Page 129 of Dating Goals
I tap my stick twice on the ice. A signal to my defensemen. Christoph receives the pass from the ref and rockets it to Peter, who finds Tyler streaking up the boards. The fans rise to their feet as Tyler crosses the blue line with fifteen seconds left.
“Go, go, go!” I yell, though no one can hear me over the deafening roar.
Tyler passes to Peter, who fakes a shot before sliding the puck to Christoph. The seconds tick down. Ten…nine…
Christoph winds up from the point, but instead of shooting, he passes to Peter, who’s snuck behind the defense. Peter redirects the puck into the net as the buzzer sounds.
The arena explodes. My teammates pile onto Peter while I skate the length of the ice to join the celebration. Peter headlocks me while Tyler sprays me with water.
“Did you see Campbell’s face when you robbed him?” Tyler laughs. “Thought he had you beat glove-side!”
I grin through my mask. “Old Calgary boys never reveal their secrets.”
The crowd continues to roar as we line up for handshakes. When I reach Dex in the line, he gives me an extra-hard slap on the pads.
“Highway robbery,” he mutters good-naturedly. “Dinner’s on you next time.”
I wink. “Worth every franc.”
After media scrums and cool-down stretches, I shower and change into street clothes. My phone buzzes with texts. Three from my agent about endorsement offers in Switzerland, one from Sawyer congratulating me on the shutout, and nothing from Anika. I hadn’t expected her to use the ticket I’d left for her, but I’d still like to know she’s safe back at my cabin. As soon as I turn the heat on in my car, I’ll call her.
I push through the stadium exit doors, into the cool night air. The parking lot stands nearly empty now, save for a sleek black sedan idling near my car.
My steps falter.
Agents Bruderlin and Showalter stand beside my car (not the Bugatti, which I need to put in the shop) with grim expressions.My stomach drops. Something went wrong. Elodie? The money? Malcolm Chase? Anika? Or did they hear about the high-speed chase through Bern last night?
“Mr. McGregor,” Bruderlin says with a nod. “Nice game.”
“Thanks.” I shift my bag to my other shoulder. “Is everything okay?”
“We need to talk,” Showalter replies gravely.
So hedidhear about the high-speed chase.
“Listen, I know I broke a few traffic laws, but…”
A third figure emerges from the shadows behind them. My blood runs cold.
“Durand?” I blurt. “What is he doing here?”
Bruderlin clears his throat. “This is Agent Wilde, Mr. McGregor. He’s with?—”
“MI6,” Wilde finishes. “Sorry for the theatrics at the casino. Professional hazard.”
My brain scrambles to process this. “MI6? As in, James Bond MI6?”
“We’re considerably less flashy in real life,” Wilde says dryly.
“So, your name isn’t Durand?”
“No.”
Bruderlin clears his throat. “There’s been a complication.”
My stomach drops as my thoughts fly to Anika. “What kind of complication?”
“Perhaps we should discuss this somewhere private,” Durand…I mean…Wildesuggests.
