Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Zena

The energy at the San Diego Arena was electric as our Sea Lions led the San Jose Sharks 2-1 after the first period, with a goal and an assist coming from Mitch Redding. Our plan was off to a fantastic start, but I knew better than to count our chickens before they hatched. Two entire periods of play stretched ahead of us—an eternity in hockey time.

I turned to my best friend, Jing. "Ready for some food?"

"More than ready," she said, jumping up out of her seat so fast that it made me snort.

I stood and glanced around the luxurious owner's suite, located right above the lower seating bowl at center ice. Our typical small group of twenty VIPs, sponsors, and team executives were mingling and enjoying the gourmet spread of sushi, sliders, charcuterie, and much more. Dad was in the back of the suite, engaged in an animated discussion with a biotech mogul. Mom was by the bar, deep in conversation with a member of the catering staff. Knowing her, she was probably sourcing recipes or brainstorming the menu for her next charity gala.

Jing sidled up next to me in her matching Sea Lions jersey and grabbed a plate, adding two sliders, a generous helping of prosciutto and aged Gouda from the charcuterie board, along with a dab of fig jam. She didn't even bother putting the spicy tuna roll on her plate, opting to stick it directly in her mouth and immediately moaning her approval.

"You weren't kidding when you said you were ready for food," I said with an amused smile, then reached for a plate and helped myself to truffle mac and cheese and five stuffed mushrooms.

We settled back into our seats and ate, our attention on the ice as Nolan smoothed the surface on his Zamboni.

"Your boy is hard at work again down there," she said. "He always looks so focused. Notice how he's not paying attention to the announcer or anything else happening in the arena."

"He takes his job seriously." I smiled as I leaned forward and watched him expertly navigate the hulking machine, but then I corrected Jing. "And he's not my boy."

"Sure—whatever you say." She glanced around to make sure no one was in earshot, then leaned in close. "So, about that kiss at the taqueria, was it as mind-blowing as it looked in the video, or was that all for show?"

I felt my cheeks flush as I recalled the electricity of Nolan's lips on mine, keeping my voice low when I said, "It was off the charts."

"Were there fireworks?" she asked.

I nodded. "There was even a moment when my brain short-circuited and I forgot who I was."

Jing laughed. "Does he have a twin brother?"

"Sorry—he's an only child," I said with a frown as I popped a stuffed mushroom in my mouth.

"Just my luck," she said, taking a bite of her slider. "Hey, do you think Nolan would be open to being my fake boyfriend when you're finished with him?"

I rolled my eyes as I chewed.

"I'm joking of course," Jing said. "But seriously, the man is gorgeous."

"Nolan told me in a text this morning that Mitch called him a pretty boy," I said. "I mean, technically, Mitch isn't wrong, but Nolan is much more than a good-looking man with smoking-hot kisses. He's got depth that would surprise you."

Jing leaned in, intrigued. "Oh? Do tell."

"Well, for starters, he's incredibly thoughtful. He's loyal, we both know that. And he's got this quiet intelligence; it's like he sees things others miss. Plus, he's got a great sense of humor, always ready with a quip that makes me laugh."

She nodded. "I love a man with a sense of humor."

"And let's not forget his work ethic. The way he takes pride in his job, no matter how unglamorous others might find it. It's actually quite admirable."

"Careful or people might think you really like him," Jing said with an amused smile. She subtly tilted her head, signaling behind me. "Speaking of hunks, don't look now, but someone is eyeing you again."

I nonchalantly glanced back at Evan Beaumont, one of Dad's wealthy business partners. He was handsome and successful, but also arrogant, with a reputation as a playboy.

"Not again," I said. "If he asks me out one more time, I'm going to scream."

As if on cue, Evan sauntered over, martini in hand and a smarmy look plastered on his face. "Zena, you look stunning, as always. What do you say we grab dinner sometime, just the two of us? I could take you to Lucha Libre Taco Shop."

Wonderful. Evan saw the video.

I fixed him with a polite but firm smile. "Thank you, Evan, but I'll have to decline. I'm seeing someone now, as I'm sure you know."

He shrugged. "I thought you were out having fun. It didn't look serious."

Jing huffed. "You don't think marriage is serious?"

Okay, what is she doing?

He glanced down at my hand. "Where's the ring?"

Jing crossed her arms. "Does she honestly have to prove to you she's getting married, Evan? Are you suddenly the marriage police? Keep up that attitude and you won't get an invite to the wedding."

He nodded, thinking about it. "Okay, my bad."

After Evan wandered to the bar, I glanced at Jing, trying to keep a straight face. "How many beers have you had?"

"Not enough, because you still haven't asked me to be your maid of honor," she said.

