Page 104 of The Pucking Player

Nothing like sleep deprivation before the biggest game of your career.

But sleep’s not happening anyway, not after Sophie closed that door in my face. Not with her going to Miami for spring break. The thought of her on a beach, wearing a tiny bikini, without me…

I fire another puck. This one misses wide.

“Your shot’s off.”

Adam’s voice echoes across the empty rink. He’s leaning against the boards in sweats and a Defenders hoodie, looking about as well-rested as I feel.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, scooping up another puck. “Game’s not till seven.”

“Could ask you the same thing.” He grabs his stick fromthe bench and hops onto the ice. “Though I’m guessing it has something to do with my sister.”

My shot goes wide again. “She tell you about Miami?”

“Jenna mentioned it when I ran into her getting coffee this morning,” Adam says. “Right after telling me about your doorway performance yesterday.” His eyes get this weird glint when he mentions her name, but it’s gone so fast I might have imagined it.

He collects a puck and lines up his shot. Perfect top shelf.

Show off.

I notice he doesn’t elaborate on why he and Jenna were getting coffee at the same time, or how a quick mention turned into a full rundown of my romantic failures. I don’t press, just file that observation away for another day. We’ve got bigger problems right now.

“Bold move, by the way. Though maybe not your smartest play.”

“Yeah, well, smart’s not really my thing lately.” I fire another shot, this one finally finding its mark. “Wearing wires into criminal clubs. Making Sophie hate me. Showing up at practice at five a.m. before a franchise record game.”

Adam’s quiet for a moment, just the sound of our sticks and pucks filling the air. Then, “You really wore a wire in there?”

“Yep.”

“That was stupid.”

“Probably.”

“Could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

I line up another shot. “My friend Mike was right out front ready to storm in with the police squad.”

The puck hits dead center.

“Yeah.” Adam’s voice is thoughtful. “That’s what’s beenpissing me off. You were exactly the kind of guy I didn’t want around Sophie, until you weren’t.”

I turn to face him, trying to read his expression in the morning light filtering through the arena windows. “That almost sounds like approval, Novak.”

“Don’t push it, O’Connor.” But there’s no heat in it. “Let’s just say I get it now. Why she fell for you. Why Dad’s probably going to let you live.”

“Probably?”

He shrugs, a hint of a smile playing at his lips.

“I need your help to get her to the game tonight,” I say, hitting the puck again.

“Yeah?” He raises an eyebrow. “And what exactly are you planning to do if she shows?”

I tell him.

His eyes widen slightly. “Damn. That’s either the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard, or the stupidest.”

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