1. Trevor

1

TREVOR

Three days later

I love being in the rink with my teammates. The scrape of blades on ice and the thwack of sticks against the puck have a rhythm that I feel in my blood. It’s almost musical. The plays are like a choreographed dance we need to practice if we want to perform them correctly. Dancing with the puck on the end of my stick is the only waltz I want to do. The power play is my paso doble. And the penalty kill is the bane of my existence. For some reason, we aren’t gelling on it lately, and we need to work it out. We don’t incur a lot of penalties. We’re a pretty disciplined team. But even only one failed PK per game can result in the game-winning goal for the opposing team and the loss of our place in the league standings.

Defenseman Stone Waller practices the power play this round, stripping the puck from our teammate playing offense on the line. Stone passes it to me, and I take off down the ice toward my opponent’s goal. As much as we want to stop being scored on during penalty kills, we want to make shorthanded goals if at all possible. I pass the puck to another teammate, and it sails right past him. He was two strides behind where he should’ve been. When Coach blows the whistle, I slam my stick against the ice in frustration and skate to the bench for some water. My regular linemate, Sophie’s brother Mac, is sitting there with a cast on his hand. He broke it punching a wall when his girlfriend’s mother wouldn’t let him see her. His girlfriend, Randi, is my best friend from college, and I understand he’s in love and her mother’s a bitch, but he broke his hand because he was heartbroken. He’s not going to be able to play for a few weeks, meaning he’ll miss the PHL’s first All-Star Game. He let his emotions screw up his hockey career.

“He’ll get it,” Mac says in his Scottish-Irish brogue. “Crosby’s a hard-working player. He’ll keep at it. You’ll be okay.”

“Only if we can get enough reps in.” I look up at the scoreboard to check the clock and sigh. I’m out of time. “Hard to get the reps in if I’m not here. I need to go practice with your sister.”

If I had my way, I’d blow off this first dance practice, but Coach knows the schedule and is looking at me with a raised brow. Damn it, time to go. With a curt nod to Coach, I leave the ice and change in the locker room.

I head to the Devil’s Den Theater, where Sophie and I are practicing. They have a stage and a dance studio space. We’ll practice for two hours before I go back to the rink to watch video before tonight’s game. It’s a weird week—a home game and then flying down to Florida for the PHL All-Star Game, and somewhere in all of that, we need to practice for our first dance. This is going to be a routine with rules. It’s not going to be fun and freedom.

“Good morning!” Sophie calls out as I approach the stage. She’s in leggings and a fitted T-shirt. I’m in a T-shirt and joggers.

“Hey,” I say. “How are you?”

She shrugs. “All right. Eager to dance. If I’m dancing, then I can forget about everything else for a while.”

I get that, it’s how I feel on the ice. “Okay, let’s do this. What’s our first dance?”

“Cha-cha.” She cocks her head. “Have you ever danced it?”

“Nope.” I watched some videos online, but I don’t know if that will win me points or not.

“I’ll text you some links if you want to get an idea of what to expect. It’s a Latin dance that originated in Cuba in the 1950s. It’s sharp hip and leg action and footwork. Here comes the camera person. They’ll have you walk back in, and we’ll have this conversation again. If we can give them a bit of friction, that will make it more interesting.”

I’d like to give her some friction, but not on camera. I haven’t been able to forget our midnight kiss, no matter how hard I’ve tried. Speaking of hard, my dick wants to point north anytime we’re in the same room. I try to keep my focus where it needs to be, but it always strays to her.

A tall, lanky man with a mop of yellow hair and a camera perched on his shoulder walks toward us with an easy grin. “Good morning! I’m Nigel, one of your camerapeople. Your producer, Nancy, will be here in a moment.”

“Hi, Nigel.” I hold out my hand to shake.

Sophie shakes his hand next. “Hey, Nige, they shipped you over too?”

“Yeah, there’s a few of us from the mother ship here. Not just you.”

“Mother ship?” I ask.

“That’s what we call the UK version of Celebrity Dance Dare ,” Nigel says. “That was the original show, and all the others are spin-offs from that. And for Sophie, with her mother being one of the judges, we mean mother ship.”

A woman rushes in, and it looks so natural that I think rushing is her normal gear. She must be the producer. Her black pencil skirt and tightly tucked white blouse scream no-nonsense business. Her hair is cut in a severe black bob, emphasizing her pointy little chin. No smile graces her razor-thin lips, but what really catches me off guard is something ugly in her eyes when she looks at Sophie.

