Page 53 of Icing Hearts

“Well, now that you put it that way…” I trail off. “I think I need to have a little chat with Tory. Excuse me.”

“Tell him I want my cut,” she calls after me.

My heart is pounding, and a cold sweat breaks out along the back of my neck as I retrace my steps down the hallway. There’s no way he’s behind this. But who else could it be? Maybe it’s a new policy but that still wouldn’t explain Clover and Tommy’s lack of payment.

I pace in the hallway outside he locker room, waiting a few minutes until all the other guys have cleared out. Vince must have already been in the weight room because I didn’t see him head that way with the others.

The lacquered wood door slides against my palm as I slowly enter the locker room. A beautifully sculpted back and beautiful tattoos greet me and I school my expression.

“Tory,” I grate.

He doesn’t turn around to face me but his tone is forcefully jovial. “Charity.”

Focus, I remind myself as I make a long arc around his bench to face him head on. Those tattoos and muscles aren’t doing my brain any favors.

I cross my arms. “Managing the hockey team isn’t a paid position.”

He blanches for a breath before a look of cool calm returns to his face. That’s all the answer I need. He did this. Tory has been giving me money for a volunteer job.

“You get paid, don’t you?”

“Yes, but—” I begin to argue.

“Then I guess it’s a paid position.”

Why would he do this? Tory doesn’t do things like this for people. The questions answers itself and I realize he’s likely been paying me for the same reason he wore glasses today.

He stuffs his head and arms into a white, long-sleeved compression shirt but leaves his pectorals and abs exposed—likely for my benefit. I huff while he sits on the bench and laces up a sneaker.

“Can you finish putting your clothes on? Gosh.”

Tory stands up to his full height. Leans to the side and rests a forearm on the edge of his supply locker. If his upraised arm was holding mistletoe, we’d have a compelling reason to kiss on Christmas. We’re close enough that it could happen in less than a heartbeat. Some part of me wishes it would.

“Why?” He beams. “Am I distracting your tirade?”

“Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

“Indeed.”

“Where is the money coming from? Clover and Thomas don’t make anything.”

Tory shakes his head, pursing his lips, as if he thought I would actually just accept this and move on. “Why does it matter?”

“Because I shouldn’t be getting money if it’s not a paid job. It’s not fair.”

“If I tell you, will you quit managing the team?”

I ponder a moment, ignoring the look of annoyance in Tory’s downcast gaze. “No. I like managing. Clover and Thomas are cool. We’re kinda…getting friendly.”

Tory lets out a mocking gasp as he crosses one ankle over the other. “Heaven forbid she makes friends.”

He still hasn’t pulled his shirt down and between that and the compression boxers stretched taught over his hips…the combination is deadly. He knows it, too. My eyes travel north, thinking I’ll be safer, but he chooses now to shake out his hair and pull a thin headband up from his neck to keep the soon-to-be sweaty strands out of his eyes.

“Plus, I get to see Vince more.”

Tory rolls his eyes, and I relish the imminent return of the upper hand.

“Ew,” he mutters.

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