“So…you and Evan seemed cozy last night,” Pam remarks from the doorway. Her attempt to casually bring up the topic is terribly lame, but I love her for trying.

I’m packing up my things. The team is headed to San Jose for the third game in this away series—our last of the pregame season. I feel my cheeks get hot and shake my hair, so it covers my face as I stuff clothes in the bag. I have to get on the bus with the team in about two hours and I am mortified. How can I face him this morning, after throwing myself all over him last night? I didn’t have a lot to drink, but I guess it was just enough to make me loosen up, to let myself react to this insane chemistry between us. Still, I don’t know how I feel about him. He seems sweet and funny, he’s definitely sexy, and he makes me feel really good. But pictures don’t lie—he’s been with lots of women in the past. And I still can’t date a player without losing my job.

“Not talking to me?” Pam asks, interrupting my thoughts. “Or are you over there overanalyzing things like you always do?”

“The latter,” I admit, “I feel a little slutty. Well, a lot slutty. I crawled into his lap, Pammy jammy. I might as well have had sex with him right there in the booth.”

“Oh, come on! Did you notice how many people were getting it on in that place? It was like a den of sin.”

“That does not make me feel better when I have to work with him. I have to be on the team bus with him today! How can I face him?”

“You think he’s sitting around thinking about how slutty you are?” Pam shoots back. “No, he’s not. He’s thinking how much he wants a second go with you. You didn’t do anything other than make out, and mostly just kissing.”

“And humping,” I say with a rueful smile. “I humped the shit out of him in that booth, and his hands got to be very good friends with my ass.”

She giggles. “I’m totally jealous of you right now, Holls, but the important question here is do you like him?”

I nod. “I do. I can’t explain it because I just don’t know him that well, but I really do like him and it scares the shit out of me.”

“Wow.” Pam looks shocked. “You’ve said shit twice in under a minute.”

“Shut up,” I laugh, because she’s right. Sometimes I take myself far too seriously. I need to just chill and move forward.

After Pam drops me off at the hotel I climb the steps onto the luxurious Mercedes charter bound for San Jose. I sit near the front, expecting Fiona or one of the other media team members to sit with me, but instead, Mr. Happy Hands plops down in the seat beside me.

“Good morning,” he says as he shoves his backpack under the seat in front of us.

“Um, hi?”

He looks at me with a grin. “Was that a question?”

I flush hotly. Stupid cheeks always giving me away. “Hi. Good morning.”

Fiona comes on the bus then, stopping to give us both a pointed look. She purses her lips and gives a snooty-sounding sniff but doesn’t say anything else. She does, however, sit in the seat across from us. Presumably to make sure we keep things professional.

Evan is adept at managing things like this, though. He turns and engages her in conversation about the plan for media at the home season opener next week. I’m actually really thankful for it. They pull me into a strategy conversation, and we get some good planning done. Fiona seems less concerned about my proximity to Evan after that, even moving to go back and sit with Chalamet, claiming she wants to loop him into the media plan.

“Nicely done,” I say.

“Thanks,” he says, pulling a water bottle out of his bag. “That was one hour. What to do with the next four?”

I giggle. “Not what you’re thinking.”

“I was thinking we could play I Spy. What were you thinking? Dirty mind.”

I nudge him with my elbow and he reaches over, taking my hand in his. He leans to the side and whispers, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

My breath hitches and my voice sounds hoarse as I say, “Same.”

“So, we do have all this time,” he says softly, “let’s talk.”

“About what?”

“Life. You. Me.” He shrugs. “Let’s get to know each other a little. I’ll start. What’s your favorite color?”

“Green,” I say, looking up at his crystalline green eyes, “like your eyes.”

He blinks and bats his eyelids playfully. “Well, then, mine is brown.”

“Nobody’s favorite color is brown, Evan.”

He chuckles. “I think my favorite color is blue. Never gave it much thought, though. What’s the furthest you’ve ever run?”