“Oh good, you’re here,” she says, sounding anything but happy. “Yes, Sophie’s mother. How fortunate she is to have that connection.” Okay, whatever this woman’s name is, she will forever be Bitchy McBitchface to me. The way she emphasized the word fortunate , it’s clear she meant the only way Sophie had a spot on the show was because of her mother.

Sophie sucks in her breath and slowly exhales. That bitch hurt her, and Sophie’s doing her best not to show it. I don’t need it spelled out for me. I hear whispers that I got my spot on the team because the coach is engaged to my sister. I know I must work twice as hard to prove I earned my spot and deserve to be on the ice. It seems Sophie knows exactly what that’s like.

“Hello, Nancy,” Sophie says.

The way she keeps her voice neutral is amazing. In the few days we’ve known each other I’ve heard her scream like a banshee, I’ve seen her be snarky. This is the first time I’ve seen her hold her anger.

“We only have Trevor for an hour and a half before he has to go do hockey things, so what do you want us to do first?”

“Well, we already have the footage of you meeting at the announcement. Let’s have you tell him about the dance,” Nancy says. “Have you done any choreography yet?”

“I’ve started on it,” Sophie says. “I want to discuss it with Trevor.”

“It’s your job to tell him what to do,” the bitch says. “You’re the pro. Act like it.”

Before I spout off, Sophie jumps in. “Nancy, I know my job. Trevor is my partner . He’s allowed to have thoughts and input.”

Ooh, I like it when Sophie uses her snark for good.

“That’s not how Ian does it.”

What is up with this woman? How is this professional behavior?

Sophie shifts her weight and puts a hand on her hip. “Well, I’m not my brother.”

Is it wrong I find this display of sass sexy?

“Yeah, you’re not. He wins.” Nancy gives that ‘so there’ sniff and looks down her nose at Sophie from her greater height. She’s a good six inches taller, and she’s trying to use that as an intimidation tactic. Sophie refuses to be intimidated. This is fun to watch.

“Yeah, he does. Those that can, dance. Those that can’t, produce.” Sophie gives her own ‘so there’ face right back.

I realize Nigel is surreptitiously recording the exchange on his phone. I don’t know what he’s going to do with it, but the wink he gives me when he realizes I notice what he’s doing is giving me hope he isn’t going to use it against Sophie.

“Okay,” I say. “Let’s get started. Sophie, tell me what our dance is. I trust you. I’ll follow your lead and make you a winner.”

She holds up her hand for a high five. She’s short, so it’s really a mid-five for me, but I appreciate the sentiment. “Make us winners.”

I like how she says us. I know she doesn’t mean it the way my brain does. This is our first rehearsal. We’ve known each other less than a week, and other than that kiss on New Year’s, nothing has happened between us. There isn’t an us. That’s okay. Nigel is ready with his camera, and Nancy nods for us to start talking.

“So, our first routine is a cha-cha,” Sophie says.

“That’s a Latin dance from Cuba with sharp hip and leg action and footwork, right?” I ask with a wink.

The way she pops a dimple while trying to hold back a smile is adorable.

“How much experience do you have with choreography?” she asks. I shrug. “I’m used to counts and memorizing choreo from cheerleading, but there aren’t tempo changes the same way there are in dance. When I dance, it’s usually contemporary, so there’s choreography but not the same rules.”

Nancy stands next to Nigel, tapping her toe, lips pursed. I hope she’s just here for this first rehearsal and leaves us alone most of the time after this.

“You were a cheerleader?” Nancy asks. “Like with pom-poms?” The disdain she feels is evident. I don’t know if she’s anti-pom-pom, anti-male cheerleaders, or anti-people in general.

Next to me, Sophie stiffens. I’m so used to the question it doesn’t bother me, but I appreciate Sophie’s reaction.

“No pom-poms,” I tell her. “I was the muscle. Lifting, throwing, tumbling.”

“Can I continue?” Sophie asks. It takes a lot of effort, but I hold back the chuckle that’s trying to escape.

Nancy flutters her hand like she’s granting royal permission. I can’t stand this woman, and I don’t want to work with her. I need to go over my contract again. An advantage of my law degree is I know my way around a contract. I don’t have a say in my partner, but I think I can request a different producer.

After taking a deep breath, Sophie gives a bright smile that’s as fake as Nancy’s tan and starts her spiel.

“The cha-cha is all about rhythm, energy, and having a great time on the dance floor. Yes, it has that signature hip action. As we move, let your hips sway a bit.” She demonstrates, and I’m transfixed by the metronomic motion of her hips. When she keeps talking, I force myself to pay attention to her words and not just her body’s hypnotizing sway.

