Everyone is looking at me funny as I walk back into the office suite. What, do I have mustard on my shirt or something? I mean, I grabbed a hot dog from a food truck outside while I was walking and talking to Pam…

I run into the ladies’ room and check—nope, no mustard. Nothing in the teeth. Overall, I look pretty okay, so what’s with the strange side-eye action?

Whatever. I wander back to my cubicle and call Troy. He’s about to head out on the road to scout minor league players and I want to catch him before he gets too busy.

“Hey Holly dolly, how’s my favorite niece?”

“Heya,” I say. “Your only niece just wanted to check in before you head out on the road.”

“Yep,” he says. “You good? Everything going okay?”

“All is well. Thanks again for helping me connect here. I wasn’t sure if I’d enjoy it, but I really do. It’s been a blast so far.”

“Well, you’re really killing it, from what I can tell,” he says. “I’m loving the creativity on the social sites.”

“Thanks. I’m not sure my boss is into it, but she hasn’t stopped me so far.”

“Best to ask forgiveness rather than permission,” Troy says with a little chuckle. “She’s been around a while, probably doesn’t even know a thing about social media. You heard from your daddy lately?”

“Not in the past week or two. He said he was tied up in business.”

“Standard bullshit out of him, then,” Troy says, his voice full of contempt. “I love my brother, but he needs to get his head out of his ass.”

“Well, thankfully for me, I have you.”

“I’m no substitute for the real thing,” he says, “but I’m always here. I’ll call you from the road when I can.”

“Okay. Have a good trip, Uncle Troy. Love ya.”

We hang up and I sit for a minute, willing myself to not cry. I’m not usually emotional about my parents. They’ve been divorced since I was in middle school. My dad always traveled a lot for his big oil job, and when they split up, he moved to the Middle East. He rarely comes to the States anymore, and I hear from him on birthdays and Christmas, with a few sparing phone calls in between.

My mom remarried when I was a sophomore in high school. She spent my last three years at home traveling back and forth between Europe and Los Angeles, because her husband owns a multi-national company based in France. Once I went to college, they set up a trust fund, sold the house, and moved overseas full time.

So while I’m not technically an orphan, I feel like one sometimes. And Uncle Troy has been kind of a surrogate parent for me, always there when I have needed someone. Moving to Las Vegas has been good for me, but everything still feels really new. It doesn’t feel like home yet. I’m trying not to be emotional about it, but for whatever reason, I’m really homesick for LA today.

Of course, I’m not one to wallow so I flip open my laptop, surprised to find a piece of paper there.

Oh my God, it’s a note. A hand-written note. From Evan Kazmeirowicz.

I read it three times, feeling my face heat. And other parts, too, for that matter. My nipples literally strain against my bra as I think if him, standing here at my cubicle, slipping this note into my computer. Oh. My. God.

I pop up to my feet and look across the station to one of my coworkers, Carly, who handles media passes. She looks up from her screen.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asks. “Your cheeks are all pink. You sick?”

“No,” I whisper. “Did—was—did someone come looking for me earlier?”

“You mean someone hot and green-eyed and dark-haired?” she asks, smirking.

“Yes!” I hiss.

“Yes, a person matching that description came looking for you.”

“Why?” I practically screech.

“He said he had an idea to run past you. Fiona about blew a gasket. Started going on about the fraternization clause in our contracts.”

“Oh shit,” I say, cringing. “I wonder if he’s pissed about the Kazochev thing?”

“Didn’t seem like it,” she says with a shrug. “He said he thought it was funny.”

“No wonder everyone looked at me like I had seven heads,” I say. “Holy cow. Okay. Thanks.”

She nods and goes back to her work and I sit down, trying to catch my breath. Evan was here. Looking for me. He wants to take me ice skating.

Is ‘ice skating’ code for naked bed dancing? Because I think I’d be down for that, if that’s what it meant.

No. No. I’m not a slut and it’s a slutty, slutty thought. I won’t be one of Evan’s many bed partners. I won’t just spread my legs for his wicked, wicked tongue and his surely very talented fingers and his big, long—

Nope. Stop it. Control yourself, Holly Laurent. You are a professional. He is a professional. You can surely enjoy his company and learn to ice skate without it ending in hot, multi-orgasmic sex. Right? Right.

