Page 51

Big Mike looks down at the torn-up ice, at the drills still written across it in blade marks.

"Most teams get so obsessed with stats," he says, "they miss the player making everybody around him better." He taps the boards with two fingers. "Interesting. Very interesting."

"What's interesting?"

"Go shower, Stratton. And check out that duet in the Music Lounge tonight. They're quite good."

He strolls off across the snow, leaving footprints and zero explanation.

I stand alone on the ice, unsettled because I've been interesting before. Interesting is what teams say right before they sign someone younger or better than me.

By the time I get changed and refreshed, Audrey is waiting near the Christmas market entrance when I come out, and my whole body does something enthusiastic and stupid.

She's wearing a red coat and a white knit hat, snowflakes catching in the blonde hair spilling out beneath it.

The closer I get, the more last night comes roaring back in full surround sound.

Those thick thighs shaking against my ears, her hands in my hair, the exact broken pitch of my name when she finally stopped being polite and told me precisely what she wanted.

It might be the hottest thing I've ever heard in my life.

It's a pleasant evening at the resort, and there are families everywhere. Kids walk around eating gingerbread hockey players, and a choir is tuning up on the outdoor stage by the firepits.

Which is the only reason I don't grab Audrey by that red coat, kiss her against the nearest hut, and give Chilmore a show it isn't ready for.

"Evening Captain," she says.

"Liaison."

She shakes her head at me. "Temporary Liaison. How'd it go with Big Mike?"

"Well, he said the word 'interesting' twice and left. I'm choosing not to think about it right now. I'm just glad he didn't fire me to be honest. I thought you might have dobbed me in or something."

"Dobbed you in for what?" she asks, eyebrows raised.

I glance around at the families with children wandering past. "You really want me to say it out loud right here?"

Her gaze follows mine to a group of eight-year-olds and a flush creeps up her neck.

"Perhaps not," she says.

"Smart choice." I grin and step in closer so I can get a stronger smell of her perfume. "You coming to watch Dylan and Stevie tonight? I think they start about seven."

"Can't." She waves a printed schedule in front of my face. "I've been assigned to inspect the holiday-light driving route before sponsors and media tour it tomorrow night. Which means I get to drive my wedding dress around Chilmore judging Christmas decorations. Living the dream."

"I'll drive you."

She smiles softly. "My car works, Miles."

"Your car got dragged out of a snowbank a week ago, the weather's turning, and I still don't trust that rear wheel."

"You're inventing reasons to supervise my driving."

"Can you blame me?" I say, leaning in. "You entered this town sideways, wearing a wedding dress, while flashing a nipple to the entire population of Chilmore."

She opens her mouth in shock. "That was one time."

"That's one more time than most drivers manage."