Page 25 of Off the Ice

“Wow,” he finally said, his voice rougher, quieter than I’d ever heard it. He took a step closer, his eyes never leaving mine. “You look... unreal.”

The heat climbing up my neck had nothing to do with the warm glow of the chandeliers. “Not bad yourself,” I said, my voice coming out steadier than I felt.

His lips quirked into a slow, genuine smile—not his usual smirk, not the playful arrogance he wielded like a weapon. This was softer, realer.

He held out his arm. “Shall we?”

I hesitated just a second longer than I should have before slipping my hand into the crook of his elbow. The fabric of his jacket was smooth beneath my fingertips, and as he led me into the ballroom, I had the strangest feeling that for the first time tonight, the cameras wouldn’t be the only ones watching us.

The ballroom was a vision of opulence—crystal chandeliers glittering above, tables dressed in pristine white linens, and floral centerpieces that looked like they belonged in a museum. The hum of polite conversation filled the air, mingling with the clinking of glasses and the soft strains of a live jazz quartet. Logan kept me close as he introduced me to his head coach, Michael Heinz, and a few of his teammates I had yet to meet, and their respective wives. They were polite, charming even, but I could feel their curiosity as they glanced between Logan and me. Convincing the world we were a couple was harder than I had initially anticiapted.

“You must have a lot of patience,” Coach Heinz joked, shaking my hand with a firm grip.

I smiled. “It’s a full-time job keeping him in line.”

Logan’s hand brushed lightly against my lower back, a touch that felt both possessive and grounding. “Don’t let her fool you. She loves it.”

We were seated at a table near the front of the room when the auction began. The emcee, a lively man in a tailored navy suit, took the stage, his voice booming with enthusiasm. He introduced the first few items—signed memorabilia, private dinners with celebrities, and luxury vacation packages—all drawing polite bids and applause from the crowd.

Logan leaned toward me, his voice low enough that only I could hear. “What would you bid on?”

I picked up the glossy program, skimming the items. “The group beach vacation sounds fun. A little time to get away, enjoy the sun, maybe bring some friends.”

He hummed thoughtfully, his lips curling into a half-smile. “Good choice. But I’ve got something else in mind.”

The emcee cleared his throat, his voice cutting through the chatter. “Our first item is a romantic weekend getaway for two in beautiful Vancouver. This package includes a cozy cabin in the mountains, couples massages, ski passes, and all the luxury you could want for an unforgettable experience.” He gestured toward the projected image of a stunning snow-covered lodge. “We’ll start the bidding at $5,000.”

I expected Logan to stay quiet, but the paddle in his hand shot up immediately. “Five thousand,” he called, his tone steady and confident.

The emcee smiled. “Five thousand from Number 16. Do I hear six?”

Another paddle went up across the room, and the emcee pointed. “Six thousand. Do I hear seven?”

Logan raised his paddle again. “Seven.”

The bids started coming faster, and with each number, I glanced at Logan, but his expression was calm, almost amused. He didn’t hesitate, his paddle going up at every counter. The emcee’s voice grew more animated as the number climbed.

“Fifteen thousand. Do I hear sixteen?”

“Sixteen,” Logan said smoothly.

“Seventeen?”

The other bidder, a man in a gray suit seated two tables back, raised his paddle again. “Seventeen.”

I shifted in my seat, glancing nervously between Logan and the emcee. “Logan, maybe let him—”

“Eighteen,” Logan interrupted, his paddle already in the air. His jaw tightened slightly, and I could see the spark of competition in his eyes. This wasn’t about the getaway anymore—it was about winning.

The emcee grinned. “Eighteen from Number 16. Do I hear nineteen?”

“Twenty,” the man called, leaning back in his chair with a smug smile.

Logan didn’t even flinch. “Thirty.”

A ripple of gasps spread through the room, and I felt my stomach drop. “Logan—” I started, but he shook his head, his focus locked on the emcee.

The man in the gray suit hesitated, his smile faltering. He raised his paddle once more. “Forty.”

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