Icy Pucking Play (Chicago Blades #3)

1. Sophie

Chapter 1

Sophie

S ome days, it's better to stay in bed.

Every once in a while, this type of day rears its ugly head.

It’s the kind of day when your alarm doesn't go off, your coffee maker decides to die a dramatic death, and your cat decides your last clean pair of pantyhose makes the perfect scratching post. Luckily, I don’t have a cat and I almost never wear pantyhose.

Today, however, is most definitely one of those days.

And it's not even nine a.m. yet.

I should have known something was up when I walked into Sports News Now 's downtown Chicago offices and found my desk covered in a mountain of papers that definitely weren't there when I left yesterday at eight p.m.

Being the twenty-three-year-old in the office and the newest intern means inheriting everyone else's overflow work, and from the looks of it, the entire sports department has simultaneously decided to hand me what they can’t be bothered to work on.

"Morning, Sophie!" my fellow intern Brad calls out as he passes by, somehow managing to balance three coffee cups and a stack of folders. "Heads up. Lexi's looking for you."

My stomach drops.

Lexi Brookes is my boss and a total badass. I have the tendency around her to stress-ramble to the point where I just can’t shut up.

"Did she say why?" I call after Brad, but he's already disappeared around the corner, leaving me alone with my mounting anxiety and the Empire State Building of paperwork on my desk.

I check my phone. No missed calls. No urgent emails. Nothing that would explain why the boss wants to see me. Unless...

Oh God.

Yesterday's article. The one where I'd somehow managed to credit the Blades' backup goalie with scoring fifteen goals last season. Which would have been impressive if, you know…goalies actually left their net to score goals on a regular basis. Shit…that must be it.

My phone buzzes, making me jump.

Lexi: I need to meet with you in my office at 3 PM.

Fan-freaking-tastic.

That means I’ve got six hours until then. Six hours to contemplate all the ways I've managed to screw up my dream job before it even really began.

I need to pee. Actually, scratch that—I need to throw up. Both. Definitely both.

Grabbing my phone and my dignity (what's left of it anyway), I head for the restroom, eyes glued to my screen as I reread yesterday's article for the hundredth time. Maybe if I can point out all the things I've done right, Lexi will overlook that one tiny but massive, career-ending mistake.

I'm so focused on my phone that I don't notice the sign on the door says “Men”.

I enter the bathroom, and when I finally look up, I make direct eye contact with none other than the starting Chicago Blades goalie—Evan "Ice Man" Daniels.

At the urinal.

Did I mention he's using said urinal? And, good God, I see all of him.

For a moment, time stands still.

Me, frozen in the doorway like a deer in headlights. Him, equally frozen mid-stream, those gorgeous ice-blue eyes widening in recognition.

I wish I could run and hide, but the damage has been done. He definitely recognizes me. I spent three months bringing him coffee and stats sheets during my recent internship with the Blades.

This isn’t the first time I’ve done something incredibly stupid in front of him. I managed to drop his protein shake all over his custom dress shoes that one time. I wanted to desperately disappear that time as well.

"I…" I start to say, though what exactly I planned to follow that with, I have no idea. I'm sorry? I didn't see anything? Nice package?

Mercifully, my fight-or-flight response finally kicks in, choosing flight with an enthusiasm that would impress an Olympic sprinter.

I spin around so fast that I lose my balance, my heel catching on the tile floor.

When you’re falling, sometimes there's that split second where you think you might recover, that moment of desperate optimism where you believe your flailing arms might actually save you from face-planting in front of your secret crush.

Unfortunately, this is not one of those times.

I go down hard, my phone flying across the floor as I land in a heap, completely mortified. The only saving grace is that I’m now faced away from the urinals, preserving what little dignity remains between us.

"Sophie?" Evan's voice, deep and concerned, comes from somewhere above me. "Are you okay?"

Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God.

"Fine!" I squeak, pushing myself up onto my hands and knees. "Totally fine! Just...just leaving! Sorry about the...um...invasion of privacy!"

"Hold on, let me…"

"No!" I scramble to my feet, keeping my back to him. "No need to...whatever you were about to do! Please, just...pretend this never happened!"

I snatch up my phone and bolt, not stopping until I reach the women's restroom on the other side of the building, as far away from the scene of the crime as I can get. I lock myself in a stall, slump against the door, and contemplate my options:

1. Quit my job and move to Alaska to raise sled dogs.

2. Fake my own death and start a new life as a lighthouse keeper.

3. Find a way to travel back in time and prevent myself from ever being born.

"Get it together, girl,” I mutter, pressing my hands into my flaming cheeks. "It's fine. It's totally fine. He probably won't even remember this by tomorrow."

Yeah, right.

Five hours later, I sit in one of the incredibly uncomfortable plastic chairs outside Lexi's office, my career and my dignity hanging by equally frayed threads. My watch shows two fifty-five p.m.—five minutes until my professional execution.

I haven't seen Evan since “The Incident” (which is absolutely what I'm calling it in my head now), but knowing he might still be in the building makes my skin prickle with awareness.

What was he even doing here? The Blades' practice facility is across town, and it's not like hockey players regularly drop by sports news offices just to hang out.

The click of heels on tile yanks me from my spiral of doom.

Lexi Brookes strides down the hallway, her shoulder-length blonde hair swinging with each step, tablet tucked under her arm. She glances my way as she passes, the scent of her expensive perfume trailing behind her.

