Page 8 of Hooked On Them

“Well, as enlightening as this hockey lesson has been, I should make my rounds before the main course.” Carter grabbed his camera from where he’d hung it on his chair and slid the strap around his neck.

He leaned in, his lips almost brushing my ear. “Be a good girl while I’m gone.”

Heat bloomed across my skin at his words, and I was tempted to take a sip of water to cool down. When I glanced up, Dominic was watching me with an unreadable expression, his knuckles white around his glass. What the hell was his problem?

I turned my attention back to Carter, meeting his gaze directly. I knew exactly what I wanted tonight, and that was him. “Only if you show me some of those photos later.”

Something hot and promising crackled between us. It was the kind of chemistry that usually led to a thoroughly enjoyable night. And really, what was wrong with that?

His eyes darkened with interest, and he shifted closer, his arm brushing against mine. The touch sent electricity skittering across my skin. “I don’t live too far from here.” He spoke only for my ears, and the way it was full of promise made it clear we wouldn’t be spending much time looking at photography.

Carter stood and snapped a few pictures of the table before heading off to do his thing.

Paige leaned in, lowering her voice. “What the hell was that?”

I gave my friend a totally not-so-innocent smile. “You just watched a pro seal the deal.”

She rolled her eyes. “Be careful.”

“Yes, Mom. Although, last year I recall telling you to go out and get yourself some, and you went out and got yourself three.”

She shrugged. “What can I say? I’m the real pro in this friendship.”

“Keep telling yourself that. My love life is going great. Very low effort.”

“Ah, yes. The occasional hot guy, no strings attached. A flawless love story, really.”

We ended up in a fit of giggles that was partially fueled by the champagne and partially from being back together again. When she’d moved to New York over a year ago from Los Angeles, it had been rough.

“Here’s to strong, independent women doing whatever, and whoever, the hell they want.” I lifted my champagne glass in a toast.

Before we could clink glasses, a throat cleared beside us. I turned to find a server placing the first course in front of us, signaling that dinner was officially starting.

As I picked up my fork, I caught the tail end of a conversation about coaching and team dynamics. I barely had time to brace myself before the man who’d made the comment about my hiring—Arnold something-or-other according to his place card—decided to share his opinion.

“Professional sports have certain... structures. Messing with that can really mess up the game.” Arnold dug into his lobster with a practiced skill that was impressive.

I’d heard this song and dance before. Usually from men who thought hockey knowledge was stored in the testicles. I prepared my standard professional response, the one that wouldn’t get me fired or make headlines.

“Coach Hastings has already had an impact,” the more knowledgeable guest, Pete, jumped in. “Skating is such a huge part of the game now. Edge work, explosiveness, and efficiency make all the difference between a good player and a great one. The Pacific Storm really had a great season last year.”

“That was her father’s team.” Arnold waved his fork dismissively. “Family connections can open a lot of doors.”

Of course. Because clearly, I’d just ridden my daddy’s coattails straight into the NHL. Never mind the years I’d spent working my way up through junior leagues and college programs.

Dominic’s fork clinked against his plate as he not-so-subtly set it down. “Coach Hastings got the job because she sees things other coaches miss and knows how to fix them.”

I nearly choked on the baby potato I’d popped in my mouth. Was Dominic Wilson, the same man who’d spent the last week fighting me on every single instruction, defending me?

All attention was on Dominic now, who looked bored to even be having to even discuss this. “She pointed out inefficiencies in my stride that no one else had caught and adjusted my transitions so I’m not bleeding speed on my turns.” He looked Arnold dead in the eye, almost daring him to challenge him. “So instead of questioning her qualifications, you should wonder why no one else noticed or corrected it sooner.”

The table was absolutely silent. Even Pearl Lady stopped mid-chew to stare at Dominic.

“I... well, I suppose...” Arnold fumbled, clearly not expecting pushback from an actual player.

“More champagne?” The server appeared at just the right moment, breaking the tension.

“Yes, please,” Paige and I said in unison, holding up our glasses.

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