Page 2 of Conrad

Great.He kept his gaze even, smiled. “She needed a lift.”

Ian laughed. “Ah, that’s a good one, King Con.” He turned to the cameras, somewhere out in the darkness, and finger quoted the word. “Just like the ‘lift’ you gave to Jasmine Hartwell.”

Aw, shoot.That’s what he got for trying to be clever.

His mouth tightened. “That was different.”

“Right. That was Tyler Anderson’s girlfriend. Bit of a messy dustup there, if I remember right.” He winked at Conrad.

Conrad only needed ten seconds.Less.

He lifted a shoulder. “Just a misunderstanding. Torch and I figured it out.”

“Didn’t you take a restraining order out on Jasmine?”

He said nothing.

“And then there was that fight on the ice?—”

“That’s in the past.”

“Maybe not”—Ian leaned forward—“given last night’s game. You deliberately kept the puck three times when Torch was open, and took failed shots on goal.” His smile dimmed. “Are you at all worried about the fact that your contract expires after this season?”

“Listen, it’s a fast game, and Torch wasn’t as open as you think.” Conrad’s smile had also vanished. “And no, I’m not worried.”

Really.He and Torch had ironed out the misunderstanding long before social media had made it a deal. Bros over—well, ice bunnies.

Ian held up his hands as if surrendering. “Just wondering, given the fact that rookie Justin Blake scored for the win.”

“Blade is a solid young player, great potential.” Oh, Felicity would be so proud of him.

“And a center, ready to take your spot.”

Maybe those were veneers. Conrad had a couple of his own veneers, for different reasons.

“It’s Coach Jacobsen’s call. I’m just there to play hockey.” He looked at the camera, gave them a photoshoot smile. “The calendars are available at the Minnesota Blue Ox website?—”

“Right,” Ian said, following Conrad’s lead. “Visit the website to donate or volunteer.” He turned back to Conrad. “Thanks for being here today.” He stretched out his hand.

Conrad took it. Gave him a firm hold. Added a squeeze.

Ian’s eyes flashed and Conrad let go, then waved to the camera.

“And we’re out,” said a voice in the shadows, and Conrad stood up, ripped off the mic, turned to Ian.

Ian stood also, his smile gone.

And oh, the urge?—

No.Impulses always turned to regrets.

Conrad shook his head, moved toward the set.

“All press is good press,” Ian shouted after him.

A PA met him. “Mic?”

He dropped the mess into her hands and stormed out into the hallway. Ian stayed on set, probably saving his life.

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