The cat meowed, literally, as if she’d understood perfectly what his mom had said about her. Perhaps if Declan tipped the carrier forward, the cat would be encouraged to get out on her own.

  “Is that your phone ringing?” his mom suddenly asked.

  “Just let it go,” he said. He needed to get to the arena, and whoever it was, they could wait until tomorrow.

  But then he heard his mom’s voice down the hall. Had she . . . answered his phone?

  “Oh, yes, he’s here,” his mom said.

  Declan straightened and turned as his mom came into the kitchen again. Holding his phone. Talking to whoever had called.

  “The drive was fine, but Princess didn’t care for it,” his mom said with a sigh. “She won’t even come out of her box right now. I think Declan’s place smells too foreign.”

  He frowned. What was wrong with how his place smelled? Also, who was his mother talking to?

  “Mom.” He held out his hand, but she lifted her finger as if to tell him to wait.

  “Well, I haven’t seen much of Denver yet, but my son thinks he can find me a nice place to live,” his mom continued, as if spilling her life story to a random person on the phone was an everyday occurrence. “I told him I’d look around, keep my mind open, but I definitely have my doubts.”

  “Mom.”

  She completely ignored him.

  “That’s very nice of you to offer, Camila.”

  No, no, no.

  “I might take you up on your offer of a tour.” Pause. “It will be nice to meet you too.” His mom finally looked at him. “I’ll let you talk to him now. I think he’s about to break something.”

  His mom handed over the phone, but a heartbeat passed before he took it from her. He was still trying to wrap his mind around his mom answering his phone. They needed to lay down some ground rules if they were to be roommates for a while.

  “Hi,” he said into the phone, and sure enough, it was Camila’s voice on the other end.

  “Hi, I wanted to get Bree Stone’s number from you,” she said, acting nonchalant over the lengthy conversation she’d just had with his mom. “I texted earlier but didn’t hear back.”

  “Yeah.” Declan turned from his mom’s gaze and walked into the living room. “We just unloaded, and I haven’t caught up on my phone yet. Sorry for forgetting yesterday.”

  “No problem,” she said. “I’m working on things at the arena and realized I should probably give her a call sooner than later if the video shoot is next week.”

  “Wait.” Declan rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re at the arena right now?”

  “For about another hour.”

  “Alone?”

  “Probably,” she said in an easy voice. “Unless a janitor decides to show up.”

  “You shouldn’t be there alone,” he said. “It’s late.”

  Camila puffed out a breath. “What are you talking about?”

  “Look,” Declan said. “I’m on my way to the arena to get in a workout since I missed practice today. Don’t leave until I get there. You shouldn’t be walking in the parking lot by yourself.” He didn’t know if she would have argued with him, because he hung up before waiting for any reply.

  “I didn’t know you had a girlfriend,” his mom said, coming into the living room, her eyes wide with questions.

  “I don’t,” he said. “Camila Brandon is the team’s social media director.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Um, it’s complicated,” Declan said. “I’ve got to run, though. I don’t like her being at the arena alone.”

  His mom’s brows rose, and a slow smile spread across her face. “Is this Camila woman single?”

  Declan blinked. “Why?”

  His mother patted his arm. “She sounds nice, that’s all.”

  He watched his mother bustle back to the kitchen. She stopped in front of the pet carrier and murmured something to the cat, and lo and behold, Princess decided to walk right out of it. Her furry chin lifted, her tale erect, her blue eyes slitted.

  “There’s a good girl,” his mom crooned.

  Declan shook his head at the cat’s finicky nature. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” he told his mom. “Keep the place locked up and call me if you need anything.”

  His mom hefted Princess in her arms. “Will you answer if I call?”

  “Of course.”

  His mother didn’t look convinced. “Tell Camila hi for me, and tell her I’m looking forward to meeting her soon.” She smiled at him oh so innocently.

  Declan opened his mouth, then closed it. There were so many responses he could give. Instead, he only nodded. Then he was out the door.

