Page 47 of Deking
“What’s wrong?”
He groans. “I, um, can you please just come?”
It’s the vulnerability in his voice that has me changing directions and hustling toward the practice rink.
“I’ll be right there,” I tell him.
“Thanks.”
He hangs up the phone, making me move faster.
When I make it to the rink, there’s a man at the door.
“Name, please.”
I clear my throat. “Lyla?”
He raises a brow. “Is that a question?”
“No. I’m Lyla. I guess I wasn’t sure why you were asking.”
“Oh, no one is allowed in without prior approval. You are on the list, though. I was told to expect you. Go inside and down to the right. The open door will lead you to the ice.”
“Thanks,” I tell him, heading through the door he holds open.
As I get closer, I hear skates on ice. Then I step through the door. On the ice is the hockey team, but that’s not why Wyatt called me. No, he called me because of the group of girls all huddled on the benches behind the ice. I walk down to the side of the ice, walking around until I’m near the goalie net. As soon as Wyatt sees me, he holds up his glove. I don’t know if he’s waving or telling me to wait one minute, so I just wave back and head to sit down.
After a few minutes one of the girls gets brave enough to come talk to me.
“Hey, who are you?” she asks.
“None of your business.” I ask, not liking how she approached me.
She frowns. “You can’t be in here. How did you get past the security guard?”
“My name was on the list, so I guess I’m allowed. Who would have believed it, right?”
“Are you making fun of me?”
I roll my eyes. “It’s called being facetious. What are you doing here?”
She clears her throat. “We are part of the marketing program. We have special permission to study the hockey team so that we can market them.”
I glance back over, noting all six people in her group are female.
They are using their class as a way to access the players. Smart.
“Hey, baby. Come here,” Wyatt calls out from the opening in the glass.
“Me?” the hopeful girl asks.
I snort as I stand. I don’t say another word to her as I walk over to the glass.
“I assume I’m playing defense?” I ask.
He leans over the boards, his hair falling in his eyes. I reach up, pushing it back.
“Yeah. If you don’t mind.”
