Page 51 of Power Play Pursuit

“Have you ever played, Richard?”

Dad’s loud laughter garners some attention from the rest of the room. “Me? No. I was always happier behind a grill than on the ice—or any type of field.”

“Ah, yes,” James says. “Elizabeth told me you were both fantastic cooks, and that it’s where she got her talent from.”

They both look at me with pride in their eyes. “She’s doing amazing,” Mom says. “We’re so happy for her.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I say, reaching over the table and squeezing her hand.

“James,” she continues. “You should come to our house with Beth for dinner sometime. It’s the least we can do after everything you’ve done for us tonight.”

“Oh, Mom,” I say, shaking my head. What’s with this woman and her tendency to invite everyone she meets over for dinner? I guess it’s a sign that she likes James, but still. “I don’t—”

“I’d love to,” James says, flashing a bright smile.

Dad leans over the table and slaps James’ back. “I’ll make my famous chili.”

Oh gosh.

“It’s been a while since you came over for dinner, Beth,” Mom says in a scolding tone, her eyes fixed on me. “It’ll be nice.”

Darn it. She got me with that one. Ever since Marissa and I opened Rise & Grind, I’ve been swamped with work, and as a result, I’ve been seeing them less and less. Between their business and mine, it’s not easy to find time to get together. So we mostly just text or call. “You’re right.” I nod, giving her a soft smile. “It will.”

“When are you free?” Mom asks James and me.

“Any time works.” He leans back against his chair. “I have a lot of free time on my hands at the moment.”

“How about Saturday, then?”

“Sounds good,” James says, giving me a side glance. “It’s a date.”

My insides scorch, and my mouth goes dry. I want to tell him that he’s breaking the flirting rule again, but that might be hard to explain to my parents.

“Should we go find our seats?” Dad suggests. “I don’t want to miss the puck drop.”

James nods. “Absolutely.”

We make our way to the block of seats reserved for the VIP section. Correction, the block of super comfy leather seats. Seriously, why don’t we ever get these seats when we come to the games?

We’re seated in the first row with an unobstructed view of the rink. It’s different from the glass seats, but I like this elevated view, which lets us watch all the action happening on the ice at once.

Dad and James are deep into hockey talk, and as soon as the game starts, James commentates each play with eagerness and excitement, to my dad’s utmost pleasure.

Maxime catches the puck and passes it to Caleb, who speeds towards the Texan gate. Everyone is on the edge of their seats as he sends it back to Maxime, who shoots but misses.

“Son of a teapot,” James curses, bouncing his knees. “Should have passed it to Gurkie.” John Gurk is the guy currently playing at James’ position.

“Oh, it’s not over,” Dad says, pointing at the rink.

They’re all scrambling in front of the net, and Maxime, Caleb, and John all raise their arms in celebration, indicating a goal. The air horn blares, followed by the Raptors screech, and James and I exchange a knowing look.

He presses on his pin to play the sound again. “Yes!” he says, clapping his hands.

“Hold on, what’s happening there?” Mom mutters, a hint of worry in her tone.

Caleb and Maxime are arguing with one of the referees, the Cheetahs chiming in.

“Goal review,” James whispers. “They’re not sure it’s legal.”

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