Page 9 of Captain's Claim

Blake’s jaw tightens, and I swear his shoulders get broader. "This has nothing to do with the Icehawks."

"They’reliterallywearing Icehawks jerseys," I point out, tilting my head toward the kid struggling to pick himself up. "Am I hallucinating? Is this an illusion? Areyouan illusion?"

He narrows his eyes at me, feigning boredom despite stepping closer, his sheer presence making my pulse skitter. "You’re awfully bold for someone who’s been here all of, what, three days?"

"Two and a half," I shoot back, standing my ground. "And if you’d bothered to show up to the meeting, you’d know I’m trying to help you. Help this team connect with your fans. But instead, here you are, Mr. Maddox, king of the rink, avoiding all the hard conversations."

His head tilts slightly, his gaze sweeping over me in a way that makes my stomach flip. "You think I’m avoiding you?"

"Well, you’re certainly not making my life easier."

He steps even closer, the heat of him making my cheeks flush. "Let me be clear, Ms. Hart. These kids aren’t a marketing ploy. They’re not here to sell tickets or give your spreadsheets a bump."

The hint of a smirk plays at the corner of his mouth, and I realize he's caught me being all flustered.

"Typical. You corporate types think everything’s a campaign. This isn’t for show. It’s for them." His eyes sweep over me, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. "Looks like you’ve got a lot to learn about Iron Ridge,Sophia."

"Yeah… well…" I stutter, sounding more like a tantrum-throwing tween than a proud professional. "It looks likeyou’vegot a lot to learn about teamwork,Captain."

For a moment, we just stare at each other

Then he steps back, tossing his helmet back onto the bench and moving on the ice again, holding a hand out to his fallen soldiers scattered around the ice, not once looking away from me.

"And for the record," he calls over his shoulder, his voice echoing across the rink. "You're dreaming if you think I'm letting cameras anywhere near these kids."

He pauses for a beat, turning slightly as if something just occurred to him.

That smirk returns.

Damn that smirk.

“If you’re planning to lecture me about teamwork again, Ms. Hart, maybe you can save it for later tonight. I’m sure theentireteam will love hearing your thoughts at the party.”

I blink. “Party?”

“Yeah. In the Player’s Lounge. You know, where theteamworkhappens,” he says, grabbing a pile of cones by the practice net. “Try not to get lost on your way there, Ms. Hart. And don't forget your mask!”

I stand there, staring after him like I’ve just wandered into a parallel universe.

What party? And why would I need a mask? Oh God… thisissome weird hockey ritual, isn't it?

I might need to Google this.

And just like that, he's gone, skating away from me like he owns the rink, the town, and apparently my evening plans.

Chapter Three

Blake

The fucking stupid mask itches against my face as I lean against the bar, watching the party unfold. Logan's already three drinks in, spitting shit about last nights game beside me.

"Look, all I'm saying is if Roberts tries that shit again—"

"You'll what?" Connor cuts in, reaching past me for his fourth beer. Not that I’m counting, but if he starts chirping me after five, I’m taking receipts. "Take another penalty like Blake over here? Real smart."

I run my finger around the rim of my glass, half-listening half-ignoring their usual back-and-forth. The Players' Lounge is packed tonight, the music just loud enough to give everyone the illusion of private conversations.

The traditional masquerade party transforms our usual hangout into something straight out of a dream every year. Crystal chandeliers cast honeyed light across the lounge, turning everything golden. Green and gold streamers drape from theexposed beams, and someone's scattered glittered gold rose petals across the leather couches.

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