Page 8 of On Ice

He nods. “Tell me about the team.”

“I’m sure the roster has more info than I can give you.” I squirm in my seat. I’m not sure what he wants from me. Does he want me to throw people under the bus, and point out their weaknesses? Does he want gossip or stats? “Have you read the roster?”

He smiles and it changes his entire face into a work of art. He was already gorgeous, but his smile is fucking breathtaking. “Of course. But I’m not interested in people’s weight, age, or jersey numbers. I want to know details about thepeopleon the team I just bought.”

I lift my chin. “I’m not going to give you dirt on my teammates so that you can use it against them.”

He laughs, looking surprised at my push back. “Is that what you think I want the information for? It isn’t. I’d rather know the team’s strengths.”

“Oh.” I feel foolish now for misjudging him. “I wasn’t sure.”

He studies me. “I get that you don’t know me and therefore you don’t trust me. But I don’t think there’s anythingparticularly sinister about me wanting to know what the good things are about my team. I paid a lot of money and I would love to know more about my investment. But on a more personal level than the roster can give me.”

I rub my jaw, watching him. He sounds sincere. Maybe he truly does just want to know the strengths of the team he just purchased. Seems like a reasonable request.

When I don’t speak, he nudges me a bit. “For example, is there anyone on the team who seems like a natural mentor?”

I hesitate. “Uh, yeah. Actually, Deck is really good with the younger players. He takes them under his wing and he helps them a lot.”

“Excellent. Sounds like Deck is a good man.”

“He is.” I relax a little, a combination of the scotch and the fact that he does seem happy to hear positive stuff about the guys. “Torres is someone who will make a mark, you just watch.”

“Is that right?” Luca says softly.

“Yeah.” I smile. “He’s got attitude, but he’s balls-to-the-wall good. He’s young, so he has a lot to learn, but he’s really promising.”

“Good to know.” He sips his drink and then says, “What else can you share about your teammates?”

For the next twenty minutes, I find myself talking more than I meant to. The more I talk the easier it gets because Luca is a good listener. I tell him about Noah’s leadership in the room. I spill information about the late paychecks and broken equipment and how the training staff is doing the work of three people. Luca listens intently, asking smart questions that show he’s done his homework.

When I finally run out of stuff to tell him, I fall silent. We stare at each other for a few moments without speaking.

Then he stands, buttoning his jacket in one smooth motion. “Have dinner with me,” he says firmly.

“Dinner?” I repeat blankly. The team is already at the bar, well into their celebration by now. I want to join them, but there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to walk away just yet from my intriguing new boss. I was wary of him at first, but so far, he’s been nothing but charming and attentive. I’d expected to spend the meeting stroking his ego, but if anything, he’s been the one stroking mine.

“You probably want to be with your team after your win,” he says, shrugging. “Suit yourself. I just thought we could maybe get to know each other better over dinner, but if you’d rather be with your team, I understand.”

There’s a hint of disappointment in his voice that bothers me. I don’t like letting him down. I can drink with the guys anytime, right? Maybe tonight I should put in some effort to getting to know my new boss. I don’t want to insult him by refusing his invitation.

“Dinner would be great,” I hear myself say.

“Yeah?” His pleased smile makes my decision feel like the right one. “That’s great. I have a car waiting downstairs.”

“Oh, I can just drive myself and meet you wherever you want.”

“No. You should ride with me.” His tone implies it’s not up for debate. “I’ll have one of my guys drive your truck to your apartment.”

I laugh, not sure what to do. “Doesn’t that seem like a lot of trouble, when I could just drive myself?”

“Evan, I want you to ride with me. Is that so awful?” His expression is almost wounded.

Guilt winds through me. “Okay, if you’re sure it’s not too much of a hassle.”

“It’s not.” His smile is borderline smug now. “Let’s go.”

The ‘car’ turns out to be a sleek black limousine, complete with privacy partition and a bar that makes the owner’s box look modest. As we glide through downtown Seabrooke, Luca pours more scotch and asks about my family, my history with hockey, my thoughts on the league. He’s still charming and attentive, but I notice he deflects any personal questions I have for him with practiced ease.

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