“Marathon distance, about twenty-six miles.”

He whistles his disapproval. “No thank you.”

“Well, I wouldn’t like getting slammed around while trying to stay upright on bladed shoes, so…”

He chuckles. “Fair enough. What’s your fastest mile?”

My fastest single mile ever was a sub-five,” I say proudly. “I usually run five to five-and-a-half on pace.”

“Wow,” he says, looking both shocked and impressed, “that’s really fast. You never thought about running after college? Like, Olympic trials or something?”

I shake my head. “No, not really. I liked competing, but I didn’t want it to be a career. I really liked my college classes and internships. I was looking forward to moving on from the sport. Now I just run for fun and to relieve stress.” And sexual tension.

“Well, I guess I should be glad. You might not be here right now if you’d chosen a different path,” he says with a squeeze to my hand.

“You played in the Olympics, though, right?”

He nods. “I did.”

“In Sochi? Did you play with Georg?”

“No, he played for Russia. I played for Ukraine.”

“Ohh, a little rivalry?” I ask, nudging his shoulder.

“Nah, we had a good time in Sochi.” He cringes a little. “Probably too good, to be honest.”

“Oh,” I say, my stomach turning a bit. I pull my hand away under the guise of checking my phone. “I’ve got to get some work done before we get to San Jose.”

“Don’t do that,” he says, reaching for my hand and clasping it in his again.

“What?”

“Pull away,” he says, “don’t let whatever you think you know about me come between whatever this is between us.”

“Well, what is it, Evan? I mean, we had fun last night, but…”

“But what? We’ve had fun every time we’ve communicated. We had fun skating. We had fun last night. But I’m not just looking for fun, Holly.”

“I’m not—I just don’t—”

He leans in, his breath hot on my ear as he asks, “You don’t what?”

I feel his nearness all the way through every cell of my body. I have to take a steadying breath before I can even speak. My voice is low and my eyes are closed when I say, “I don’t know what you’re looking for. I’m worried I’m not the girl for you.”

“You’ve said that before,” he says. “What’s that rubbish?”

“It’s not rubbish though, I’m not into casual sex. I’m embarrassed at how I behaved last night.”

“Why would you be embarrassed? Why are your eyes closed? Seriously?”

I open my eyes, ready to cry for some dumb reason. I find Evan looking at me with a mixture of amusement and concern. He probably thinks I’m a total crazypants. I meet his gaze and he gives me a lopsided grin.

“We’ll have to finish this conversation when we’re alone again because that’s happening. And for the record, I love how you behaved last night with me. But if you don’t believe anything else, please believe I really like you, Holly. Okay?”

He pats my knee and says he needs to catch up with Chalamet. He gets up and makes his way to the back of the bus. Fiona returns, giving me a narrowed stare that I pointedly ignore as I check our social media feeds.

Evan comes back near the end of the trip, but we don’t talk much, especially not with Fiona holding court in the seat across from us. I hope I sound professional when I wish him luck in the game. He disembarks, and I wait for the players to get off the charter before I do.

Fiona is on her phone as the media team gathers. She makes a hand gesture that tells us all to hang around. I watch Evan shoulder his bag and walk off toward the arena. Almost as if he knows I’m watching, he turns his head and gives me a sexy wink. Georg turns his head, then, and gives me a goofy grin and a thumbs-up.

Max Terry wanders up, the team’s owner, and pulls on my ponytail. “This ponytail looks familiar,” he says, grinning.

I blush so hard I can feel it in my hairline and my toes at the same time. He’s smiling, so I’d guess he’s not too bothered. Fiona, on the other hand, finishes her call, levels me with a stare that’s as sharp as a blade.

“Yes. It. Does,” she says.

“It’s not…we’re not…” I stammer.

Max pats me on the back, still smiling. He looks at Fiona and says, “Don’t rock the boat, dear! Look at Tom Brady and Gisele Bundchen. That relationship was nothing but good for Tom’s career. Women love a family man.”

