Page 3 of The Cupcake Cottage

“That is what he said. He told him to focus.”

“Told you! Proposals by Christmas!” Violet said triumphantly. “But seriously? They were nuts putting Maverick front and center as captain after all that bad press.”

“He has the most experience, is the best defender in the division, made all-star when he was playing for—”

“Do you know those kinds of facts about everyone on the team or just your ex’s BFF?”

“Andhe can bring a team together,” Daisy-Mae said, her heart hammering. “He got traded because the Dragons need him.”

And no, she didn’t know any stats about the other Dragons.

“He didn’t get traded. He got the boot because of the Lafayette mess. They had to get rid of him even though he’s strong.”

Daisy-Mae clamped her mouth shut. There was no way the rumors about Maverick and the Blur owner’s wife were even close to true. Women falling all over Mav? Yeah, that was one hundred percent legit. But him getting involved with a married woman? No way. His mama had raised him right, and he had Texas honor ground into his soul.

Some might argue that money and fame could corrupt anyone, but she knew it couldn’t change Maverick. That would be as easy as changing the direction of the sunset. It just wasn’t going to happen.

“I heard they didn’t have a choice whether to accept him,” Violet continued. “Forced trade.”

“You know, the team’s publicists really need to do their job.”

“Don’t you dare fall for him,” Violet chirped. “That man needs some serious work, and he’ll break your heart. He hasn’t been seen with the same woman twice—other than what’s-her-face-married-chick and that introvert from years ago. He’s the kind of man your mom warns you about.”

“My mom warns me aboutallmen who don’t propose after three dates. And Lafayette was bad news right from the start. The Blur’s owner is as sketchy as…” She shuddered, thinking of the vibes Adwin Kendrik gave off. He got wins and was celebrated in the world of the NHL like he was some sort of god, but just looking at photos of him stirred up that gut feeling. “Anyway, none of that matters because I’m not Mav’s type.”

She wasn’t even close to a college-educated, sophisticated career babe.

Violet snorted. “You’re every man’s type. And Maverick is every woman’s type—all hot and tall and unattainable. Total fantasy. I bet he accounts for at least half of any ticket sales made to women.”

Daisy-Mae smiled. Yeah, she’d buy a ticket to watch him skate across the ice. Right now he was practically floating along, making skating look like the most natural thing. And he was tough during games too, sending grown men into the boards as though they were unsuspecting pedestrians taken out by a Mack truck. Nothing got between him and the puck.

As Maverick made his way around the rink again, he took his eyes off the man in front of him long enough to give Daisy-Maea subtle head nod and maintain a beat of eye contact that made her stomach flip. Then he was gone.

She spun, watching him race around the curve, her hands pressed against the cold Plexiglass.

That had felt exactly like it did in her best fantasies.

Which meant trouble.

Trouble for her heart, as it was in the process of informing her that it was locked and loaded for one man, and one man only—Maverick Blades.

She needed to get ahold of herself. He was so far out of her league she could barely evenseehis league. She took a steadying breath and stepped away from the glass, her eyes still locked on his form. The man’s strength and agility were clear as he performed flawless crossovers, his confidence solid in the thin metal blades beneath him. Sexy. So very sexy.

“I can’t see much from in here, but I sawthat,” Violet murmured, her tone amused. “You’re smitten with Mr. Bad Boy.”

Daisy-Mae cleared her throat and tried to school her expression, certain she was close to drooling. But she couldn’t seem to shake the overpowering thought that kept running through her mind: she needed to fix Number 53’s reputation, and then maybe, just maybe, make him hers.

** *

Maverick Blades coasted to the gate to exit the rink. He gave his helmet’s chin strap a sharp yank, releasing the snap before slipping the rig from his head. His hair was soaked with sweat, each passing year requiring more effort to prove himself on the ice with the latest batch of fully energized rookies. He remembered that unstoppable feeling of youth. He didn’t recallbeing as cocky as some of them, although he was pretty certain he had been.

He led the line of players to the locker room, thinking about today’s practice and how soothing the frigid ice bath would feel on his screaming muscles. Thirty-one years of age wasn’t young in the NHL. Still, he was holding on to his title as the top defender in the division.

Louis Bellmore, the team’s head coach as well as a good friend, was waiting near the locker room door.

“Good practice out there, team. Don’t forget to pick up a copy of your finalized diet plan.” Louis raised his voice to ensure the line of tired players heard him. “Athena left copies by the door—be sure to take your own. They are labeled.”

There was a round of “You got it, coach.”

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