My heart picks up its pace as I step inside the Ice Pavilion, built specifically for the Winter Games. It’s a huge, beautifully constructed place meant to impress. This is really happening. A kaleidoscope of butterflies flutter around in my stomach as I grip the handle of my leather skate bag.

Tasha slaps me on the arm. “Can you freaking believe this? We’re really freaking here at the mother freaking Winter Games!”

“I know, right?” There is nothing on this planet that could wipe the smile off my face right now. Except maybe Brooke Donovan, who happens to be making a beeline for us at the moment.

She gives us each that patented Brooke once over complete with a tiny wrinkling of her nose, then says, “Hey, girls. I see you finally made it to Korea.”

This is her little way of telling us she got here two weeks ago on her parents’ private jet, along with her coach and physiotherapist. Brooke’s family has all but bought her way to the games. Like mine, I suppose, except without the double mortgage.

She grins down at us. “I guess neither of you heard either.”

“Heard what?” Tasha asks.

Brooke rolls her eyes. “We’ve been bumped by an hour. The men’s hockey team stole our ice time.”

“What? Why?” I craned my neck to look past Brooke but it’s no use. She’s almost six feet tall to my 5’1.

“I guess they’re more important than us. ESPN wants to film them and get some interviews on ice for tonight’s news back home. Apparently, the rivalry between our guys and the Canadians heated up last night. There was a bit of a brawl in the gym.”

“Seriously? I thought Canadians were supposed to be so nice.” For some crazy reason, I find myself concerned about Clint. “Did anyone get hurt?”

“One guy from the Canadian team has a busted jaw!” Brooke says, slapping her thigh with one hand as she snort laughs.

“A broken jaw? That’s awful,” Tasha says. “I hope it isn’t Jared. I was really hoping to give that part of his body a good workout.”

She wanders off in the direction of the rink and I hurry to follow her. When I step inside the arena, I find Tasha standing on the steps about half way down the stands. Brooke stays with me, in spite of the ‘go away’ vibe I’m trying to give off.

The space smells of fresh paint and a hint of sweaty male. The white surface of the ice gleams under the new lights. I freeze and watch as the players take turns whipping slap shots at the goalie, my eyes scanning for Clint the entire time. Then I see him, standing with a small woman in a blue dress. She’s holding a microphone and talking into a camera while Clint leans on his stick and grins down at her.

“He is hot with a capital H,” Brooke sighs.

“Who?” I ask, pretending that I wasn’t just drooling over him.

Brooke gives me a skeptical look, then says, “Clint Sullivan. Did you not see the spread of him in People’s Hottest Athletes Going to the Games last month?”

“Must have missed it.”

“Oh, that’s a shame, Danika, because…” She finishes the thought by biting the side of her finger. “Too bad he’s engaged.”

“He’s what?”

“Yeah. To some Victoria’s Closet model. My mom is good friends with Victoria so she told her at a garden party in the Hamptons on Labor Day weekend.” Brooke holds a hand up to me. “But you can’t say anything to anyone because, like, nobody knows about it and she’s still in the middle of divorcing some Greek shipping mogul so it would really mess up her life if anyone found out.”

My heart sinks to my feet. That makes sense. Of course he’s with an underwear model. “Whatever, I met him on the plane. He’s pretty full of himself.”

“When you look like him and play like him, you can afford to be full of yourself.” Brooke shakes her head and stares at him some more.

* * *

Tasha and I make our way down to the dressing room, managing to ditch Brooke when a few more of the girls came into the arena and she needed to rush over to tell them the big news. I manage to put Clint Sullivan out of my head and get back to remembering why I’m here. Tasha and I sit in silence on the long wooden bench and grin at each other.

I whisper to her, “We made it.”

“We sure as shit did, hun.”

I lean back against the smooth wall behind me and close my eyes. As soon as I do, Clint’s face pops into my mind, just as it’s done every time I’ve closed my eyes since the flight two days ago. I sit up straight and open my eyes, willing myself to just forget him and his dream girl in her tiny panties and D cups.

“You okay?” Tasha asks.

“Yup. Great. Never better.”

“You sure? Because you’ve been pretty distracted since we got here.”

“Of course I’m distracted. We’re at the freaking Winter Games.”

“I’m thinking it might have more to do with a certain hockey player who couldn’t stop walking past your seat while you slept the entire flight.”