  Twenty minutes later, he drove into the arena parking lot. He circled, looking for Camila’s car. He knew what to look for, and as soon as he spotted the lone silver sportscar, he pulled into the parking spot right next to it.

  He turned off the engine, the silence doing nothing to calm his pounding pulse. Anyone could know what her car looked like, anyone could walk right into the arena with her there alone, anyone could be waiting for her to come out . . .

  Declan groaned and climbed out of his SUV. He strode to the door he was sure she must have entered, and he found it locked. Good. He used his key fob to open it, then he walked into the nearly dark interior, barely lit with the night lighting.

  He could only assume she’d be either in the training room or maybe the stats office. He passed the training room first. The lights were off. Relief spilled through him when he saw the lit doorway of the stats room. He slowed his step and pushed the door open wider.

  Sure enough, there sat Camila at one of the computers.

  No hat.

  Her blond hair was pulled into a knot at the top of her head, and tendrils of curly hair skimmed her neck. She wore a thick sweatshirt over black leggings. Her tennis shoes completed the outfit, and surprisingly, she was wearing glasses. Her profile was to him, and she seemed so absorbed in her work, she hadn’t even heard him open the door.

  Another reason she shouldn’t be here alone.

  He lightly tapped on the door, and she snapped her head around.

  “Oh, hi.”

  He didn’t miss her breathlessness at being startled.

  “I didn’t know you wore glasses,” he said.

  “I don’t.” She took them off. “At least, not prescription. These are computer glasses. Cuts back on the glare when I’m on the computer for hours on end.”

  Yep. Her eyes were green. She didn’t seem to be wearing any makeup, but that in no way toned down her beauty. No lip gloss tonight, and the natural color of her lips was something he’d describe as rosy. Her lashes were long, and her light-brown eyebrows a perfect arch.

  And . . . he realized she was studying him as much as he was studying her.

  “You’re here to work out?” she asked.

  He’d already told her that, but maybe small talk was the best thing right now, because he really wanted to chew her out for being here alone so late at night. “Yeah, even though I’ll probably be sitting the bench in tomorrow’s game.”

  Camila folded her arms. “Because you missed practice?”

  He nodded. “Right. Coach was understanding of me helping my mom out, but he has his own quirky punishments.”

  “Your mom was very friendly on the phone.”

  Declan wasn’t sure how to read her tone. “She’s a guileless person. Has no problem being an open book.”

  Camila’s mouth turned up at the corners. “So, you take after your dad?”

  He held back a smile. Touché. “Pretty much.”

  Camila smiled then. And it was one of those things that Declan hoped he’d never forget or stop appreciating.

  “That’s what I figured,” she said. “And I was being serious when I offered to give her a tour of the place. Seeing it through a woman’s eyes might help convince her to move here, you know.”

  “Oh yeah? How so?”

  She blinked. “Well, I’ll show her where to get a mani-pedi.”

  “Mani-what?”

  “Manicure and pedicure. And I’ll definitely point her to a great hair salon. The best cafés to eat lunch—”

  “My mom’s kind of a no-nonsense person.”

  Camila’s eyes narrowed. “She’s a woman, right?”

  “Right . . .”

  “Leave the girl stuff to me, Declan,” she said. “Believe me, I know what I’m talking about.”

  He was sure she did. But he could only imagine his mother’s reaction when she walked into one of those hoity-toity salons and saw the prices. She’d be hightailing it back to her Chicago suburb before he could blink.

  “No offense,” he said, “but I don’t think my mother has ever had her nails done.”

  Camila’s brows shot up. “You’re kidding. She’s missing out.”

  Declan doubted that. But enough talk about his mom and Camila bonding. “I’ve got to get on the ice, but when you leave, let me know. I don’t want you going to the parking lot alone.”

  Camila picked up her computer glasses again. “I’ll be fine.” She slipped on her glasses and turned back to the computer screen. She started typing something.

