Page 89 of The Romance Line

There’s another dazzling smile from the pop star. “Maybe I can.”

It’s a promise she dangles that makes it sound like she has her sights set on a reunion. Or, that thisisone.

The reporter asks another question. “Are you rooting for the Sea Dogs or the Foxes?”

Lyra’s green-eyed gaze drifts to the net, empty now, of course, and my gut churns as she answers sweetly, “I’m rooting for the Sea Dogs.”

Then the reporter cuts away and returns to the broadcasters.

Heads whip in the press room. Jamie and Claudia huddle as they toss ideas at each other.

“She’s totally here for him,” Claudia says.

“They’re already back together,” Jamie suggests.

“Do you think they’re going to hard-launch their second chance at the end of this game?”

I grab hold of the wall. I won’t let this get to me. That can’t be happening. He’s not going to post a picture with Lyra on his social media at the end of this game.

Then I tell myself to get a grip.

Whatever he does is fine. I’m not with him. I’m only the publicity manager for the team. I’m not his. I’m just the girl he sent a shirt and underwear to, but that doesn’t mean a thing.

When the media peppers me with more questions, I smile and say, “I don’t have any information.” And finally, when the game ends with a terrible six goals scored on Max Lambert, I’m already at the tunnel, waiting for the team, knowing only one thing—I’m not asking him to talk to anyone right now.

It’s not just because he won’t. It’s not simply to protect him. This time, it’s to protect myself. I don’t ask him because I don’t want to talk to him right now. I’m too terrified of the emotions he’ll find in my eyes.

Since Lyra’s waiting in the corridor with her bodyguards and her entourage. Waiting to console him, like she used to do after a loss.

I can’t. I just can’t.

I grab some of the guys and bring them to the media room. When that task is done, I hustle back and forth between Penny, who runs Little Friends, Elias, who’s handling Donna, and the cheery, rosy-cheeked emcee herself who’s saying hi to all the dogs like she’s a dog whisperer, then the Zamboni driver.

Finally, Max emerges from the locker room. I try to school my expression. To clear away any emotions. I’d thought, or maybe I’d hoped, that he’d look like he wanted to tear something apart.

But he seems shell-shocked. Maybe even empty. That doesn’t give me any more answers. I have to remind myself it’s not my place to find answers about his personal life. It’s my place to rehab his public image. We don’t have a romance. We have a business deal.

When he trudges over to me, I don’t give him a chance to say a word.

I go first, fastening on my most PR of all PR smiles. “Let’s get you out there playing with dogs.”

“Everly,” he says, a little imploring. The sound tugs on something in my heart. Something terrifying. Something tender that hurts to the touch. Like a bruise. Something you want to keep touching but probably shouldn’t.

I cut in. “We really need to get you out there. This is going to be such a great event,” I say, and I do deserve a promotion for spinning that lie right now.

29

ALL THE HOUNDS

Max

What thefuck?Seriously.

What the hell is my ex doing here? And why didn’t I stop it? This is all my fault. I should’ve replied to her text. With one quick stab of my finger, I deleted it the other day, figuring I’d ignore her. Figuring that would make her go away. But maybe if I’d replied to it, she wouldn’t have sabotaged this event.

I’ve got to tell Everly I had no idea Lyra was coming. Don’t want her to think I had anything to do with this sideshow my ex has engineered out of nowhere. I can’t even imagine what Everly must think. But I can’t tell hernow.

I clamp my molars together, grinding them in annoyance as I skate onto the ice with my teammates. We’re in jerseys, jeans and skates—promo wear.