My cheeks burn hot. “He did not. And even if he did, I would never go for a guy like him. He’s a big meathead.”

She shrugs. “Haven’t you ever heard that opposites attract?”

“Not in this case…” I trail off when the door swings open and in walks Clint looking absolutely enormous with the extra height from his skates.

He smiles when he sees me and lets the door shut behind him. “Feisty kitty.”

“Aren’t you in the wrong dressing room?”

“Since you’re in here, it looks pretty right to me.” His helmet is off and his dark hair is soaked with sweat, and for some stupid reason, my girl parts are finding that attractive instead of a turnoff.

Tasha quickly stands, saying, “I forgot to bring that thing I left at that place…”

“No, you didn’t forget it,” I say through gritted teeth. “I picked it up for you. It’s in my b—”

The door swings shut behind her, leaving me alone with Hottie McEngaged Man. He gives me that smirk that makes my knees buckle and I force myself to look away.

“Well, great to see you. Good luck out there.” I reach down and pull a skate out of my bag, then attempt to put it on over my right Ugg boot.

Clint chuckles. “Is that the secret to all those twirls you ladies do? You wear your winter boots under your skates?”

I roll my eyes. “Okay, yeah, I’m a little…keyed up at the moment, so if you don’t mind, I should try to calm myself down a bit before practice.”

“Do I make you nervous, Kitty?”

“No. Why would someone like you make me nervous?”

“Because I want you. Kitty and all.”

My mouth drops open and instead of closing it, I bite my bottom lip. Clint stares at me and I swear to God he’s pulling all the dirty thoughts I’ve had about him out of my mind. I’m suddenly flush with embarrassment and lust. Underwear model fiancée. I clear my throat and sit up tall. “Listen, thanks for the flattery. I’m sure most girls would jump at the chance to be your Winter Games hook-up, but I’m not one of them.”

“Oh, no, Kitty,” he says, shaking his head a little. “This wouldn’t be just a hook-up. If you and I get this fire started, it’s going to burn hot, hard, and for a very long time.”

Well, now, my entire body just went to jelly. Where’s Tasha when I need her? Some friend, abandoning me with this incredible hockey god who’s looking at me like he wants to lick me from my toes to my neck. I shake my head to snap myself out of it. “No, thanks.” My voice comes out high pitched and weak which is not what I was going for at all.

“It’s okay to be scared.”

“I’m not scared, but I’m also not stupid.”

Nodding, he says, “Oh, you’re scared all right.”

“This is never going to happen.” I point back and forth from my chest to him.

“And why’s that?”

“First of all, because I’m not going to blow this for myself. When you fly home, you’ll go back to making millions, even if you leave here empty-handed. If I don’t medal, I go back to being broke, and if I’m lucky, I’ll get another shot in four years, but most likely, I won’t.”

Clint nods and his face grows serious. “And second?”

“What?”

“You said, first of all. That usually means there’s more.”

“Second is that I just don’t like you that much.” I think about his fiancée to stop myself from grinning at the shocked look on his face. I don’t bring her up even though I know if I did, this entire thing would be over instantly and I could get started on forgetting about him.

“Liar.”

“Arrogant goon.”

He shrugs like that’s not an insult. “I may be arrogant, but I’m also right about you. You want me.”

“I do not. You’re so not my type.”

“How do you know that? You don’t even know me.”

“Name the last book you read and when.”

“The Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell. Finished it this morning at breakfast.”

Oh, well, I wasn’t expecting that. I shake my head. “All right, so you read. Big deal. Still not interested. Now, you should get going so I can concentrate.”

“I can help you, you know. I’m really good at helping people get in the zone.”

“In the zone? Oh, please. You’ll try anything.”

“When it comes to you, I will.” He smiles. “And I didn’t mean it that way. I meant that a lot of the time when one of the guys on the team is struggling, the coach gets me to have a talk with him. Usually helps.”

“Oh. Well, thanks. If I need help, I’ll come find you.”

“You do that. I’m in building two in the village, apartment thirty-six.” He opens the door, then turns and points back and forth between him and me. “This is going to happen, Dani.”

* * *

As soon as the door shuts, I melt into the bench and groan. What the hell just happened? He reads? And he’s some sort of hockey player whisperer. And he’s lickably hot. But he’s also a cheating bastard. Damn underwear models! Who invented them in the first place?