found out that you used to model, too. I was telling King that I had your Miss Valentine calendar. That’s all.”

I wonder if I should be getting creepy stalker vibes? Probably, but I don’t. “That was a long, long time ago,” I mutter with a crooked smile. The camera is heavy in my hands until I raise it to my face, hand twirling the lens to focus on him.

“I still remember it. I always had the idea that you were somehow a hockey fan after that February photoshoot. I was so excited when you showed up.”

Hedoeshave fangs. I look up at him, then back through the lens, confused for a minute. Something isn’t quite right about his appearance, but I remember that a lot of hockey players have had facial and dental injuries. I start clicking away, way more than I need to.

Some of these pictures are going into my private collection, I decide, as I bite my lip and focus on the way his shoulders stretch out his jersey.

“It’s sweet that you remember those little things and that you follow my photography career. Do you ever comment on my posts?” I ask.

“Sure do! Never miss one. I’m PRColdhands_warmheart. With the underscore,” he says in a muffled voice, trying not to move his lips as I take photos, his smile frozen in place.

“Oh my God! You are like my die-hard fan!” I put the camera down and sit back on my haunches, staring up at him. “You didn’t become a hockey player just to bump into me this weekend, did you?” I tease.

“No!” Bryce takes my accusation seriously. His eyes go wide, and he waves his hands in a panic. “No, no, I’ve been on the team for eight seasons! Also, I thought you were in the Midwest for a while, according to your last post.”

“I was. This was a spur-of-the-moment assignment I took to help out an old friend.” I tilt my head quizzically and stand up, fighting down butterflies. “This is just one of those lucky meetings, I guess.”

“Fate.” He smiles, swallows, and then backs up, nervously rubbing the hair at the back of his neck. “You wouldn’t want to get dinner later, would you?”

“Oh… Oh, that would be nice, but I have to work,” I say.

Inside, I’m cursing myself out in Portuguese and English, both languages unleashing idioms that would make my grandmother come after me with herchineloready for battle. Every carnal instinct is telling me that I should say yes. It’s not just physical, either. He really seems to be interested in my career. He’s not being a creep about my former modeling days (unlike my ex and so many other random guys I’ve met who seem to think my bikini is their business). I love the way he defended me without making the situation worse and how shy and sweet he seems.

But I’m only here for a couple of days. I travel all the time. It’s bad to mix business with pleasure, especially if you intend to leave that pleasure behind.

“I understand. It’s probably frowned upon to ask the convention staff out, too. I mean—out to a meal. Not as in a date.Unless you wanted it to be a— Um.” Bryce talks himself right off his comically small stool, knocking it over and bumping my lighting umbrella when he rises from his crouch to retrieve it.

“Oh, no! It’s not that,” I soothe, but it’s too late. The gentle giant who turns into a terror on the ice is slinking away—as much as any huge, hairy guy can slink.

Everything in me instantly drops.

I think I made a mistake.

Should I go after him?

Too late. My next customer, a real pretty boy built along Bryce’s lines is already coming in and plopping himself in front of me with a charming smile. “Well, hello there, Miss Valentine,” he says in a mildly teasing voice.

This is going to be a long night.

Chapter Three

My mate doesn’twant me.The same thought has been circling in my head since she turned me down for dinner. Now, it’s nearly midnight, and the last stragglers from the early admission meet-and-greet are leaving.

Fia doesn’t want me. My mate doesn’t want me.

If that’s the case, she isn’t your mate. That’s the sage advice my father always gave me about women. Right now, that doesn’t seem to matter to me.

Try to focus on something else. This was a fluke meeting. No one gets their celebrity crushes. That’s perfect world, living fantasy stuff.

---