  Just like that, Declan was being dismissed. He tried another tactic. “Please.”

  Her fingers paused. “Okay.”

  His heart shouldn’t have leapt, but it did. “Great, thanks.”

  She nodded without looking at him and continued typing.

  He watched her for a few seconds, then said, “You should leave your hat at home more often.”

  A hint of a smile lifted the edge of her mouth.

  He really needed to get on the ice. Fifteen hours of driving was messing with his head. As he trudged down the hallway toward the arena, he knew that he’d crossed a line. He’d practically flirted with Camila Brandon. In what world did he think that was okay? She existed in a different sphere than he, even if she did dress like she was trying to conceal something. Whatever her reasons for that, he didn’t need to know, but he did know that the woman he saw in her online pictures was a high-maintenance one.

  The type he had no interest in whatsoever.

  And if her friend Paige were any indication of her type of friends, he should doubly stay away from Camila. Walking her to her car and making sure she was safe was about all he should involve himself with. Oh yeah, and helping her coordinate with Bree Stone. But after that, things would be back to normal in his life.

  And . . . he still hadn’t sent her Bree’s info. He sat on the players bench, and before digging through his duffle for his skates, he texted Camila the info he had for Bree. A half second later, Camila’s reply text came.

  Thanks.

  That was it, but he stared at the word for about a minute too long. He wasn’t about to type back You’re welcome. Nope. He set his phone on the bench so that if his mom did call, he’d have a decent chance at hearing the ring.

  Then he laced up his skates, grabbed one of the practice sticks and pucks from the stash behind the players bench, and set them on the ice against the wall. He began with S-skating along the ice. Only about half the lights were on in the arena, so the stands were mostly dark.

  The slow burn building in his calves and thighs at the exercise was gratifying. Soon the burning eased, and his muscles felt good with the workout. He grabbed the stick and began dribbling in a pattern, switching it up every so often. It wasn’t the same as warming up with his team, since he had no one to pass to, but he could hit the puck off the wall and go for the rebound, at least.

  Soon, he was lost in the conditioning, and that was how he liked it. In the zone, he didn’t have to think about how much he missed his dad, or how haunted his mom’s eyes had been when he’d showed up on her doorstep in Chicago, or the young woman who was a mile away from his lifestyle sitting in the stats room.

  Camila checked the time. 9:30 p.m. She had no idea where Bree Stone lived, but Camila assumed she was on East Coast time. So maybe she’d send her an email as an introduction? The shared contact that Declan had sent had her phone and email. No address. Which was good, right? Meant he hadn’t been to her place?

  Camila shouldn’t be reading into this too much. She pulled up her email browser, then typed out a quick email to Bree, introducing herself and explaining how she knew Declan.

  Surprisingly, a couple of minutes later, Bree replied. Must be a night owl, or a fellow workaholic?

  Great to hear from you. Declan gave me a heads-up. Is it too late to call? Otherwise, I’ll be typing my fingers off.

  Camila replied: Not too late.

  Seconds later her phone rang.

  “Thanks for taking my call after hours,” Bree said in a sweet tone.

  Camila guessed her to be young. Maybe mid-twenties? Camila rubbed her forehead, wondering what Bree looked like. Did Declan have a type?

  “You’re awesome to be helping Declan out,” Bree continued. “I mean, when I talked to him about Denver, he was adamant that I go through you.”

  Camila wondered if that was before or after Declan had asked her. “Well, like I told him, I’m happy to help. I’ve lived in Denver most of my life, and I have a lot of connections in the photography and videography world.”

  “I feel like I hit the jackpot,” Bree said. “And know that we’re happy to pay. Although we’re nonprofit, we have funds set aside for marketing reach—it’s an important part of getting our funding in the first place.”

  Camila hadn’t thought that far into the project, but there was no way she was taking any sort of payment for this. “How about I comp my hours, and I can use it as a charitable contribution for my own taxes?”

  Bree paused at this. “That would be really generous.”

