Page 1 of Conrad

ONE

If they’d beenon the ice, Conrad Kingston, center for the Blue Ox hockey team, would have done time in the penalty box.

And pretty-boy television-talk-show host Ian Fletcher would have a broken nose, maybe a few gaps where teeth used to be.

Instead, the smug man sat across from Conrad on the set ofThe Morning Brew, the“In the Locker Room with Fletch” segment, sporting a perfectly groomed fade-style haircut, blue eyes, and a too-wide smile, prying into Conrad’s life.

This was not a locker room Conrad had ever seen, with the chesterfield sofas, a backdrop of fake lockers, and most importantly, bright lights that burned into his eyes, so that the cameras could capture every expression in slow motion as he went over the glass coffee table and neatly put a fist into Ian’s prying piehole.

Or at least wished it.

But Conrad was working on his impulse control, on and off the ice, and using his words instead, and so far, so good.

See,he could play nicely.

“So, do you have a date for tonight’s event?” Ian asked, waggling his eyebrows. “Seems to me that you might have a lineup after your centerfold.”

“It’s not the centerfold,” Conrad growled.

“Sorry. Mr.June.”

He should have expected the too-personal, off-script questions, what with his half-naked picture on the screen behind him. He couldn’t look at the photo.

One more of his many,manybad yeses.

Instead, of course, he smiled. “Maybe we talk about the charity event tonight.”

“Of course.” Fletch leaned back, crossed his legs, his grin a sort of victory pump.

Please. Just thirty seconds without the cameras?—

No, no.No.The last thing he needed was a splash on social media about King Con being unhinged. Not with the trade season still alive. Conrad flicked his wrist and managed a glance at his Rolex Daytona. Four more minutes and then he could flee?—

“I’ve heard tonight’s auction already has bids in the triple digits. Everyone wants a piece of Mr.—”

“It’s really about raising money for the kids who’ve been affected by crime.”

Something of a challenge flashed in Ian’s eyes, but Conrad didn’t flinch.

“EmPowerPlay. Play strong, heal stronger, right?”

“Exactly.” Conrad kept his smile, tried to recall what Felicity had told him to say. “EmPowerPlay is dedicated to empowering young victims of crime by facilitating their involvement in sports. We fund local sports teams, helping children build confidence and resilience, fostering emotional healing and personal growth, and offering kids a constructive outlet to channel their energies and reclaim their strength after facing adversity.”

Bam.Just like he’d rehearsed.

“And it was founded by the Pepper family, who are shareholders of the Blue Ox hockey team, right?”

“Apparently.” He refused to let Penelope Pepper flash into his brain, although the memory of her in his arms a month ago, after the craziness at his sister Boo’s wedding, had done a little number on him. Occupied his brain for far too long.

She’d texted him once, asking to meet for dinner. He’d promptly gone on the road for nearly two weeks with the Ox, and when he’d returned, she hadn’t answered his reply text.

So, whatever.

Still.

Nope. Not going back there.

“And you’vemetthe Peppers, or at least Penelope.” Ian grinned and glanced at the screen behind him, and Conrad tightened his jaw at a bootleg paparazzi picture of exactly his memory—him carrying Penelope up the stairs into the wedding reception after she’d been attacked in the parking lot.

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