Page 70 of On Ice

Now, why does he look like he doesn’t believe me?

I really hope Evan hasn’t been stupid enough to tell Noah the truth about my arrangement with him. While it’s possible some of the team might have figured out who I really am, most of them seem cool with it because of all the improvements I’ve promised them. Money has a way of smoothing over things like that. But no one can know about my plans with Evan. It can’t get out that our “relationship” isn’t real.

When one of the team members calls Noah’s name, distracting him, Evan turns to me and says under his breath, “Why are you here?”

“Am I not allowed to have a drink with my favorite hockey player?”

He presses his lips tight. “You’re keeping tabs on me, aren’t you? Is that your goon over by the window? He’s been staring at me the whole time.”

“Him?” I glance at Franko. “He’s protecting you.”

“Bullshit,” Evan snaps. “He’s spying on me.”

I shrug. “Potato, potahto.”

His eyes glitter with frustration “You need to leave. You’re ruining the vibe.”

“Don’t be silly.” I sip my beer, and it’s not bad. Probably because it’s ice cold. “The team seems happy to have me here.”I wave at Torres who’s sitting at the end of the table and he happily waves back. “See.”

“No, Luca,” he mutters. “They’re not happy. They’re faking it because you’re the owner of our team.”

“Really?” I arch one brow. “Are you sure?” I know he’s right, but it’s fun yanking his chain. His frustration amuses me.

“Of course,” he says gruffly. “Don’t pretend you don’t know that.”

I lean forward and address the guys at the table. “Evan says you guys don’t want me here. Is that true?”

Evan gives a little strangled sound, and the team stares at me uncomfortably. Then they suddenly all start talking at once, saying how happy they are to have me join them. The moment is painfully awkward, but I find it hysterical. I almost laugh, but manage to stifle it. I know perfectly well they don’t want me here, but I don’t give a damn.

Once the assurances peter out, I turn to Evan. “See? You’re mistaken. They love having me here.”

“Yeah, right,” Evan grumbles, and then whispers, “You’re truly an egomaniac, Luca.”

“You think so?” I frown. “Hmm, should I ask the team what they think about your description of me?”

He snaps his head toward me, his green eyes glittering with pure resentment. “Don’t you dare.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think you’d want that.” I grin and take another sip of my beer.

The conversation turns to hockey, no huge surprise there. I enjoy the press of Evan’s leg against mine as I listen to Jackson and Torres discuss the team they’ll play on Saturday.

Jackson reaches for another wing. “We’ll have had a couple of days off, but the Arctic Wolves have been rolling. They won five of their last six.”

Noah says, “If we’re not sharp, we’re gonna get steamrolled.”

Evan half-listens, nursing his beer, but he doesn’t join in.

“Steamrolled?” Torres scoffs, dunking a fry into ranch dressing. “Come on, man, we just took down Chicago.”

Murphy mutters, “We’ve been way too fancy around the net lately. Somebody needs to start crashing the crease instead of trying to make everything a goddamn highlight reel goal.”

“Yeah,” Deck agrees.

Not thinking, I say, “The Wolves have been on a hot streak, but their goaltending has been shaky.”

The table goes quiet and all heads turn toward me.

I laugh self-consciously as I realize I said that out loud. I hadn’t actually intended to get involved in the conversation, but I love hockey and never get the chance to talk about it with anyone.

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