  “No problem,” Camila said. “Seriously.”

  “Declan did say that you were pretty amazing.”

  Camila’s mouth went dry. “Come again?”

  Bree’s laugh was soft. “Don’t worry, I get it. Declan’s one of those guys who keeps things inside. Believe me, it’s an athlete archetype. I’ve spent most of my life around pro athletes.”

  Camila swallowed. “How long have you known Declan?”

  “Actually, I met him only a few months ago,” she said. “My boyfriend used to play with him at Northbrook . . .”

  Camila heard nothing after “my boyfriend”—because this meant that Declan wasn’t Bree’s boyfriend. Not that it was any of Camila’s business or would change her life in any way possible, but just knowing . . . Her neck was warm, and she shrugged out of her sweatshirt one sleeve at a time.

  “ . . . Anyway, I’m boring you with way too much information,” Bree said. “Once you read through the outline I put together, let me know if there’s anything I’m missing. I’m sorry about the urgent timing. But really, the only time all these guys can fly in will be on that date. Their schedules are crazy when they’re in season. They can’t even miss a practice, you know.”

  Camila knew. “Okay, great,” she said. “I’ll go over everything, probably tonight, and get you any thoughts. If you can approve things tomorrow morning, I’ll start making calls.”

  “Wow, that would be amazing. Thank you again, Camila.”

  “No problem.” Not at all.

  “Oh, and one more thing,” Bree said. “Declan’s the kind of guy who might take some patience, but it will pay off in the end.”

  Camila had no idea how to respond to that. It was like Bree was assuming that she and Declan were dating or something. Which, of course, was far from true. She was pretty sure Declan thought of her as team property—to be protected and preserved at all costs, no matter what her opinion was on the matter.

  But Bree had hung up already, and soon Camila received the email. She typed up some notes, looked up old numbers on her phone, and started to send out texts.

  Dimitri replied back right away: I’d love to do the project.

  One down.

  She asked for a videographer recommendation, and Dimitri said he knew the perfect person.

  Great news all the way around.

  Things were already starting to fall into place.

  Once she’d done as much as she could after-hours, she sent the latest social media analysis and ticket-sales report to her dad. So . . . time to go home.

  And . . . she’d told Declan that she’d come find him when she was ready. She powered off the computer and pulled her sweatshirt back on. Then she headed down the corridor to the ice arena. Lights glowed above the arena, and the sole skater looked like he owned the ice even though no one was playing against him.

  Camila stopped at the plexiglass and watched for a few minutes. Declan’s skating was both powerful and beautiful at the same time. She knew it must take plenty of energy and skill, but he made it look effortless. Like he’d been born skating. And yeah, she’d seen a lot of hockey games, but this was different.

  This was just Declan and the ice.

  He wore no helmet and no pads or jersey. Just a white T-shirt that must have been under the hoodie he’d arrived in and his dark-green sweats with the Chargers logo on them. His body was strong and lithe, and Camila marveled at how much work he must put into this sport of his. This career, really.

  It was about ten minutes before he noticed her, and she didn’t mind. He detoured straight for her, and though she knew that he couldn’t come closer than the plexiglass barrier, her heart still thudded at his approach.

  He slid to a stop, and his gloved hand pressed on the plexiglass. His dark gaze on her, he asked, “Ready?”

  “Yeah.” She shoved her hands into her sweatshirt pockets. “I’m fine walking to my car. I was planning on it anyway before you showed up.”

  His brown eyes didn’t shift. “Give me a minute.”

  So, she did. Declan skated over to the players box, and he took off his skates and put on his shoes. Then he ambled toward her. He was breathing hard, and the edges of his hair were damp with sweat. His T-shirt was also damp despite the cold temperature of the arena, and the white fabric seemed to mold to his muscled torso.

  To distract herself from his appearance, she said, “I talked to Bree Stone tonight.” She waited for his reaction, because she wanted to see it in person.

 

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