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“I’m an enigma.”

“Clearly.”

Avery studies me for half a second, then—thankfully—lets it go.

“You know, if you keep buying coffee here, eventually I’m going to figure it out.”

I lift my cup. “Then I guess I’ll have to find somewhere else.”

“Good luck with that.” She nods to my almost empty glass. “You’ve already tasted temptation.”

I laugh. “Okay. Good point. You’re stuck with me.”

“That’s a relief. I was worried.” She starts toward the counter.

“Avery?”

She turns.

“Seriously. This is really good.”

Her face brightens. “Come back tomorrow. I’ll make you try one of my favorites off the specials menu.”

“That sounds vaguely threatening.”

“It should.” I watch her disappear behind the counter before opening my notebook again.

The billionaire is still there. So are the crossed-out dimples. And beneath brown eyes, I can still see the faint impression of what I wrote first.

Blue.

I stare at it for another second before putting pen to paper. For the first time since I left Evergreen, the words come without me having to drag them out.

One line.

Then another.

Then another.

Maybe the billionaire keeps the glasses. Maybe he loses the dimples.

And maybe, if I’m really lucky, by the time I figure out his face, he’ll stop looking so much like Hayes freaking Bishop.

And I’ll be able to finish a paragraph before

CHAPTER EIGHT

BISHOP

There aren’t many things a hard practice can’t beat out of my head. That’s one reason I love this place.

The Den isn’t much to look at from the outside. Gray concrete, blacked-out windows, Phoenixes logo above the doors. Inside it smells like cold air, sharpened steel, rubber mats, and twenty grown men sweating through several thousand dollars’ worth of hockey equipment.

Home, basically.

My penthouse is where I sleep. The Den is where everything makes sense.

The second my blades hit the ice, the rest of the world usually shuts the fuck up. Today, it takes a little longer.