I bumble through the rest of my day, totally unable to focus thanks to the note that’s burning a hole in my pocket. Do I call him? Just go skating, leave it friendly and professional? No, no, I can’t. Fiona would fire me in a heartbeat for fraternizing with a player like that. And I like my job. My job is worth more than a one-night stand…even if the one-night stand is with someone as achingly beautiful as Evan.

Bud Bellikowski, our GM, comes over around four-thirty. “Hey, you ready to grab a bite? Talk shop?”

Oh, crap. I forgot we set up time to go grab an early dinner and talk about my performance so far.

“Sure,” I say. “Let me just save this file and we can go.”

I finish up and shut down my computer, grabbing my purse and following Bud as he shuffles toward the doors. Fiona pops her head out of her office as we pass, giving me a questioning look. I make a face that I hope looks like–Hey, I have no idea; I’m just going with the flow.

We head down and out of the arena to a restaurant about a block away. It’s just a little pub-type of place, fairly quiet and not flashy—rare for Las Vegas. Bud orders a Michelob Lite—yuck—and I get seltzer water with lime. No way am I drinking in front of the GM.

“So…” Bud starts. He trails off and a placid smile remains on his face.

He’s forgotten my name. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Nothing like setting up a meeting with an employee whose name you can’t remember.

“Holly,” I say.

“Right, sorry,” he says, his face turning red. “It’s been a long day.”

I nod. “Sure has.”

“You missed Evan today,” he says. “He came to talk with you about some ideas he had for social media.”

“I heard.”

“He also thinks anyone working for the team should know how to skate. He’d like to help you learn,” Bud says. “We have a rule about fraternization among staff, but I’ve given him the okay, since he feels it would be valuable for you to have a feel for the ice, you know, in order to better represent the game.”

I nearly snort at this but manage to keep what I think is a mostly-straight face. “Yes, sir,” I say, trying not to laugh. “I’m sure Evan Kazmeirowicz feels very invested in making sure Crush employees have a good feel for the game.”

Thankfully, he misses the sarcasm in my statement and just nods. “Well, then, it’s settled. Let me know how your training goes.”

“Sure will,” I say. Though I’m certainly now back to thinking about being alone with Evan and wondering just how much detail I would need to share about our, ahem, training. No way am I accepting that invitation. No freaking way.

“So I also told Fiona I want you to get more video on those…” he stops, searching for the words again.

“Channels?” I ask. “Social media channels?”

“Yes!” he says, taking a swig of his beer. “Get together with them over there in video and see if we can get more live stuff into your work. Not just static photos.”

“Sure, I can get with the video department to embed some video. I can also make live videos and interviews from my cell phone, especially on the road.”

“Great, sounds good, Hillary,” Bud says.

“It’s Holly,” I say.

“Sorry, yes,” he says, shaking his head. He takes another swig of beer. “Long day.”

We chat for a few minutes about the travel schedule.

“Am I supposed to go on the road for all of the away games, sir?” I ask. “I know I’ll do the California tour, but do I always travel with the team?”

“Yes, yes,” Bud says. “Fiona’s team always travels with the boys on their road games. It’s an exhausting schedule, I know, but she likes for us to be present for the media as much as possible.”

Bud finishes his beer and looks at his watch. “Well, I’d better get on home to the missus,” he says. “Good chat, Hallie. I’ll see you in the morning. Good job you’re doing. Real good. More video.”

He scoots out of the booth and toddles off, leaving me to pay the bill.

“Thank God he likes cheap beer,” I say, looking at the bill and tossing my credit card down.

While I wait for the waitress to bring back my card, I pull out the note from Evan and read it again. I type him a quick text. Evan replies almost instantly.

He doesn’t reply after that and I’m sure I’ve made him upset. He’s probably not used to women turning him down. And to be honest, I didn’t want to turn him down. I just can’t start something with him. It’s bound to go nowhere and if we slept together, I’m sure it would be awkward after.

I think about it for a long time. Did I make the right decision? I’m sure I did. But do I wish I hadn’t?

Yep. Pretty much.