The verdict is in. I’m definitely some kind of masochist. There’s no chapter in the BDSM book for watching my ex-boyfriend goon around on the ice like a killer with a taste of blood, but that’s my preferred brand of torture.

I don’t just watch the games. I devour the few seconds he gives the press, if they’re lucky, afterwards. The clipped, pissed-off bite in his voice. The cold stare in his eyes. Every so often he flicks his attention right into the camera, and it slays me to the core.

Every game, I think about sending him a text message. Good game. You’re climbing the standings. Might make the play-offs yet.

But sending him a congratulatory text is how we tumbled into an ill-fated relationship in the first place.

Or at least that’s what I tell myself, over and over, until I wake up seventeen days after Tate walked out on me, and I decide I don’t care if we’re doomed.

I’m not done with Tate Nilsson. I’m not done with his cocky attitude, or his filthy tongue, or his over-the-top generosity.

I’m still upset about our fight, but more with myself than with him. Given his persistent and nosy nature, he’d been damn restrained throughout our relationship. He never tried to tell me what I should do with my career.

Maybe I should have told him about the position in Seattle.

My stomach twists.

Maybe…

I look at my phone. At the messages he sent me the day I left. At the radio silence since then.

No, a text message won’t cut it.

I won’t know where we stand unless I go to him. I don’t need to pull up his game schedule. I know it by heart. He has a game at home on Valentine’s Day, which is tempting, but I don’t want to do a big public plea. He lives his life out there, but he wouldn’t want a spectacle to detract from the team. And that night, they’ll fly to San Jose for a game the next day.

I’ll have to wait until they get back.

Three days.

I need to clear my schedule. And then I need to go see Mabel.

That afternoon, I pull into the gravel lot at the Weirdaker Games office.

The front door is open, but inside I find the first floor empty. “Mabel?”

From upstairs, I hear a muffled shout, then stomping shakes the light directly above me. I take the stairs quickly, following the sound, and find Mabel stuck on the other side of a door. Or at least, I find Mabel’s voice.

“I’m sorry!” she says through the door. “It seems I’ve locked myself in here. If you’re a potential client, that’s probably good advertisement. If you’re a thief, though, I’d prefer if you forgot that I’m locked in here—”

“It’s Sasha,” I say through laughter that hurts my sides. “How long are you going to be in there?”

“Oh! Hi! Not long if you can help me.”

“Sure thing. What do you need me to do?” This is probably the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had through a door. But since I need her help in the biggest way, I’ll do whatever it takes.

“There’s a tablet in the next room, can you go and get it?”

There are actually a half-dozen tablets in the next room, but only one of the screens is lit up. I grab that, and by the time I’m back in front of the door, I think I get it—this is the administrator view of the game.

She’s completed six of the eight puzzles, and she still has twelve minutes left—but I need her now.

I hit the red button in the corner to end the game sooner, and a shrill whistle sounds from the door handle.

Interesting.

The knob turns, and as the door opens, Mabel pokes her head around it and gives me a sheepish grin. “Hi.”

I wave at her, secretly grateful for the amusing distraction. “Hi.”

“This looks way less professional than it really is. I accidentally locked myself in there, and then…well, I thought, I might as well play the game to get out.”

I hold up the tablet. “You were almost done. Sorry to spoil it.”

“No, of course I don’t mind! Happy to see you. But I wasn’t expecting you today? Or anyone, really.”

I laugh. “Obviously.”

“Next time I’ll lock the door.”

“Nice side benefit of working out here…few thieves.”

She blushes. “Right.”

“Actually, I need a favour.”

“Name it.”

“What do you know about BDSM?”

Her eyes light up and a slow, curious smile curves across her face. “Only what I’ve read in books.”

“How many books?”

“My ereader has seen some scandalous things.”

Good enough. “I need to commission a kinky escape room. A really hard one. And I need to take it with me to Vancouver as soon as possible.”