I shook my head in amusement. "Don't go spreading rumors that I'm getting married." I gestured to the guests in the suite behind me. "These people like to talk."

Jing smirked and pointed below. "Look—your fiancé finished."

I laughed as Nolan skillfully maneuvered the Zamboni off the ice through the large doors at the end of the rink. The roar of the fans filled the arena as our boys skated back onto the freshly smoothed ice, ready to start the second period.

As the players warmed up, Mitch stopped and glanced up at our suite. His gaze was fixed on me for a moment.

"Did you see that?" Jing asked, nudging me with her elbow.

"Unfortunately," I said with a sigh, wishing Mitch wouldn't look at me that way.

A few minutes later, the puck dropped to start the second period, but within a minute, disaster struck. The Sharks stole the puck in our defensive zone, took a shot, and scored. Just like that, the game was tied 2-2.

I grimaced. "Not good."

Turning back to look at Dad, I saw him frown and shake his head, and I understood his frustration. We needed this win badly to turn our momentum around if we wanted any chance of making the playoffs. I silently willed our team to quickly recover, but things got worse as the period went on. The Sea Lions had somehow lost their energy, looking completely lackadaisical. With only a minute left to play in the second period, Mitch gave up the puck at center ice, and the Sharks converted the turnover into another goal.

"No!" I yelled in frustration, my voice lost in the chorus of boos erupting from the crowd.

This couldn't be happening.

The Sea Lions were now losing.

Jing leaned toward me. "This is not looking good. They'd better find another gear quickly, especially Mitch."

The uneasy energy in the suite matched my growing apprehension as an ominous feeling settled into my gut. This game was crucial, not only for our playoff hopes, but for team morale. A win tonight would be the spark we needed to ignite a hot streak.

As the second period ended with the Sharks still leading 3-2, I approached Dad in the corner of the suite to see how he was doing, but his creased forehead said it all.

"This is a nightmare," he said before I uttered a word. "I didn't spend fifty million on Mitch, for us to lose."

"Don't worry," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "There's still an entire period left. Plenty of time to score two goals."

Dad ran a hand through his thinning gray hair. "I don't understand what is going on. Mitch started out with a bang, but in the second period, it was like he was a completely different person, with countless mistakes. Something needs to change, and he needs to get his head in the game. I thought our plan with Nolan was enough to fire him up, but it looks as though it wasn't. Get down there and change his state."

"Me? What am I supposed to do?" I asked.

"I don't care—do something," Dad said. "Mitch needs another nudge. Do it, before I get an ulcer."

With his heart condition, ulcers were the least of his worries. The last thing I wanted was to go down there and antagonize Mitch, but it looked like I had no other choice.

Do it for Dad's health.

My heart raced as I made my way down to the concourse level, slipping into the restricted service area toward the Zamboni room.

"Hakeem—good to see you," I said as I passed through security.

"Good evening, Miss Dalton," he said with a warm smile. "A pleasure to see you as well."

I breezed past him and entered the Zamboni room as Nolan was about to climb onto the massive ice resurfacer.

He paused, a surprised smile playing on his lips. "Zena. I wasn't expecting to see you down here." He glanced at his watch. "I've only got a minute before I need to get to work resurfacing the ice. I'm guessing Mr. Dalton isn't thrilled with the game."

I nodded grimly. "That's why I'm here. We need to do something."

"You've got thirty seconds to fill me in," Nolan said.

"That's more than enough," I replied, luckily coming up with an idea. "When you're done smoothing out the ice, don't come back here to the Zamboni room immediately. Stay just behind the goal and wait there for the players to go through the tunnel and enter the ice for the warmup."

His brow furrowed. "I'm not supposed to do that."

"It's okay," I assured him with a smirk. "You have the owner's permission."

Nolan nodded slowly. "What am I supposed to do after that?"

"I'll be waiting there for you and will give you further instructions," I said. "Got it?"

"Got it," he said as his radio crackled to life, calling him to the ice. He hopped onto the Zamboni and drove away, leaving me to wait behind the goal.

As Nolan worked his magic with the ice, I waited patiently, glancing up at 18,000 people in the arena, my mind racing with the potential consequences of what I was about to do. Nolan didn't look my way even once, his concentration solely on the task at hand, smoothing out the surface for the players.

Finally, he finished and drove the Zamboni off the ice in my direction, stopping in front of me as an employee closed the doors behind him.

"Now what?" he asked.

"Wait," I said, my eyes fixed on the player's tunnel.

A minute later, the Sea Lions emerged to a chorus of cheers and boos from the home crowd, hopping onto the ice to prepare for the third period. That was my cue. I sprang into action, climbing the Zamboni and pressing my body against Nolan's.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his eyes wide with surprise.

"Hang on," I whispered, watching Mitch skate onto the ice toward the goal directly in front of us as he warmed up.

