Page 10 of The Hockey Contract

On the ice, I channeled my frustration into aggressive play, driving hard into each drill with single-minded focus. By the end of practice, even Coach Miller seemed impressed.

"Whatever's got you fired up, keep it going," he commented as I skated past. "That's the kind of intensity we need for playoffs."

In the locker room, I was unlacing my skates when Marco, a newer forward with an attitude problem, plopped down beside me.

"So, you and the baker chick," he said with a smirk. "That video's everywhere. She's pretty hot for a nobody."

Something in his tone made my jaw clench. "Her name is Sienna."

"Whatever." He shrugged. "You hitting that, or what? Those curvy types are usually wild in—"

"Show some respect," I cut him off sharply. "She's a business owner, not some conquest for you to speculate about."

Marco's eyes widened at my unexpected defense. "Whoa, sorry. Didn't realize you had a thing for her."

"I don't," I said coldly. "I just don't appreciate your attitude."

Marco retreated to the other side of the locker room, muttering something under his breath. I ignored him, focused on changing quickly so I could leave.

"That was interesting," Finn commented, appearing beside me. "I don't think I've ever seen you defend a woman's honor before, Ice Man."

I shot him a warning look. "Don't start."

"No, I'm genuinely curious." He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "What's going on with you and the baker? And don't say 'nothing' because you just nearly bit Marco's head off for mentioning her."

I glanced around to ensure no one was listening. "Not here. Outside."

Once we were in the parking lot, I filled Finn in on my visit to the bakery and Sienna's rejection.

"So you actually went through with it," he said, looking impressed. "Can't say I thought you would. And she shot you down?"

"Completely. Called the whole idea insane."

"It is insane," Finn agreed. "But sometimes insane works." He studied my face. "You're disappointed."

"No, I'm..." I trailed off, unsure how to describe what I was feeling. Disappointment didn't quite cover it. "I just thought it could work."

"You know," Finn said thoughtfully, "maybe your approach was wrong. You went in all business, all transaction. Women generally don't respond well to being treated like a contract negotiation."

"It is a contract negotiation," I pointed out.

"But it doesn't have to feel like one." Finn clapped my shoulder. "Try again. But this time, maybe show a little humanity. Remember, you're asking her to pretend to be in love with you. That requires at least a baseline of not actively disliking each other."

His words stayed with me through the afternoon.

That evening, I drove to Leo's apartment to regroup and revise our strategy. Unlike my meticulously organized home, Leo's place looked like a tornado had swept through it—takeout containers stacked on the coffee table, clothing draped over furniture, papers covering every surface.

"How do you live like this?" I asked, moving a pile of magazines to sit on the couch.

"Not everyone's a neat freak like you," Leo replied cheerfully, clearing space on the kitchen counter for the beer he'd just retrieved from the fridge. "Some of us have better things to do than organize our sock drawer by color."

"My socks are organized by material and thickness, not color," I corrected automatically.

Leo snorted. "Of course they are. Now, back to Operation Fake Wife."

As we discussed potential approaches, Leo's phone rang. He checked the screen and grimaced.

"Olivia," he said before answering. "Hey, what's up?"

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