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

Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

LILY

T he wheels of my carry-on suitcase squeak a little as I walk inside Omaha Prime, the upscale steakhouse where the Frost Giants are having their pre-trip meal ahead of a long stretch of road games. The restaurant buzzes with energy, a mix of excitement for the upcoming trip and curiosity about my presence.

As I make my way through the dining room, I catch Mark Turner’s eye and give him a grateful nod. “Thanks for this, Mark. I really appreciate it.”

He returns my smile with a tight one of his own. “Of course, Lily. We’re happy to have you along. Just make sure that first story is glowing…”

His words might be welcoming, but the tension in his shoulders gives me the distinct impression that ‘happy’ isn’t quite the right word. Instead, it feels more like he hopes that by inviting me to travel with the team during the upcoming stretch of road games – a privilege usually denied to journalists – I might pull a punch or two about the team in my article.

My article that’s due in three days…

The article that hasn’t been written yet…

The road trip is the second part of my plan to go around Knox to get to the core of my story, building on my efforts to get close to some other players. He’s a dam in a river, impossible to get past if I go with the flow, but I’m digging new paths around him.

I scan the tables where the team is seated, my eyes immediately drawn to Knox at the far end. His broad shoulders are hunched, his gaze fixed on the menu in front of him as if it holds the secrets of the universe. Even from across the room, I can feel the waves of hostility rolling off him.

As I navigate towards an empty seat, snippets of conversation reach my ears. The players and some coaches are talking quietly enough to not be too obvious, but loud enough to make it clear they have no problem with me hearing. I’m an outsider, after all, penetrating their fragile ecosystem.

“Can you believe they’re letting her come with us?”

“I thought road trips were supposed to be team-only.”

“Knox is going to lose his shit.”

I grit my teeth, plastering on a neutral expression as I finally reach an open chair. Tank catches my eye from across the table, giving me a wink and a grin.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Ms. Paparazzi,” he says, his voice carrying over the low murmur of conversation. “Good to see you, sweetheart.”

Again, I grate a bit at the pet name, but let it go. Tank has been one of the few players to welcome me and give me answers, and I’d rather not burn that bridge over something trivial.

As I settle into my seat, I feel the weight of several of the players’ gazes on me. Some are merely curious, others openly hostile, and at least one is a little sleazy.

I shift uncomfortably in my chair, suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of exposed skin. The sleeveless blouse and pencil skirt I’m wearing feel woefully inadequate under the scrutiny of dozens of pairs of male eyes.

I do my best to ignore them, focusing instead on the menu in front of me.

“So, Lily,” Ethan ‘Echo’ Hale leans in from my left, his voice low. “How’d you swing this gig? Road trips are usually sacred ground.”

I meet his gaze evenly. “Same as you, Echo. The general manager said I had a ticket to ride, I packed a suitcase, and here I am…”

He raises an eyebrow at both my use of his nickname and my bluntness. “Yeah, but our job doesn’t involve sticking our noses where they don’t belong.”

As I mouth some diplomatic reply, I risk a glance down the table at Knox, only to find him staring right at me. His gray eyes are stormy, filled with a mix of anger and something else I can’t quite place. Frustration? Fear?

But I swear I also see him biting his lower lip, just for a moment.

I don’t have an opportunity to consider it further because Mark stands and clears his throat. The din of conversation dies down, replaced by an expectant hush that makes my skin prickle. It’s clear that this group of alphas knows to shut up around the team’s general manager.

“Alright, gentlemen,” Mark begins, his voice carrying easily across the room. “Before we dig into our steaks, I’ve got a quick announcement.”

I straighten my spine, willing myself to look calm and collected, even though I feel none of that. This is the moment of truth. Will the team accept me and open up to me, or will I be spending the next few weeks as a pariah?

Mark’s gaze lands on me. “As some of you may have noticed, we have a special guest with us tonight.” He gestures in my direction. “Lily Grant from the Star will be with us for the trip.”

A low murmur ripples through the group. Despite the comments earlier, it’s clear none of the players had expected me to join them on the entire road trip. I catch a few sideways glances and raised eyebrows. Knox, at the far end of the table, looks like he’s just bitten into a lemon.

“Now, I know this isn’t our usual protocol,” Mark continues, his tone brooking no argument. “But Ms. Grant has been tasked with writing an in-depth piece on our team, and one of our players, and we’ve agreed to give her full access for the duration of this trip. The coverage will do us good.”

He pauses, his eyes narrowing slightly as he surveys the room. “And when I say full access, I mean it. Ms. Grant will be present at practices, team meetings, and meals. She’ll be staying at our hotel and traveling with the team. It’s a level of access we don’t grant often, and she has my full blessing.”

There’s another ripple of murmurs, louder this time. I catch fragments of whispered conversations – “Is he serious?” “What about our privacy?” – and fight the urge to sink lower in my chair. My “I’m a serious journalist” facade is melting, but I hope enough remains to hide my nerves and self-doubt.

Mark holds up a hand, silencing the chatter. “I expect you all to treat Ms. Grant with respect and professionalism.” His voice takes on a steely edge. “She’s here to do a job, just like the rest of us. Anyone who has a problem with that can take it up with me personally. And trust me, you don’t want to do that.”

I feel a rush of gratitude towards Mark. He might have ulterior motives for wanting me here, given the team’s slide and his desperation – expressed clearly enough during my eavesdropping in the parking lot of Baxter Stadium – for anything to paint a good picture and turn the team’s fortunes around.

