Page 40 of Rush the Edge

I shift awkwardly on my feet. “Unfortunately.”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “Wow…”

I hear the faint mumbling of a younger referee standing behind him. “I’m requesting as many Blue Devils games as possible.”

Leaning to my left, I get an eyeful of him. He smirks at me, and my face warms.

I quickly spin around and move my hair out of the way. “Can you please hurry. I'd rather no one see me in this.”

“Move over,” the younger one urges. “I’ll help her.”

“No,” the other, much older referee says.

“What? Why?”

“Because you sound too excited. Go stand in the corner or something.”

I smash my lips together to suppress my laugh. “Thanks,” I whisper.

“You’re welcome,” he says, fiddling with the zipper. “Next game, do you think you could take a few photos with my girls? They love getting photos with the mascots.”

“Absolutely.” I smile over my shoulder at him as he continues to focus on the zipper.

After a few seconds, he grumbles, “This is really stuck.”

“We can always cut it off,” my admirer suggests.

He clearly didn’t go stand in the corner like my hero demanded.

I’m starting to sweat again.

I turn slightly in an attempt to hide myself from anyone who happens to walk down the hall.

“Here, let me help.” A hand lands on my hip to keep me still, and I know for a fact that it’s the other referee.

“No funny business,” I chide, giving him a look.

“I’m on my best behavior, devil girl.” He winks, and although he’s cute, this is notan ideal meet-cute.

“What the hell is going on here?”

My heart stalls, and suddenly, I’m chilled to the bone.

Both sets of hands on me freeze. I turn and lock onto a pair of dark-blue eyes that would stop anyone in their tracks.

“What does it look like, Barlow?”

It’s determined: the younger referee has a death wish.

The older one mumbles a warning under his breath. “Wes…”

“Well…it looks like you no longer have jurisdiction over me.” Kane is as cool and collected as ever. “There’s no penalty box to protect you, Ref, so how about you take a step away before I start to think about the way you talked to me on the ice after your bogus roughing call and get angry all over again.”

“Wes,” the older referee says his name with more authority than before, and thankfully, it works.

The heavy hand around my waist disappears, and I let out a held breath.

“Calm down, Barlow,” the rational referee says. “Her zipper is stuck.”

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