"Sophie," she calls over her shoulder, "come on in."

I scramble to my feet, nearly knocking over my chair in the process.

Lexi's office is intimidating in its simplicity. There is no clutter. No unnecessary decorations. No fanfare or fluff.

Just a sleek glass desk, a few strategically placed awards, and a wall of monitors streaming various sports channels.

"Have a seat," Lexi says, gesturing to the chair across from her desk as she settles into her own black leather chair.

I perch on the edge of the seat, hands clasped tightly in my lap to stop them from shaking. This is it, the moment when my dreams of becoming a sports journalist go up in flames.

I should have listened to my dad and gone into accounting.

Lexi taps at her tablet for a moment, her face unreadable. The silence stretches on, and I feel sweat starting to bead up on my forehead.

Finally, she looks up, her piercing hazel eyes meeting mine. "Sophie, do you know why I called you in here today?"

"I...I think so. It's about the mistake in yesterday's article, isn't it? I'm so sorry, Lexi. It was a stupid error, and I promise it won't happen again. I'll double-check, triple-check everything from now on. I'll—"

Lexi holds up a hand, cutting off my rambling apology. "Yes, the mix-up was unfortunate. But that's not why I called you in."

I blink. "It's...not?"

A small smile curls one corner of Lexi's lips. "No, it's not. Though I appreciate your willingness to take responsibility. That's actually part of why I wanted to talk to you."

Now I'm completely lost. I stay silent, waiting for her to continue.

Lexi leans back in her chair, studying me. "Sophie, you've been with us for what, three months now?"

"Three months, two weeks, and three days." My heart thumps. Why would I tell her the exact time? Geez, I should have added the hours and minutes in, too, just to make her think I’m a complete geek.

She nods, obviously trying to keep the smile off her face. "In that time, you've shown a lot of potential. You're hardworking, eager to learn, and you don't shy away from challenges. Yes, you made a mistake yesterday, but you also caught it yourself and alerted the team immediately. That kind of integrity is important in this business."

I feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe I'm not getting fired after all.

"That's why," Lexi continues, "I'm offering you a chance at something big. Something that could really launch your career if you handle it well."

My heart, which had just started to slow down, kicks into overdrive again. "What...what kind of chance are you talking about?"

Lexi leans forward, her eyes gleaming. "How would you like to shadow Ryland Daniels for the next few months?"

Ryland Daniels. The Blades new recruit. And Evan Daniel’s nephew. Just my luck…why couldn’t it be a different new recruit?

"Evan Daniels's nephew, right?" I try to keep the disappointment from my voice.

"The very same." Lexi's smile widens. "He's the talk of the upcoming prospect development camp. Everyone knows he's got the talent, but no one's gotten close enough to really tell his story. The nephew of the infamous Ice Man, trying to make his own mark on the sport? That's gold, Sophie."

Evan Daniels. The infamous Ice Man. At thirty-five years old, he’s still one of the most effective players in the league. And, in my opinion, certainly one of the hottest.

My mind flashes back to those piercing blue eyes locked on mine this morning and…something else…and my cheeks heat. "I...um...are you sure I'm the right person for this?"

"Actually, yes. You've already got a relationship with the team from your previous internship, and more importantly, you've got something most reporters don't—genuine enthusiasm for the sport. Plus," she adds with a knowing look, "I hear Evan Daniels actually speaks to you occasionally, which is more than most media people can say."

Oh, if she only knew about our latest interaction.

"But," Lexi continues, her expression growing serious, "this is a big responsibility. You'll need to be competent, thorough, and most importantly, respectful of boundaries. The Daniels family is notoriously private, especially Evan. One wrong move and they'll shut us out completely. Do you think you can handle that?"

Can I handle spending the next few months in close proximity to the man I'd just walked in on in the bathroom? The same man I've had an embarrassing crush on since my first day with the Blades?

The grumpy, gorgeous goalie who probably now thinks I'm some kind of restroom-stalking weirdo?

"I..." I swallow hard, straighten my spine, and make a decision that will either launch my career or destroy it completely. "Yes. Yes, I can handle it. Thank you for the amazing opportunity. I won’t let you down."

As I make my way back to my desk, my mind races with conflicting emotions. On one hand, I'm ecstatic about this opportunity. Shadowing Ryland Daniels could be my big break, the chance to prove myself as a serious sports journalist. On the other hand, the prospect of being in close proximity to Evan Daniels for the next few months makes my stomach do backflips.

I sink into my chair, absentmindedly shuffling the mountain of papers on my desk as I let my thoughts wander. Evan Daniels. The Ice Man. Six foot three inches of pure, chiseled perfection. Those piercing blue eyes that seem to look right through you. His strong, square jaw which is often covered in just the right amount of stubble. And don't even get me started on his hands. Those big, capable goalie hands that can snatch pucks out of the air like magic...

I shake my head, trying to clear away the inappropriate thoughts. This is exactly why I need to stay professional. I can't let my ridiculous crush interfere with this assignment. But it's hard not to think about Evan when memories of our past interactions keep flooding back.

Like the time I first interviewed him after a game. I was so nervous, my hands shaking as I held up the microphone. He'd just shut out the opposing team, making an impossible save in the final seconds. His hair was damp with sweat, his cheeks flushed from exertion. When he smiled at me—actually smiled!—I completely forgot my questions and stood there gaping like an idiot.

I vow to myself that I will not look like an idiot in front of him again. Ever.