“It’s like a little side-to-side movement that adds flair and fun to the dance. Feel the music and let your body respond to the beat.”

Oh, my body is responding, all right. The way her eyes widen slightly makes me wonder if her witch powers include mind reading. They certainly include making me lose focus.

“Um…” Sophie looks like she’s trying to remember what she was going to say. “The cha-cha is all about having fun and enjoying the music. It’ll take practice and working together, but I’m confident you’re going to get it. We’ve got this.”

“We do,” I say, giving her a hug. Once I have my arms around her, I decide to go for it and lift her up and spin with her. I hear her giggle for the first time, and after the craziness we’ve gone through the past couple of days, it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve heard this year.

There’s about twenty minutes before I need to get to The Nest. We listen to our music. It’s a fast-paced song from the early 90s. If my parents ever went to a club, they would’ve danced to it. Not that I can picture them ever being somewhere more exciting than the library on a Saturday night.

“Are you going to the Devil Birds game tonight?” I ask Sophie. She nods.

“I’ll be there too,” Nigel says. “I want to get some background video we can use for packages.”

Nancy gives a huff. “I’ll be going back to New York. Nigel will send me dailies, and I’ll be communicating with Sophie to make sure you’re on track. The premiere is in two weeks. Your Thursdays will be dress rehearsal and then the live show. You’ll be required to travel to New York for media. It’s been cleared with your coaches.”

“The show goes seven weeks maximum, right?” I glance at Sophie.

“Yeah,” she confirms.

That’ll take us to the start of playoffs for the Dickinson Cup. I want my name to be among the first engraved on it. I can’t let competing for a Platinum Paw trophy keep me from winning the trophy that’s truly important. Surely we can prove Sophie deserves a permanent spot, even if we don’t make it all the way to the finals. I’m not risking my team’s success and the hard work we’ve done all season so I can wear some rhinestones and shimmy for two months.

I don’t know if anyone else knows the PHL’s schedule well enough to realize the conflict. My parents may not have been affectionate, but they’re certainly smart, and one of the things they taught me was to pick my battles. No reason to cause waves now when there’s a strong chance we won’t even make the finals.

“Okay, see you guys at the game,” I say to Nigel. “I’m sure our team social media manager, Daphne, has a seat saved for you both. We’ll get the footage you need, Nige. Nancy, I hope you have a safe trip back to New York.”

I purposely don’t say that it was nice to meet her or hope to see her again soon. Another thing my parents taught me was not to lie.

Sophie is doing some steps in front of the mirror, muttering corrections to herself. Her eyes, normally a clear blue, are a stormier color. Is she sad? Mad?

“Are you okay?” I ask, standing just behind her and looking at our reflections in the mirror.

“Fine,” she says. “After all that’s happened…” She swallows hard and squares her shoulders, still not meeting my eyes in the mirror. “I’m fine.”

I think she’s reassuring herself as much as she’s reassuring me. How can she be fine after everything that happened over the last three days? Discovering her best friend’s mother had been drugging her with a witch’s brew of a tea for over a decade? Falling out with almost everyone close to her?

Randi’s mother, Doreen, is a nasty, evil woman who used her knowledge as a witch to create a blend of tea leaves and other herbs to make the person drinking the tea susceptible to suggestion. She’d send “I don’t care about you” packages to Randi while she was at boarding school in order to keep Randi’s unknown powers as a witch suppressed because she was jealous of her. She supplied Sophie too and filled her mind with lies and jealousy to drive a wedge between Sophie and Randi. I can imagine it affected other relationships in her life throughout the years, too. I know it strained the one with her mother, Nora.

If all that had happened to me, I’d have holed myself up in a cave somewhere until I’d figured it all out. Not Sophie. Apparently she doesn’t run. She’s strong.

But still…I don’t want to leave her when she obviously has stuff on her mind.

I have to though. I need to get back to The Nest to watch video and get notes for tonight’s game. I’m attracted to Sophie, and I want to comfort her, but I’m not here for that. I’m only here to dance with her. Correction—I’m only here to play hockey.

“Okay,” I say, zipping up my Devil Birds fleece that will ward off the freezing wind blowing off the Atlantic on my walk back from Devil’s Den to The Nest. “See you later.”

She nods. “Aye.”

Her back is still to me and her eyes are avoiding mine in the mirror. Fine. Whatever. I glance back as I exit…and meet Sophie’s eyes in the mirror. Just for a moment, before she looks away, but the connection is there. Whether we acknowledge it or not.