Page 74 of The Au Pair Affair

Tallulah tried to be covert about huffing warm air into her palms.

“And now. IntroducingyoooooourBoston Bearcats...” said the announcer.

Holy Ice Capades, there was nowhere colder on earth.

Was sheinsideof an air conditioner? It stood to reason that the arena temperature needed to be kept cold enough to keep the ice from melting, but holy shit. Shouldn’t there be a warning issued in advance? She was already beginning to shiver, and they’d only gotten through the first few Bearcats players, including Sig Gauthier who was received by thunderous applause. Although... was it her imagination or did he continually glance toward the empty seat to the right of Tallulah while the announcer continued the intros?

“Last but not least, Bearcats family... you know him as the Blight of Boston, the Menace of Massachusetts. Make some noise for number fifty-nine,Sir Savage himself, Burgess Abraham.”

Something very funny happened when Burgess skated out onto the ice in pads, looking decidedly gigantic and irritable, despite the rafters shaking on his behalf. Something very funny happened, indeed. Yes, she’d seen Burgess play hockey on television and online, but seeing it happenin person, Tallulah momentarily forgot she was freezing to death. A troubling little engine started to hum, a pair of invisible hands stroking up the valleys of her sides.

Huh. Hooo. He looked . . . hmm.

Valiant?

Dangerous?

Sexy.

Okay, he looked really,reallyhot. But why? He was covered in padding, his lips protruded slightly due to his mouthpiece. She’d seen him shirtless. And yet, hooo. There was something attractive about the whole package. The jersey, the grimace, the way he skated as easily as he walked, unaffected by the hero worship being directed at him. Almost... blasé.

For some reason, the fact that he could also kiss was high-key occurring to her right now. Like, really, truly kiss. And his hands. They were so big. Capable of holding a hockey stick and chopping onions and ripping up business cards like they weresilly little nothings. Not to mention, drying pond water off her body and unknotting towels...

She might not be cold anymore, but her nipples hadn’t gotten the memo.

They were stiff as nails.

Of course, Tallulah realized she had the equivalent of bullet casings in her bra just as the arena lights blasted back on, the Bearcats skating in a loose formation and separating into a warmup. As casually as possible, Tallulah crossed her arms over her breasts and resumed shivering, but this time, it was more about her cresting estrogen than the cold.

It was snack city out there.

Did everyone know about this?

How did the players manage to swagger while on skates? It seemed like it should be impossible, yet Tallulah was witnessing it with her own eyes. And it was very troubling that despite the entire squad of dishes out there, she could barely manage to rip her attention off Burgess for a second. How did he balance that tremendous weight on two little bladesandmake it look so effortless?

Also, why was he coming toward them?

Probably just a coincidence . . .

Nope. There he was. Three feet away, rapping the end of his stick against the glass, looking grumpy and intimidating and famous. The fans sitting behind them choked on their tongues, rushing to get their camera apps open. Lissa giggled and waved at her dad and received a gloved one in return. Tallulah tried to wave without uncrossing her arms, but they were now frozen to her person, like a tongue on a flagpole in January.

Burgess pinned her with an unholy frown.

You’re cold, he mouthed at her.

You think?she said back.

He made a questioning gesture.

Fans were going out of their minds, tripping over themselves to converge on their section. Tallulah opened the notepad app on her phone and quickly typed out a memo, standing up and pressing the device to the plexiglass.

Sweatshirts are $75.She added a head exploding emoji for clarity.

His exasperation was plain.

Then Tallulah was looking at his back, because he was skating away, leaving her with the view of the name Abraham stitched on the flipside of his jersey. Over to the bench, where he shouted something at a man who appeared to be a trainer in his Bearcats blue polo shirt. Burgess returned to warmups, though he seemed more distracted than before, continually glancing over in their direction. Just as the buzzer sounded, a man blocked her view of the ice—the Bearcats trainer, if she wasn’t mistaken—holding a bundled up, inside out sweatshirt.

He handed it to her with a curious once-over. “Burgess told me to tell you to please put it on so he can concentrate.”

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