“Welcome aboard, Lily,” Tank’s voice booms from across the table, as he raises his water glass in a mock toast, drowning out some of those complaining. “Hope you’re ready for some quality time with the boys.”

I manage a smile, grateful for the friendly face. I know Tank is a leader on the team, so his stamp of approval might help some of the others accept me. “Thanks, Tank. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Yeah, I bet you are,” mutters a voice from somewhere to my left. I don’t catch who said it, but the implication is clear.

I take a deep breath, willing myself to appear unfazed. I’d known this wouldn’t be easy, but I hadn’t quite prepared myself for the reality of being thrust into the middle of a tightly-knit group of alpha males. The truth is, at least some of them consider me little more than a piece of meat, and I’m suddenly self-aware that I’m young, good-looking, and the only female here.

And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a flash of curiosity about what dozens of testosterone-fueled hockey players might have in mind for me…

As the conversation gradually returns to normal around me, I risk another glance down the table at Knox. He’s still staring at me, his expression unreadable. When our eyes meet, he holds my gaze for a long moment before abruptly pushing back from the table, standing, and stalking towards the exit.

Suddenly, every eye in the room is on him.

Then on me.

The team has figured out there’s something odd between us, and I can feel the unasked questions in the air: What the hell happened there? Is she the reason Knox is playing like shit? And now we’re going to be sharing planes, hotels, and buses with her?

I can’t let him upend me like that.

It’s time for part three of my plan: giving Knox a taste of the aggression he gives others, on and off the ice. I have no idea how he will respond, but I’m getting nowhere with the professional journalist asking softball questions while smiling and looking cute routine.

I push back my chair and stand, feeling none of the confidence my actions suggest, and knowing that if I screw this up, then I might just crawl into a ball and let the floor swallow me up. This will make me or break me in the eyes of the rest of the team.

“Hey, Knox,” I call out, my voice carrying across the suddenly quiet restaurant. “Dinner’s just getting started.”

Knox freezes, his shoulders tensing visibly, his gray eyes cold as ice when they meet mine. “You want to know about my eating habits now?”

Stepping up to his challenge, I step closer to Knox, my heart pounding in my chest. The restaurant fades away, and suddenly, it feels like we’re the only two people in the room.

The air between us crackles with tension, and I find myself hyper-aware of every detail about him – the stubble on his jaw, the faint scent of his cologne, the way his t-shirt clings to his muscular frame.

For a flash of a single moment, all I can think about is how badly I want to close the remaining distance between us and find out if his lips are as soft as they look.

Then I swallow hard and take my shot.

I raise an eyebrow, put a hand on my hip. “I’m just concerned about your nutrition. After that performance last night, you need all the fuel you can get.”

Suddenly, the rest of the room shoots back into my focus, and a collective “Ooh” ripples through the team. I catch sight of Tank trying to hide a smirk behind his napkin. Even the coach and manager look curious.

Knox’s jaw clenches, and for a moment, I think he might actually lose it. “Enjoy your dinner,” he mutters, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

As he storms out, I notice the shift in the room. Where before there had been suspicion and mistrust in the players’ eyes, now I see a mix of amusement and… is that respect?

Tank catches my eye and gives me a subtle nod, while Echo lets out a low whistle. “Damn,” he says, shaking his head. “You’ve got some balls.”

I shrug, trying to play it cool even as my heart races. “Just doing my job,” I say, sliding back into my seat.

As the conversation slowly picks up again around me, I realize I’ve just passed some sort of test with the team. I’ve shown them I can give as good as I get, and that I’m not some wilting violet. It isn’t exactly how I’d planned to win them over, but I’ll take it.

I’m not so sure how Knox will react, but I need to shake things up with him. Trying to blend in and engage with him on his terms, making him comfortable, hadn’t worked. So now I want to make him uncomfortable, to make his cheeks flush, even if from anger.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Tank’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. “Don’t mind Knox. He’ll like it, or not.”

I give a weak smile. “Thanks, Tank.”

“Now, tell us about yourself,” he says.

I look up to find several of the players watching me with interest. It’s clear the dynamic has shifted, and I’m not about to waste this opportunity, even if I’ve further alienated Knox. The food comes, and conversation flows easily. The guys pepper me with questions about my career. I find myself relaxing, enjoying the banter and camaraderie.

I also deliberately don’t ask them anything that might resemble a serious question. I want them to accept me, to open up to me, and rushing to dig deep would put them on the defensive again. And, truth be told, I don’t mind the moment of respite. I’m still feeling worked up from the encounter with Knox, both by the electricity between us, my anger at how much of an asshole he’s being, and the fact my plan has worked.

Answering questions on autopilot is just the trick to give my overstimulated brain a moment of respite. And, just like that, I suddenly realize why athletes are like automatons in response to reporters’ questions.

By the time dessert rolls around, I feel like I’ve made some genuine progress with relaxing the team to my presence. Even the players who’d initially seemed wary are cracking jokes and including me in their conversations.

As we wrap up dinner, the team’s bus arrives right out front, ready to go to the airport. I join the precession on to it, stowing my luggage, and boarding. I make my way down the aisle, searching for an empty seat, when my gaze lands on Knox, slouched in a window seat near the back.

His eyes meet mine for a moment before he pointedly looks away. Swallowing hard, I slide into an empty seat in the row over from him, which gives me a clear sight of Knox’s reflection in the window. The hostility in his gaze is clear.

Yep, haven’t won him over tonight…