Expose on the Ice (Sparks on the Ice #1)

Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

LILY

I push open the door to Corkscrew, a trendy wine bar just a stone’s throw from Baxter Arena. The warm lighting and soft jazz music create an inviting atmosphere, a stark contrast to the sterile meeting room where Knox and I had our first disastrous encounter.

The more casual location is part one of my plan to crack his defenses.

I smooth down my navy wrap dress for what feels like the millionth time, my fingers tracing the soft fabric as I second-guess my outfit choice yet again. The neckline dips lower than I’d typically choose for an interview, teetering on the edge between professional and alluring.

I’ve spent an embarrassing amount of time convincing myself that this ensemble strikes the perfect balance – professional enough to be taken seriously as a journalist, but just relaxed enough to put Knox at ease in this informal setting.

Who are you trying to kid?

A little voice in the back of my mind whispers the truth I’ve been trying to ignore. I know exactly what I’m doing with this carefully chosen outfit. The soft drape of the fabric, the hint of skin at my collarbone, the whisper of cleavage.

Although I’m still furious at Knox, and think he’s an asshole, his eyes had lingered on me just long enough to suggest I might be able to lure him into my web. Although I have no doubt he has beautiful women on call, he’d shown at least some interest in me.

If I can make use of that, maybe I’ll get the answers I need.

I know I’m playing a dangerous game, toeing the line between professional integrity and encouraging a personal connection. But as I stand there, heart racing with anticipation, I can’t bring myself to regret my choice. Not yet, anyway.

Scanning the room, I spot an empty high-top near the back and make my way over. As I slide onto the stool, I catch my reflection in the mirrored wall behind the bar. My dark hair falls in soft waves around my shoulders, and a hint of color stains my cheeks. Whether from the brisk walk or nerves, I can’t say.

I’ve barely had time to order a glass of Pinot Noir when the door swings open and Knox strides in. Even in casual clothes – dark jeans and a fitted henley that does nothing to hide his athletic build – he exudes an aura of intensity that draws every eye in the room.

Including mine.

Our gazes lock and, for a moment, I forget how to breathe. Then he’s moving towards me, his expression guarded but curious. He spends only the barest second looking me up and down, and in that time, I feel like he’s cataloging every inch of me, his eyes stripping me bare without touching me.

“Ms. Grant,” he says, his voice low as he takes the seat across from me.

“Please, call me Lily,” I reply, flashing him a warm smile.

“Only if you call me Carter,” he deadpans.

“I’m glad you could make it, Carter,” I say, trying the name on for size.

He doesn’t comment. Instead, he flags down the bartender and orders a whiskey, neat. As we wait for his drink, an awkward silence settles between us. I take a sip of my wine, searching for the right words to break the ice.

“Look,” I begin, setting my glass down. “I want to apologize for how things went last time. I came on too strong, and that’s on me.”

Knox’s eyes narrow slightly, but he remains silent. He leans back in his chair, arms crossed, studying me.

I forge ahead. “I thought we could try a different approach today. No questions about family or your personal life. Just hockey.”

The tension in his shoulders seems to ease fractionally, his eyes searching mine as if looking for a trap. Still, he is silent.

I take his silence as a signal to keep going, then pull out my notebook. “I figured we could start with your thoughts on the season and?—”

“Hold up,” Knox interrupts, his brow furrowed. “Just like that? You’re dropping all the personal stuff?”

I meet his gaze steadily. “For now, yes. I’m here today to get to understand the hockey player. The rest… well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

He studies me for a long moment, as if trying to expose some hidden agenda. Finally, he gives a curt nod. “Alright then. What do you want to know?”

Walked right into my trap , I think.

I bite back a triumphant smile, not daring to show it. It isn’t much, but it’s a start. “Let’s begin with your training regimen…”

As Knox begins to speak, I feel a flutter of excitement in my chest. I’ve made a small crack in his defenses, and I intend to widen it, one question at a time, until I have a hole large enough to get what I need.

CARTER

This is unexpected…

Lily’s sudden change of tack has caught me off guard. She’s promised no more questions about my family, and it seems too good to be true. Maybe she doesn’t know I can talk shit about hockey all day.

“So, your training regimen,” she prompts, breaking my reverie, pen poised over her notebook. “Tell me what makes the magic happen…”

I shrug, still wary. “Nothing special. Hit the ice, hit the gym, eat right. Rinse and repeat.”

“Come on,” Lily presses, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. “I’ve heard about those late-night sessions after everyone’s gone home.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You’ve been asking around.”

“It’s my job,” she replies, not missing a beat. “So, what drives you to put in those extra hours?”

