Page 26 of One Pucking Surprise
Everyone coos over Stanley.
As the event winds down, Lainey and I find ourselves sitting on the grass with Jasper and Stanley, watching the crowd thin out. She leans back on her hands, her expression thoughtful as she surveys the field.
“This was fun,” she admits.
“Don’t sound so surprised,” I say, nudging her foot with mine.
She glances at me, her eyes bright with something I can’t quite place. “It’s nice. Seeing you like this. With Jasper, with the fans… you’re not half bad.”
“High praise,” I say, smirking. “Careful, or I might start thinking you like me.”
“Don’t push it, Darling.”
But as the sun dips lower and Jasper calls for us to play with Stanley one more time, I can’t help but wonder if maybe—just maybe—she already does.
Chapter 10
Lainey
“Zach,focus!”Ihissinto my headset, scanning the arena from the upper concourse.
He’s in the middle of a photo op with a group of teenagers, all grinning and clutching foam hockey sticks like trophies. Instead of looking at the camera, though, Zach Darling—the man who seems determined to drive me insane—turns his head and locks eyes with me.
And winks.
I groan, pulling the clipboard closer to my chest. For two hours, I’ve been juggling autograph schedules, activity stations, and crowd control, and he’s been… well, Zach. Charming, unpredictable, and as subtle as a wrecking ball. He’s supposed to be making this event about his day with the Stanley Cup and his fans, not about distracting me.
“Darling,” I mutter into the mic. “That’s strike two.”
“Strike two?” his voice crackles through my earpiece. “You’re killing my vibe, Carrey.”
“You’re killing the schedule, Darling,” I snap, emphasizing his name.
“What happens at strike three? You bench me?”
“Don’t tempt me,” I fire back, moving toward the next station where a line of kids waits for their turn at the slapshot challenge. The event is going smoothly despite his antics. Still, every time he glances my way, my focus wavers just enough to make me want to scream—or maybe swoon.
And I can’t swoon. I have a job to do.
By the time I reach the slapshot station, the line has doubled, and a frazzled volunteer looks ready to quit.
“Okay,” I say, clapping my hands. “Let’s get this moving.”
The kids perk up as I grab a foam puck and take a mock slapshot into the net. Cheers erupt, and the tension breaks.
“Nice form, Carrey,” Zach calls from somewhere behind me.
I turn to find him standing a few feet away, his hockey stick slung over his shoulder, a grin that could disarm a missile plastered on his face. He’s supposed to be at the photo station.
“Don’t you have fans waiting?” I ask, crossing my arms.
“I just wanted to check in on the slapshot action.” He steps closer, his voice dropping to that low, teasing register that makes my stomach flutter. “I couldn’t miss the chance to see you in action. You’re pretty good with a stick, you know.”
“Zach.” I glance around, aware of the kids and parents nearby. “Behave.”
“I am behaving,” he says, looking anything but innocent. “Mostly.”
He picks up a foam hockey stick, spinning it in his hands like it’s a prized weapon. “Alright, who’s next? Let me show you how it’s done,” he says, crouching like a goalie.
