Page 314 of Wild Card 13

“Right.”

“No nicknames.” Her eyes narrowed. “Do not make that weird either.”

“I’m a professional.”

She picked up her bag. “Dinner tonight?” she asked.

My heart kicked.

It was not the first time we had eaten together. It was not even the first plan we had made in the last forty-eight hours.

But this was Monday morning. This was after. This was a plan made with the world turned back on.

“At your place?” I asked.

She hesitated. Then nodded. “After work. I’ll cook.”

“I’ll see you at work, Ms. Thomas.”

Lucy’s blush came fast. She pointed at me again. “Less of that.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I smiled.

She tried to glare, but Monday morning Lucy in my kitchen, holding coffee and making rules about how I was allowed to look at her, did not have the power she thought it did. Or maybe she had too much.

She left first. I gave her ten minutes, because I was respectful and also because she texted me three separate warning messages before I made it out of the driveway. I sat in my truck and laughed like an idiot.

The arena felt different in the off-season.

During the season, Talon Arena had a pulse. Fans, skates, media, music, bodies moving with purpose, the constant pressure of wins and losses and whether your line was producing enough to keep people from talking.

In late June, the building breathed slower.

The ice was still there, bright and cold under the lights, but the hallways were quieter. Staff moved in clusters with binders and tablets. Equipment carts sat outside storage rooms. The big screens were dark. The air smelled like cold concrete, coffee, and whatever cleaner the operations crew used when the building had a chance to recover from us.

I made it thirty-two minutes before I touched Lucy without thinking.

In my defense, she was standing too close to a rolling equipmentcase in the hallway outside the conference room, and Rusty’s assistant pushed it around the corner faster than expected.

Lucy stepped back at the same time. I put my hand on her waist and moved her out of the way. Something I would have done before I remembered I was not supposed to be the man who knew exactly how her waist felt under my hand.

The case rolled by.

My hand stayed there for one catastrophic second too long.

Then I snatched it back like the wall had shocked me. “Sorry, Ms. Thomas.”

Lucy’s cheeks went red. I stared at a random point over her shoulder and tried to look like a normal man who had not woken up with his face in her hair.

“Thank you,” she said. “Conference room.”

“Yes, Ms. Thomas.”

“Buzz.” She glanced around the hallway, then lowered her voice. “Less.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. “I’ll try.”

“Try harder.”