I consider deflecting, but something in her earnest expression makes me pause. There’s no harm talking to her about hockey, or in the public finding out I put in some extra hours, and if doing so gets her off my back then so much the better.

“It’s… peaceful,” I admit. “Just me and the ice. No distractions. I can focus on the little details, you know?”

Lily nods, scribbling furiously. “Like what?”

“Edge work, mostly. The way your skates bite into the ice can make all the difference in a tight turn or a quick stop.”

To my surprise, Lily’s eyes light up. “Oh, absolutely. I remember watching Crosby during the 2016 playoffs. The way he could change direction…”

I blink, taken aback by her knowledge. “You’re a fan?”

“More than that,” she says with a grin. “I played in college. Club team, nothing fancy, but I know my way around the ice.”

“No shit,” I mutter, impressed despite myself. As Lily launches into a discussion about that series, I find myself drawn in.

Before I know it, we’re debating defensive strategies. Lily’s insights are sharp, her passion for the game clear. I catch myself gesturing as I explain my thoughts on the neutral zone trap, my earlier reservations forgotten.

“And that’s why I think it’s still a valid strategy in certain situations,” I finish, reaching for my drink. “But some don’t agree…”

Lily nods, her green eyes bright with interest. “I can see your point, but don’t you think it can stifle creativity on the ice?”

As she leans forward to argue her case, a lock of dark hair falls across her cheek. My eyes follow the curve of her neck, down to where her dress dips low.

Not again , I think, my mouth suddenly dry.

Lily’s voice fades into the background as my mind wanders. I imagine running my hands through that silky hair, trailing kisses along her collarbone. What would she taste like? How would she sound if I?—

Don’t even think about it, dickhead , I scold myself.

I snap back to reality. This is business – part of the job – nothing more. I can’t afford to get distracted, especially not by some nosy reporter who’s probably just playing nice to get a story.

“Carter? You still with me?”

I realize she’s asked a question. “Sorry, Ms. Grant. What was that?”

She pauses, clearly noticing my switch back to her full name. She smirks, a glint in her eye. “I asked if you had any thoughts on the upcoming game.”

“Right,” I say. “Yeah, it’s always a tough game against the Mavericks. They’ve got a good defense, but I think we can exploit their weak side…”

As I dive back into hockey talk, I notice the way Lily’s expression has softened. She seems more at ease and, despite my best efforts, I find myself drawn in by her quick wit and genuine interest. It’s a far cry from our first meeting, and as much as I hate to admit it, I’m enjoying myself. But a nagging voice in the back of my mind reminds me to stay on guard.

After all, she’s after a story, and I have secrets to keep.

LILY

I lean back in my chair, feeling a mix of satisfaction and surprise at how well the interview is going. Knox has finally opened up a little, happy to discuss hockey enough that I’ll get a story out of it. And as his eyes light up as he speaks, I find myself captivated by his passion.

I glance down at my notes. “And after the Mavericks, you’ve got a big game coming up against Minnesota. That’s your hometown team, right?”

The change is instant. Knox’s expression hardens, the walls go back up, his jaw clenches, and his eyes turn cold. Any warmth that had existed between us just a moment ago is extinguished, as if the bartender had poured water all over the two of us.

“We’re done here,” he says, his voice flat.

I blink, surprised. “I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong?”

Knox stands up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “I told you, no personal questions. I was an idiot to trust you. We’re done.”

“Wait, Carter,” I say, scrambling to my feet, and scrambling for what to say. “I didn’t mean to pry. I was just asking about the game?—”

“Save it,” he snaps, already turning away. “This interview is over.”

“Okay,” I say, trying to salvage things. “We can resch?—”

“No, we’re done .”

I watch, stunned, as Knox storms out of the bar, leaving me standing there with my mouth hanging open. I sink back into my chair, my mind racing. One minute we were having an easy conversation – nothing groundbreaking, but some progress, at least – and the next…

I rub my temples, trying to make sense of what the hell had just happened. “Shit,” I say.

“Everything okay over here?” the bartender asks from behind the main bar, eyeing me with concern.

I force a smile. “Yeah, just… a misunderstanding, I guess.”

“Well, any man who walks out on you is a fool, miss,” he says, then turns back to his work.

As I gather my things, I can’t shake the image of Knox’s face when I’d mentioned Minnesota. There had been more than just anger in his eyes. I’d seen pain, and maybe even fear. I feel frustrated and angry again, like after the last interview, but this time, I also feel intrigued.

What is Carter hiding?

What had happened in Minnesota?

I’m going to find out, but I’m done asking him…