Page 4 of Off the Ice

Her smirk widened as she picked up her drink, swirling the amber liquid lazily. “I don’t assume. I observe.”

“Staring at me already, huh? Can’t blame you for being curious.”

She laughed softly, the sound equal parts amusement and disbelief. “Wow. That confidence is… something.”

“Thanks. I get that a lot.” I let my grin stretch wider, deliberately cocky. “But I’m more than just confidence. There’s charm too.”

“Oh, sure,” she said, her tone dripping with mock sincerity. “The full package. Let me guess, you use that line on every woman who makes the mistake of looking at you?”

I feigned offense, pressing a hand to my chest. “I don’t use lines. I prefer meaningful conversations.”

Her brow shot up. “This is meaningful? Wow. Guess my standards are too high.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re quick. I like that.”

“And you’re persistent. Not sure how I feel about that yet.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but then she tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as something clicked. “Wait a second, you’re Logan Bennett, aren’t you?”

Ah, shit.

The playful spark in her eyes vanished, replaced with something colder, sharper.

“Well, this just got more interesting.”

I straightened, the easygoing grin sliding off my face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She took a deliberate sip of her drink, savoring the moment before speaking. “It means I didn’t realize I was talking to the NHL’s most salacious player.”

I exhaled sharply. “If you’re looking for a soundbite, sweetheart, you’re wasting your time.”

“Sweetheart?” She laughed, the kind of laugh that said she was enjoying this more than she should. “Wow, the charm is alive and well. But don’t worry, Bennett. I’ll get my soundbite eventually.”

“And if I don’t have one to give?”

“Oh, you’ll have one,” she said, shooting a sly wink before stepping away.

“You always do.”

She was gone before I could stop her, leaving me standing there, equal parts irritated and intrigued.

Four

Ava

LoganBennettwasfrustratinglyunforgettable. And I hated that.

It wasn’t just that he was six-foot-five of cocky swagger, with skin that looked like it soaked up the sun for a living. Or that his dark buzz cut managed to make "effortless" look like a professional sport. No, it was those damn eyes. Warm brown, framed by lashes so long they could probably cause a breeze if he blinked too hard. The kind of eyes that made you forget, for half a second, that he was as smug as he was good-looking.

The worst part? He knew exactly what he was working with. Guys like Logan Bennett always did. He probably had women throwing themselves at him before he hit puberty. And from the way he’d leaned on the bar last night, grinning like he had the world on a leash, it was obvious he’d never been told no in his life.

Which made it all the more satisfying when I’d thrown his own scandal back in his face and watched that grin falter. Just for a second.

Still, I hated that he’d stuck with me—like a catchy song you didn’t want stuck in your head. This wasn’t about him. It was about the story. The job. And I wasn’t about to let some oversized golden boy with too much charm and too many headlines derail me. I spent the better part of the morning sifting through articles about his scandal, trying to focus on facts and not the way his smug grin at the bar had practically dared me to dig deeper. He wasn’t supposed to stick in my mind like this, not when my job was to dissect him, not admire the way he’d deflected my questions with infuriating charm.

“Carlisle!” Frank’s bark made me jump. “How’s the exclusive coming? Or are you still pretending to work over there?”

I clenched my jaw and turned to see him barreling toward my desk, coffee in one hand and a bagel that looked like it had seen better days in the other. He was already chewing before he reached me.

---