Page 34 of Pucking Sweet

“I promise, I’ll haveloadsof sordid contracts for you to peruse this Sunday,” I say over her. “Hey, perhaps I’ll even get lucky tonight.” And just because I can, I glance around her, waving and winking at the crowd of fans pressing in behind the plexiglass. Most of them are women, and they squeal and shout my name.

Poppy fumes as she looks from them back to me. “Go ahead. I don’t care. But know this, Lukas: You stick your pretzel in any of that cheese dip, and all you’ll get is herpes!”

With that, she stomps away. I laugh, letting the sound trail after her as she disappears down the chute back toward the locker room.

Morrow skates up to the boards behind me, one gloved hand on my shoulder. “Hey, what the hell was that about? She looked mad.”

I huff, unsurprised that her savior is ready to swoop in and rescue her. “Oh that? I just proposed and she said yes. Wanna be my best man?”

“You—what?”

My laugh deepens. God, he’s too fucking easy. “Relax, bud. She’d never marry me in a million fucking years. Not that I’m asking,” I add quickly. “She’s a ball-busting harpy witch—”

“Hey,” he growls. “Be professional. She’s our colleague.”

“She’s a pill,” I counter. “And you can have her.” I try to push all thoughts of Poppy St. James from my mind as I gaze out at the ice, watching the Canes sink pucks into an empty net. “Tonight, I only care about getting lucky.”

12

I’m still fuming as I part with Claribel down in the tunnels. She’ll stay near the ice to get some behind-the-scenes footage. Meanwhile, I have to hike to the top of the arena to sit in a stuffy suite and chat up industry reps. I’ve got to get my head on straight. I’m about to spend the whole of this first game schmoozing a bunch of potential brands, looking for more endorsement deals. But all I can think about is Lukas Novikov and his stupid caramel eyes!

Oh, he thinks he’ssooofunny sending me those silly contracts. And positively charming…and devilishly handsome. How could he not, when the collective universe seems ready to bust through a thick wall of plexiglass trying to get to him?

What is his problem that he refuses to take any of this seriously? Clearly, he doesn’t know about the email I received from Mark Talbot’s office on Friday, asking for a rundown on all the press related to each player. I wouldn’t be surprised if Mark is doing early calculations for the upcoming trade window, trying to decide who to keep.

Well, I’m no expert in hockey stats, but from the PR angle, Lukas Novikov screams trade. The folder we’re putting together on him is a hot mess of articles about his constant partying, the on- and off-ice fights. The man has been banned fromtwoVegas casinos. Oh, and he once pulled a prank that resulted in a small arena fire and a totaled Zamboni.

Rachel’s truck full of balls is starting to look like child’s play. Luckily, she was a good sport about it. She’s a really cool girl. Nothing like what I expected. I’ve met some musicians’ kids before, and they’re all a bit too “the moon is in the ninth house, let’s do ’shrooms and talk about the multiverse” for me. But Rachel issmart and funny. For the most part, she ignores the players who try to get too flirty with her.

Except for Jake Compton. That man is making no mystery of the Olympic-sized torch he carries for her.

Okay, this is actually helping. Don’t think about Lukas and his Texas-sized ego. Think about sweet Jake Compton, and his inappropriate crush on his doctor…

I stop in the middle of the concourse, gripping tighter to the strap of my leather shoulder bag. “Oh, sweet cheese and crackers.”

Jake Compton has a wildly inappropriate crush on his treating physician, an internationally famous rock star’s daughter. If that gets out—or if they start fooling around in secret andthatgets out—it’s going to be a PR nightmare.

I take a deep breath. “One crisis at a time, Poppy.”

For now, Lukas Novikov remains my primary PR concern.

First period is well underway,and the Rays look amazing! They’re skating hard against Carolina. We’ve had a few good shots on goal, but nothing has gone in yet. The crowd is electric. There’s a sea of teal jerseys swaying and cheering as all the new Rays fans practice the wave. It’s really wonderful to see the way the guys are being embraced by the League.

I’m distracted from chatting up the Bauer rep when I hear the screams and boos of the Carolina fans. “What happened?” I sit forward in my seat, nearly tipping my gin and tonic off the ledge.

“Carolina just got a penalty,” someone replies from the row behind me.

“Is Number Three okay?” the woman next to him asks.

My heart leaps in my throat. “Number Three” is Colton Morrow. My gaze darts from the Jumbotron back to the ice. I exhale as I watch Colton get to his feet. Then I watch the replay footage, shrieking as he takes a nasty hit into the boards from behind.

I don’t know enough about the penalties to know what just happened, but a Canes player is going to the box, and they’re setting upfor another face-off. Colton and Jean-Luc leave the ice and Lukas and Jake skate on.

I’ve never been so grateful to know the players have instant medical care. Rachel is behind Colton in a flash, one hand on his shoulder as he nods, taking the water bottle offered by Sanford.

“He’s okay,” I whisper to myself, sinking back in my seat.

The puck drops, and Josh O’Sullivan, our center and team captain, gets possession. He quickly bats it back to Jake, who shoots it across the ice to where Lukas is already waiting. Lukas just barely catches the puck on the tip of his stick as he surges forward, darting around a charging Hurricane.

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