5. The Ice Streaker Scale

5

THE ICE STREAKER SCALE

Asher

I’m not usually thrown for a loop. But consider me officially loop-thrown here on stage. It’s like that time last season when some dude jumped over the glass and onto the ice during a break in game action. Wearing only a bathing suit, a sandwich board, and skates, he flew down the ice toward the tunnel, advertising his new adventure tour business. Talk about a stunt.

And on a scale of one to ice streaker, I’m definitely off-the-charts surprised right now. Because I’m going on a hundred-thousand-dollar date with my best friend. Why would she do that? It can’t be a real date she wants. She wouldn’t need to throw down money for a real date since, well, we hang out all the time.

Then, like a puck slamming into the boards, it hits me. She wanted to drive up the price to make sure I didn’t break my streak. She did it for me because I wouldn’t have gone for the top amount if she hadn’t started a bidding war with Miranda Blush.

She did it because, well, I asked her to be my good luck charm.

Did I…overplay my hand? Force my luck? Shit. Tinkering with chance can be a big mistake. I don’t even want to think about what could go wrong.

Everly’s voice breaks through my spiraling thoughts. “And there you go,” she announces, turning the mic toward me. “For the third year in a row, you’ve gone for the highest amount in our Win a Date Auction. What’s the secret?”

I push aside the unease gnawing at my gut and take the mic with a practiced grin. Think fast. Don’t be the buzzkill. I’m the guy who keeps the party going, not the one who kills the vibe.

“It must be my good luck charm,” I say, shrugging like it’s no big deal.

“Do you have a rabbit’s foot in your pocket? Or maybe a lucky puck?”

I shake my head and nod to Maeve, who’s sitting in the front row wearing an outfit that matches mine perfectly. “My friend Maeve’s my good luck charm. She’s been here for the last couple years, but tonight she decided to surprise me with a date,” I say easily.

“Did it work?” Maeve chimes in, as if this is another of our big adventures.

“Sure did but you know what I like,” I say, up for the challenge too.

“Are you a big fan of Outrageous Record?” Everly asks, cutting in.

That must be the date package we’re going on—a concert. I didn’t pay close attention to the details. But no harm, no foul. “Love that band,” I reply, smoothing over my earlier distraction. A concert will be easy enough to attend with Maeve. Just like every other time we’ve hung out. It’ll be like old times—bonfires, amusement parks, spelunking, cake-making. “I’ve always wanted to see them in concert,” I add, keeping control of the situation.

Maeve grins, victorious. “That’s why I wanted to surprise you.”

“It seems it worked,” Everly says, wrapping up the auction. “Thank you again to everyone who came out tonight. We raised more than half a million dollars for some great causes and on behalf of everyone at the Sea Dogs, we are so grateful to all of you. And here’s hoping the winners post pics of their dates—we’ll be sure to reshare. Thank you again.”

As the crowd begins to disperse, Everly nods to me as we head backstage. “Stay with me while we finalize the details. We need to record everything formally.”

“Absolutely,” I say.

A few seconds later, the winners of the dates are ushered into a room backstage. I cut through the crowd, making a beeline for Maeve. I need to know what she was thinking.

I pull her aside. “What was that all about? And where are you hiding one hundred grand? You know you could get a date with me for less than a dime,” I say, sketching air quotes as I try to keep the moment light, even though the truth of that statement unnerves me in a way I don’t want to deal with right now.

Or ever, to be honest.

“To protect you,” she replies, her expression serious. “I’ll explain more later.” She pauses, a playful smirk crossing her face. “But it’s a good story. There’s always a story with me.”

Truer words. But this is a Maeve plot twist I didn’t see coming. And it’s driving me a little batty. “Give me a hint,” I whisper.

She rises on tiptoes, cups my ear, and whispers, “Miranda Blush was going to bid on you and claim she was your girlfriend. Use you to build up her new beauty line. Probably spin a ton of lies. I couldn’t let that happen. That would be bad luck. So, I told Beckett, and he put up the money. And I saved you from her.” She steps back, meeting my gaze after serving up well more than a hint. “Just like you saved me earlier.”

“That was hardly an even trade,” I say, but holy fuck. Maeve has quite the protective side. It’s...sexy. But I shouldn’t find it sexy. Maybe it’s just...captivating? Yeah, that’s it.

And sure, it was nice of my friend. I’ll need to pay Beckett back. He shouldn’t be putting up that kind of money.

Either way, maybe there’s no forced luck after all. Just quick thinking from both of them. I let out a relieved breath, glad that debate is resolved.

Everly finishes taking down the details of Maeve’s bid then gives her friend a pointed look. “Girls’ breakfast soon—I’m going to need all of the details of your big surprise,” she says.

“And you’ll get them,” Maeve says, her voice brimming with mischief.

Everly looks to both of us. “That is, if you can fit me in before you guys take off for Vegas next weekend.”

Wait, what? “We don’t play the Sabers till next month,” I point out, reminding Everly of the hockey schedule that she usually has memorized. Our game against the Vegas team isn’t till February.

“I know. I mean the date package we assigned to you, Asher,” Everly continues with a professional smile. “It was donated by Outrageous Record. They have a week-long stint in Vegas, so there’s a whole package—flight, a night at a hotel, dinner on the Strip. It’s next weekend, which is perfect since you have two nights off from hockey. Have fun.”

She spins around and heads to Miles’s highest bidder to handle the details of his date, leaving me standing there, trying to wrap my head around this new wrinkle.

I look back at Maeve, and my thoughts feel like they’re tangled up in knots even though a quick trip with her should be no big deal. We’ve taken lots of trips—it’s kind of our thing. So why does this feel different?

It shouldn’t feel any different simply because my best friend looks ludicrously sexy wearing my vest. It shouldn’t be any different no matter how good it feels when I wrap my arm around her and Leighton snaps a picture for the team’s social feed.

But Vegas?

Vegas is different. It’s like walking into a carnival and getting swept up in the crowd right away. It’s a vortex for all varieties of luck, good and bad, forced and natural.

And for troublemaking.

We’ve never needed help finding trouble—but in Vegas, trouble usually finds you.