"This wasn't exactly what I had in mind, Tay-Tay."

"But it's brilliant. Come on, even you have to admit it."

Charles shook his head then leaned against the boards, damn near falling on his ass in the process. He ignored Taylor's small laugh and regained his balance, using the stick almost like a crutch. The only consolation was that he wasn't the only one having trouble staying upright on the ice.

"It's not going to be so brilliant if Murph keels over from a heart attack. It's never a good idea to kill the man with the money" He glanced at Taylor, something warm spreading through his chest at the sight of her small smile. She looked so natural, standing there on the ice, the skates nothing more than a natural extension of her body. Her thick hair was pulled back in a ponytail, the lights from above dancing on the light brown and honey blonde strands each time she moved. She was wearing warm-up pants—probably over a pair of sweatpants, judging from the slight bulk—and an old green jersey free of any designs or logos. She held the stick in her gloved hands in front of her, her grip relaxed and casual.

She belonged on the ice, more than anyone else he'd ever seen. That didn't stop the urge he had to throw her over his shoulder and carry her off the ice. He almost laughed when he imagined her reaction. Yeah, he wouldn't get very far, not after she slugged him and dropped him on his ass.

"Mr. Murphy really isn't doing that bad."

Charles forced himself to focus on the here-and-now and looked over, his eyes automatically finding the owner of the Blades. He was at center ice, his ankles wobbling and his feet shuffling under him as he made slow progress along the ice. Sammie stood just in front of him, gliding backward, her arms held slightly in front of her—like she'd actually catch him if he fell.

"Do you really think pairing him with Sammie was a good idea? He'll crush her if he falls on top of her."

"Don't underestimate her size. She plays defense, remember? She can handle it. Besides, everyone loves Sammie. She's perfect for what's going to happen."

Charles turned his head to the side so fast, he nearly fell again. He ignored Taylor's outstretched arm and frowned, a sense of foreboding rushing through him. "What do you mean, for what's going to happen? Taylor, what the hell are you cooking up?"

"Relax. I'm not cooking up anything. You wanted him to get to know some of the team, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, like I said, everyone loves Sammie. I mean, look at her. Those big brown eyes and that dark mop of curls. The way she's always smiling. She teaches kindergarten, for crying out loud."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, just look. Mr. Murphy is already entranced by her. See the way he's watching her, like he'd do anything to keep her safe?"

Charles looked closer, convinced Taylor was seeing things. Well, okay, maybe the older man did look like he could turn into a protective guard dog at any minute. Maybe—if Charles squinted his eyes and tilted his head to the side then looked really, really hard.

He shook his head and turned back to Taylor. "No, not really."

"You have no imagination, Chuckie." She laughed and tapped him on the leg with the bade of her stick, then used it to point. "Trust me on this, okay? And when Sammie starts telling him her story, he's going to go all soft and gooey and be willing to do anything for her."

"Her story?"

"Yeah. About how she fell so hard in love and got married and had Clare and thought it would be forever. Except then her jerk husband shipped out and served her with divorce papers from overseas with no warning. The dumb fuck."

"Uh, I don't think—"

Taylor cleared her throat and placed the blade of her stick back on the ice. "She's not going to say it quite like that."

"I hope not. But I don't think making up a story is going to help."

Taylor turned to face him, something sharp and cold flashing in her whiskey-colored eyes. "It's not a story. He really did divorce her. She packed up her few belongings and came back here to move in with her parents. I thought you knew that."

"No. I mean, I knew she was a single mom but I didn't know the rest of it." Charles looked over at the petite woman, sympathy welling inside him. He noticed that Murph suddenly looked sympathetic as well—sympathetic and troubled. Sammie shrugged and wiped a sleeve across her face as a wobbly smile lifted the corners of her mouth. Then her arms shot out to the side and started pinwheeling a second before she fell sideways on the ice.

Murph's eyes widened in surprise and he reached for the woman, doing his best to help her up. Sammie struggled to stand, her right foot wobbling and sliding out from under her.

"Oh shit. She's not hurt, is she?"

Taylor dropped one hand on his arm, holding him in place before he could start forward. "Just watch."

Sammie's foot slid out from under her one last time. She reached up, her hand catching Murph's, pulling him off-balance as well. The older man fell to his knees, an expression of astonishment crossing his face. Sammie spun around and curled her legs under her, then leaned forward, pointing to something on the ice. Murph frowned and leaned closer, then reached out with one hand and traced whatever it was Sammie was showing him.

"She's showing him one of the gouges we have to deal with. Telling him how dangerous it is and how the players have to be so careful and everything because they're so hazardous."

"Damn. You guys staged that?"

"Yup." Taylor's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Sammie's the best at embellishment. Told you this was brilliant."

"I'm impressed, Tay-Tay. This might actually work."

"Yeah? How impressed?"

He didn't miss the flash of heated excitement in her eyes, or the way her gaze dropped to his mouth for a fleeting second. An answering heat shot through him, his reaction going from zero to a hundred in a millisecond. And shit, now was not the time. Or the place.

That didn't stop him from leaning forward, his voice low as he spoke. "Impressed enough to do whatever you want."

"Yeah?" Taylor leaned closer too, her own voice heated and husky. "Whatever I want? I'm sure I can come up with something. Tonight."

Charles started to answer but Taylor jerked back, her eyes narrowing as she looked at something behind him. He frowned and followed her gaze, surprised to see Rachel Woodhouse and Amanda Beall watching them from their spot near the net. Neither woman looked happy, but there was something especially chilling about the expression on Rachel's face.

He turned back to Taylor. "What's that all about?"

"Who knows?"

"You sure about that?"

"As sure as I'll ever be."

"I take it things haven't gotten any better between the two of you?"

"Gee, you think?"

"You ever going to tell me what's going on?"

"Probably not."

"Taylor—"

"Not because I don't want to. Because I don't know." She looked back over at the two women, her frown deepening, then turned back to him. "Honest, Chuckie. I really don't."

"She hasn't said anything—"

"No. And I don't feel like talking about it right now." She started to skate away then stopped and spun around, her ponytail whipping behind her as another smile warmed her face. "I almost forgot. Did you want to go to dinner Sunday after the game?"

"Yeah, sure. Was there any place you had in mind?"

A small flush stained her cheeks and she glanced away, suddenly shy. Her chest rose and fell with a deep breath then her gaze shot back to his. "Yeah. My parents. For Sunday dinner."

She spun around again and took off down the ice, leaving him standing there against the boards in stunned silence. Her parents? She wanted him to meet her family? He stood there for a long minute, wondering what the sensation was that was twisting his gut. Nerves? Yeah, definitely. But there was more to it than just nerves. Was he reading into it? Putting more importance on the invitation than there really was?

Did he want there to be more to it than simply having dinner at her parents' house? He didn't know. And part of him was afraid to look too closely at it—because what if he did, only to be wrong about it?

And shit, would he ever get rid of the last threads of self-doubt that seemed to follow him from his childhood? He thought he had, years ago—until he saw Taylor again. He needed to stop reading into things. Needed to stop overanalyzing and worrying and just enjoy things as they happened.

Sunday dinner with her parents. Not a big deal. He could handle that. And there was no need to worry about it beforehand, not when there were a million other things to worry about.

Like the small exhibition at the Banners' game on Saturday night.

And making sure that Murphy and his cronies were suitably impressed with tonight. That was the biggest thing he needed to worry about right now.

Charles sucked in a deep breath and pushed away from the boards, heading toward Murphy at center ice and hoping for the best.