Page 83 of Conrad

“I do trust you?—”

“You say that, but every time I get the puck, I can feel you waiting for me to screw up. You overthink everything. Let me play the game.”

“I only want you to think a step ahead.”

“Or maybe you should stop thinking and just play.” He pushed away from Conrad.

A couple players bumped past him, out to the bench. A Zamboni rumbled on the ice, finishing its pass. Conrad stood, stretching, trying not to let Justin get under his skin.

“You overthink everything.”

Whatever.

Okay, maybe, because his thoughts rounded back to Penelope and the conversation with the arson investigator who’d asked her who might want to hurt her.

She’d shrugged and Conrad had wanted to jump in with the fact that someone had—maybe—forced them off the road. And maybe the investigator should take a closer look at this crime, and Edward Hudson’s arson case.

And it all circled back to his words to Penelope over a warm cookie—“You, Penelope Pepper, are the connection.”

It still didn’t sit right inside him, andshoot,now he wished he’d invited her to the game just so he could keep an eye on her?—

“He’s my boyfriend.”Maybe he wanted that too, more than he could admit. Because he couldn’t hear that without sinking back into the memory of kissing her.

She’d tasted like peanut butter and saltines and hung onto him, kissing him back like she’d meant it, like she wasn’t going to walk away this time.

So yeah, maybe hewasher boyfriend.

There was banging behind him on the glass, and he thought he heard his name.Fans—they went a little crazy during the period breaks—but he turned to wave and?—

Penelope.She stood in the seats above him, waving, wearing—wait,his jersey. She even turned and pointed at his name on the back. King Con?—

What?

“Is that Penelope Pepper?” said Kalen Boomer. “She’s wearing your number.”

And she looked good doing it too, her dark hair tumbling out of a pom-pom hat, her golden-brown eyes shining. She seemed recovered from the trauma of the past twenty-four hours, but then again, she always seemed to be able to show up with a smile.

He walked toward her, climbed up on the bench, holding onto the plexi. “Hey.”

She leaned over, standing on her seat. “Thanks for the ticket! Do you like my jersey?”

Ticket?Maybe he’d misheard her. But, “Yeah—it’s great.” He gave a thumbs-up, and the crowd roared. She looked up, grinned, and he followed her gaze.

They were on the jumbotron for the world, or at least twenty-thousand arena fans, to see.

She waved and then, as he watched, she blew him a kiss.

What?

He turned back to her, and she winked, then climbed down and banged on the glass. “Go get ’em, King Con!”

Huh.He banged back and then climbed down to where his team had congregated. Jace came out, said a few words, and Conrad let them galvanize him.

Stop overthinking. Penny was here, safe, and this game was his.

He hit the ice on fire. Won the face-off.

It clicked. His passes sharpened, he connected with his wingers, and he moved the puck down the ice. A shot banged off the pipes, but he picked it up, looking for gaps.

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