Page 27 of One Pucking Surprise
The kids cheer as a boy winds up for his shot, the puck bouncing off Zach’s stick and ricocheting into the net. Zach dramatically falls backward, clutching his chest. “He got me! Rookie of the Year, right here!” he calls, making the kids laugh.
“Zach,” I say, exasperated, crossing my arms. “You’re supposed to be at the photo station.”
He straightens, brushing imaginary dust off his shirt. “Alright, alright, I’m going.” He hands the foam hockey stick to a grinning kid beforegiving me one last smirk. “But you have to admit, that was worth it.”
Before I can respond, he jogs off, leaving behind a chorus of giggles and cheers from the kids.
I watch him rejoin the photo line, sliding effortlessly back into his role as the star attraction. Within minutes, he’s back to signing pucks and posing with fans like he never left.
During his photo session, I catch him leaning in to whisper something to a teenage fan. The girl giggles and glances in my direction, blushing furiously.
“What did you say?” I demand over the headset.
“Relax,” he drawls, his tone pure mischief. “Just telling her my girlfriend runs a tight ship.”
I freeze. He did not just say that.
“Zach, we agreed—”
“You agreed to be my fake girlfriend,” he cuts in smoothly. “So technically, I’m just sticking to the script.”
I clench my clipboard tighter, my pulse ticking up. He’s too smooth for his own good, and he knows exactly how to get under my skin.
From across the room, he throws me a quick grin, as if he can feel my frustration eventhrough the distance. I roll my eyes, turning my attention back to the clipboard in my hands.
For the next twenty minutes, I keep half an eye on him as he works through the photo line, chatting easily with fans and signing autographs.
When his next break finally comes, I catch him at the refreshment table, sipping water and watching me with that infuriating smirk.
“What are you doing?” I ask as I approach.
He caps the bottle and leans against the table. “Refueling. Gotta keep the energy up for my people out there.” He gestures toward the autograph station. “They deserve me at my best.”
I blink at the genuine warmth in his tone before schooling my expression. “And what about keeping me at my best? You’re wreaking havoc on my schedule.”
“I’m multitasking,” he says, his grin shifting into something teasing. “Recharging and annoying you—it’s a win-win.”
“You’re a menace.”
“I prefer ‘dedicated.’”
“Dedicated to what?”
“Making you smile.”
I roll my eyes.
Hestudies me, tilting his head like he’s assessing something. “You know, you’re pretty when you’re annoyed.”
My lips betray me, curving into a reluctant grin. “You’re the worst.”
“And yet, you keep me around.” His tone is light, but there’s something in his eyes—something unspoken that makes me hold my breath.
Before I can respond, a volunteer waves him over, gesturing toward the growing crowd near the photo station.
Zach pushes off the table, grabbing a fresh water bottle. “Back to work,” he says with a grin, throwing me one last look before heading back toward the photo op area.
As he crouches down to sign a puck for a fan, I hear a boy’s excited voice cut through the hum of the crowd.