“Family man?” I ask. “I’m not even—”

“So, what you’re saying,” Fiona interrupts primly, “is that we’re supposed to flout our no-fraternization policy in order to capitalize with our female audiences?”

“I’m just…going to go work on some…stuff,” I say weakly, “it’s not really…like that…with Evan.”

I pull out my phone and try to focus on our Instagram feed, but Max is not finished apparently. “Look, I know Evan pretty well and I think this is the real deal. He’s on fire right now, and more importantly we need to keep him on fire as we head into the season.”

“Well, you’re the owner, but I just think…” Fiona starts.

“Don’t over think,” Max says, interrupting. “Just let them be.”

I look up at him, my face surely the color of a tomato by now. He winks and strolls off, whistling.

I don’t see him again until we’re up in the box setting up pre-game media. Fiona hasn’t spoken to me since Max’s endorsement of this relationship, whatever it may be, but that’s honestly not any different than any other day. Max, however, sidles up next to me as I’m getting shots of the team as they do their practice drills.

“You really don’t have to worry about her,” he says as he looks out at the ice. “Her bark is worse than her bite.”

“She’s just being careful,” I say. “Policy is policy.”

“Very diplomatic,” he says. “I’m sure there’s more to it than that, but either way, it’s my team. I like the idea of you two together.”

“For press?” I ask casually. I continue snapping shots, trying to hide the fact my heart is about to beat out of my chest.

“I mean, sure,” he says, “but moreover, Evan’s a good guy. You seem like a good girl. I think the two of you might like each other and I’m a sucker for a good love story.”

“It’s not like that,” I say for the fifty-billionth time, it seems. “We’ve just talked a few times by text, hung out once or twice. It’s not a big thing.”

“Well, little things sometimes turn into big things. Sometimes we just need the barriers to come down.”

I look over and find him smirking. He nudges me with his shoulder. “Okay,” I say with a tentative smile. “Message received.”

We both look out at the ice and find Evan staring up at us. I give a wave and Max points to me before giving an “okay” sign with his hand. Evan raises his hockey stick enthusiastically and blows me a kiss.

“Did he ask you for permission to break the policy?”

“I’ll never tell,” he says with a smile.

Max heads off to talk to some VIP guests and I go down into the stands to get live video for our social media feeds as the Crush head back into the tunnel and the pre-game media begins their coverage.

It ends up being a crazy game, a fight to the finish. Evan scores one goal in the first period, has two assists in the second, and scores again in the third, with the San Jose team matching every goal our team scores. I find myself screaming and yelling, rather than working, several times, the game is so close.

The rookie Mikhail gets the game-winning goal just fifty-seconds before the end of the third period. As the buzzer goes off, I feel such elation. It really feels like they are “my” team.

I call Troy from the stands. “Did you see the game?” I ask breathlessly as he answers.

“I did,” he says. “What an exciting game!”

“I know, right? Holy cow!”

“Sounds like I’ve made a hockey fan of you, then?”

“Totally,” I say. “And more than that, I’m a Crush fan. They are so exciting to watch.”

“And maybe one of them is more than that?” he asks.

“What?”

He chuckles. “You think I don’t know what you look like, Holly-dolly? I’ve known you since you were a baby. I know that head of hair from any angle, and I know it was you on Evan’s Instagram.”

“I do kind of like him,” I admit.

“Does it affect your job?”

“Max Terry says no,” I answer, “but Fiona is not on board.”

“Well, he is the owner. Just be careful will ya?”

“I know, and I will be, uncle Troy.”

“Good, how’s everything else?”

As I walk back up to the box to get the rest of my things, we talk some more about my job, his recruitment schedule, and the upcoming All-Star voting. After we finish our call, I finally take a breath.

As soon as I do, my mind goes straight to Evan. I want to see him. It’s like Max’s endorsement of the two of us has opened the floodgates of my desires to come rushing forward.

I cannot wait to be alone with him again.