Please—look this way, Mitch.

Luckily, my wish came true. As soon as he looked up and saw us both on the Zamboni, I made my move. My hand slid up to cup the nape of Nolan's neck. I pulled his head down, crushing my lips against his.

This kiss was even more electric than the one at the taqueria. My fingers tangled in his hair as I poured every ounce of pent-up tension into the kiss. It was deep, passionate, and urgent, almost like we had both been waiting for another moment like this. Nolan responded in kind, his strong arms wrapping around me, pulling me closer. For a moment, the arena and the crowd faded away. It was only the two of us, lost in a whirlwind of sensation.

When we finally came up for air, Nolan was looking as dazed as I felt. I glanced out of the corner of my eye to the ice, in time to see Mitch slam his hockey stick against the boards, snapping it clean in half. As he skated back to the bench to grab another one, I smiled.

"You can go—our work is done for now," I told Nolan.

As Nolan zig-zagged back to the Zamboni room, I rushed through the concourse and made my way back up to the owner's box, slipping inside as the crowd erupted in a deafening roar. Everyone in the suite went crazy, jumping and cheering. It was obvious the Sea Lions had already tied the score.

"Who scored?" I asked Jing as I sat back down, trying to act nonchalant.

She smirked knowingly. "You did, apparently. I saw you on the Zamboni."

Dad looked a little more relaxed and gave me a thumbs-up, but there was still work to do with the score tied 3-3. We needed one more goal. As the clock ticked down in the third period, I found myself on the edge of my seat, my heart pounding in sync with each passing second.

"Come on, guys," I muttered under my breath. "We need one more."

"We can do it," Jing said.

The tension in the arena was high as the final minute approached. Suddenly, with ten seconds left on the clock, Mitch stole the puck at center ice. Time seemed to slow as he pushed forward and found himself one-on-one with the goalkeeper. He raised his stick high, winding up for a slap shot. The crack of his stick against the puck echoed through the arena, followed by the unforgettable sight of rubber hitting the back of the net. The horn blared, and the crowd exploded in celebration.

"Yes!" I screamed.

Jing and I sprang from our seats, hugging each other as we jumped up and down, yelling in pure joy. Mitch had done it—he scored the winning goal for the Sea Lions. My crazy Zamboni kiss had worked.

As the excitement died down, I made my way over to Dad, hoping he was feeling better.

"We did it!" I said.

"Thanks to you," he said, pulling me off the side. "I don't know what you did, but it worked."

I decided not to mention the kiss, although I had a funny feeling he was going to see a video soon, the source most likely being my mom.

"You're welcome," I said. "I'm always here for you, Dad."

He nodded. "I'm glad to hear you say that because you're going to have to take this show on the road."

I blinked, confused. "What are you talking about?"

He explained that the Sea Lions had a three-game road trip this week and that Nolan and I would join the team.

"Las Vegas, Nashville, and Tampa Bay," he said. "I've already arranged for your tickets to the games, as well as the hotel room for each city. You'll take the private jet, of course."

I froze. "You mean hotel rooms , right? Plural?"

Dad's expression tightened, a mix of resignation and determination crossing his face. "Look, I'm not thrilled about this either, but we need to be smart. You and Nolan will share a room."

"Why exactly?" I asked.

"It's the only way to sell this," Dad said. "We can't risk someone seeing you two sneaking in and out of separate rooms. The team's staying at the same hotels, and hockey players gossip worse than your mother's Bunco club." He sighed, yanking a hand through his hair. "I've made sure the rooms have two queen beds, so it's not like you have to, well, you know ."

The implications hung in the air between us.

"Are you sure about this?" I asked.

"Yes," he said, his voice softening slightly. "This is our best shot at keeping up appearances and building the momentum we've started. I know it's not ideal, but sometimes in business, like in hockey, you have to take risks to win the game. So, who's going to break the news to Nolan? You or me?"

The question snapped me back to reality.

"I'll do it," I blurted, not wanting to imagine the awkwardness of my father having that conversation with him.

"Good," Dad said with a grateful smile, then he turned to say goodbye to two of our VIP guests.

As the suite emptied and the excitement of the win faded, my stomach fluttered with a mix of anxiety and excitement. The thought of spending more time with Nolan sent a thrill through me I wasn't entirely prepared for.

What would his response be when I told him the new plan? Would he be shocked? Uncomfortable? Or maybe interested? Knowing Nolan, he might laugh it off. And how would I handle sleeping in such close quarters with him, especially after that second mind-blowing kiss? It looked like I needed to do some shopping, because I wasn't sure I had any pajamas that didn't scream "I gave up on romance years ago." That being said, why did I suddenly care what Nolan thought of my nighttime attire?