And then she'd turned to him, a little bit breathless, slightly flushed, and his hormones had surged like they had back in that bathroom stall. His objectivity had been effectively drowned in a tidal wave of good old-fashioned lust.
"What's up, Mags?"
Luke looked over at goaltender Jean-Claude LaCroix. Despite a long history together in the minor leagues, it wasn't until Luke had been traded to the Portland Storm after Ethan's accident that the two of them had really cultivated a friendship.
"Hey, J.C. Nothing. Just trying to get the inside scoop on what stupid interview questions we'll be enduring tomorrow. Because distraction is just what a team in play-offs needs," he added. The bitterness that laced his voice was genuine.
"Ha. Yeah, she's pretty hot, huh? If you're gonna be distracted, she's the way to do it."
Luke's head whipped toward his friend. He didn't like the way that comment bothered him. It felt almost like...jealousy? "Do you trust her?"
J.C. seemed genuinely surprised by the question. "What's to trust, man?"
"You don't think she's up to something? As if she's putting on an act so she can snoop around?"
"Luke, be serious. Her latest question was, ‘name the last show you binge watched.' I really doubt there's much to worry about here," J.C. told him. "Management hired her to be comic relief. Ask us softball questions to make us look charming and funny so we can sell more jerseys. It's not as if she's a real reporter."
"I guess. But doesn't it seem odd to you that someone with no apparent hockey knowledge would even bother to apply for this position?"
His friend chuckled. "Dude, she's a YouTube phenomenon looking to cash in on her fifteen minutes. And management is taking advantage of it. Don't overthink it."
"You're probably right." Luke frowned. "I just can't shake this feeling that she's more of a reporter than anyone gives her credit for."
"We all have enough trouble without searching for more. So keep your focus on the game and forget about this inconsequential stuff. We tanked the first game. Tonight we were out for redemption. There's a lot of series left. Keep your eye on the prize."
Luke nodded. J.C. was right. But for some reason, he couldn't get Holly out of his mind.
He wanted to see her again. He wasn't quite sure when it had happened, but he realized in that moment that sparring with her had become the best part of his day.
6
"CAN I TALK to you for a sec?"
Holly looked up from her notes about her latest piece-she was headed to the parking lot so the Storm players could answer silly questions and show off their sweet rides-to find J.C., hands shoved in his pockets, looking sheepish.
"Is this car tour optional? Because I'd rather not do it."
"Oh. You mean, ever? Or did you just want me to reschedule?"
"I mean ever. I just...there's some family stuff going on right now. I know you usually don't get through the whole roster when you're doing interviews, so I was hoping you could skip me for the car tour today. I'm happy to do the other part-the teammate question stuff."
"Okay, that's fine. I can pick someone else."
The relief on his face was almost comical, except that it was a little too extreme for someone who'd just dodged the fluffiest interview of all time.
"LaCroix! Quit flirting and go do your tour so the rest of us can get on with ours."
The rest of her interviewees were milling about the dressing room, waiting to head outside with her.
"Bite me, Kowalchuk. I'm not doing the car stuff."
"Ha! Of course you're wussing out!" Sillinger laughed. "Have you seen the piece of crap he's driving lately? Some low-end, old-man SUV. It's almost as bad as Luke's truck!"
"You got rid of the Porsche?" Luke sounded genuinely surprised to hear. Weird, considering he and J.C. seemed quite close. Holly made a mental note to add J.C.'s vehicle downgrade to his suspect file.
"Back off, guys. You do your interviews and let me do mine."
There was a bite to the usually affable goaltender's voice, and judging by the looks on his teammates' faces, Holly knew she wasn't the only one who found it odd.
Sillinger wasn't cowed. "Hey, don't take it out on us just because you're cruising around town in an old guy's ride."
"Yeah, well, sometimes you gotta make sacrifices. Dads have to think about safety, not flash."
There was a long moment of silence as the not-quite-an-announcement sank in. Luke was the first to wade into the breach.
"Tania's pregnant? Congratulations, man! That's great!" Luke and J.C. shook before Luke pulled him in for a laudatory slap on the back.
"Yeah. Not quite the plan, but what are you gonna do?"
Holly watched as the Storm gathered around their goalie, congratulating him on the big news. A new baby on the way. That was a pretty good reason to sell your sports car, she supposed. Guess she didn't need to update the suspect file after all. Maybe she could score an exclusive on potential baby names, though...
"See?" crowed the rookie. "Dad vehicle. Just like I said. Come on, Holly. I'll show you what a real man drives."
"Says the guy who rolled up to his first practice in a Ford Fiesta," J.C. shot back.
"That was my old life. Now my ride lives up to my standards. Wait until you see it," he promised, bouncing like a toddler on a sugar high. "Cherry-red Lamborghini with black leather interior. It's so sweet, you might get diabetes just looking at it."
"Jesus, rookie," Luke warned. "You remember the first three years of your contract are flat-rate, right? Pace yourself or you're going to outspend your bank account before you start raking in the big bucks."
Holly hadn't even considered that. Sillinger was only making about three hundred thousand a year. Not chump change by any means, but it made it tight to rock two-hundred-thousand-dollar cars and a place to live, on top of day-to-day expenses. And the kid was not rolling in endorsement deals. Not yet, anyway.
"Don't you worry about me. If you got the fame, there's always a way to bring in the money."
Holly tried not to react outwardly to the sentiment, but she filed it away for parsing later. Under the guise of sending a text, she typed it into the Sillinger file on her phone, but when she glanced up, it was to find Luke watching her with narrowed eyes. She shot him a bright, innocent smile and followed the rookie out to his car.
* * *
LUKE INHALED DEEPLY and let the cool scent of arena ice soothe him. The lights were off, except for a few spotlights shining down from the press catwalk high above and all the seats in the building were bathed in shadows. No one clapped, no one jeered, there was just the rhythmic sound of the cut of his blades echoing through the empty rink as he skated a slow, easy lap. To Luke, it was heaven, a balm to his battered nerves.
There was nothing better than a moment alone on the ice. It reminded him of his early childhood, before his family had moved to Oregon when he was nine. He'd spent many a Michigan winter outside, whiling away the hours pretending he was Gretzky or Hull or Lemieux on the patch of ice his dad had made for him in the backyard.
He'd needed this, a minute to himself, so he'd bailed on Holly's car tours, suited up and come out here under the guise of breaking in his new gloves. Truth was, he wanted to clear his head. Thanks to a neatly folded piece of yellow legal pad and a certain blonde in sky-high heels, everything was too complicated right now. One of his guys was putting himself ahead of the team by playing the inside man on a point-shaving operation.
And if Holly was aware of it and just waiting until she had enough evidence to expose one of his guys, he needed to beat her to it. It was imperative that he deal with this quickly and quietly. The Storm couldn't weather another scandal.
He snagged the puck he'd brought out with him as he skated past and bounced it off the boards to himself. He'd dreamed of winning hockey's ultimate prize for as long as he could remember. But now that he was finally back in the play-offs, his play was lackluster, at best. He needed to do better, play better.
He owed that to his team, who were counting on their captain and looking to him to set an example. He owed it to his parents, who had sacrificed so much to support him on his hockey quest. And he owed it to Ethan. His little brother had always been the better hockey player, much as Luke had hated to admit it. But it had become obvious by the time the little punk turned ten that he was destined for big things. Even through his jealousy, Luke had always been proud of Ethan, cheering him on, pushing him harder.