Playing To Win. Taryn Leigh Taylor

      “Sometimes things get rusty when the pipe’s not clean, you understand? I mean, how long’s it been, man? In my experience, a good lube job can really help work out the kinks. And lucky for you, right through that door is a smoking-hot woman who told the entire internet that she considers you a certified Grade-A cut of beef. Plus, when I made my move, she told me she’s looking for a guy with more maturity. That’s your in, dude! She totally wants someone old. You should hit that.”

      Luke was pretty sure he’d never felt more ancient than he did having this particular conversation and he was only twenty-six. “Thanks for the advice, rookie.”

      “Hey, no problem, Cap. I got your back.” Brett glanced at the door to the interview room. “You need a wingman in there, or you good?”

      “I think I got it,” Luke assured him.

      Their conversation was interrupted by the infamous “Charge” anthem, a staple of sporting events everywhere. The rookie yanked his phone out of his back pocket. He glanced at the screen and grinned like he was on the cover of Hockey Digest. “Yes! It’s the car dealership. You are not even going to believe the sweet ride I just bought!”

      He was bouncing up and down like a Chihuahua that was about to pee on the floor. “The guys won’t be able to give me a hard time about my wheels anymore. I gotta take this, Cap. Good luck in there.”

      Luke waited until Brett disappeared around the corner before he stepped inside for his mandated face-off with Holly Evans, intrepid reporter.

      * * *

      “ARE YOU KIDDING ME, Jay? You took Salt Lake City over Vancouver in the first round? That’s ridiculous. No wonder you always lose your hockey pool. I mean honestly. I expected better of you. Vancouver clearly has the edge and—Luke!” Holly bolted off the interview stool.

      She hadn’t been expecting him.

      Like the rest of the team, he was wearing the navy T-shirt that mimicked his jersey, with the cresting wave on the front and his last name and number on the back. His T-shirt even had a white C on the front.

      But unlike the rest of the team, the sight of Luke in his T-shirt and jeans did funny things to her hormones. Seriously, is it hot in here?

      “I thought you were...not coming back...ever. How long have you been there?”

      “Not long,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets as he sauntered farther into the room. His cocked eyebrow and smug half grin said otherwise. Holly worried that her attempt to appear innocent was failing miserably, because her thoughts were anything but G-rated.

      “What are you guys talking about?”

      “You know,” she said, so brightly that she could have sworn he squinted a little. “This and that.”

      Luke nodded, glancing over at Jay, who avoided meeting his gaze. “Sounded like hockey talk to me.”

      “What? No.”

      “Yes,” he countered, matching her wide-eyed tone. “It really did. I’m a bit of an expert on the subject. Salt Lake City, Vancouver, first round. Definite hockey talk.”

      Luke had already nailed the fact that she was using this job to angle for a promotion. If she confirmed it by dropping the shtick, he could have her fired before she even got started. The best way to reassure him that she was harmless was to be harmless.

      Holly’s laugh was both forced and slightly manic as she shooed his words away with the dainty flick of her hand. “Oh, that. I was just telling Jay about...uh—” Think, Holly. Think! “—the numerology class I took.” She nodded, warming to the story. “Yeah, really interesting stuff. I was explaining how it can help you make decisions about important things. Like which handbag to buy. Or in Jay’s case, he’s doing some hockey thing with his friends and I was showing him how he could use it to pick teams.”

      “Cool. I’d love to see how it works.” He raised an eyebrow to punctuate the challenge, and she couldn’t quite hold back her frown. But she’d come this far. Might as well go all-in.

      Holly could almost swear she saw something like respect in his blue eyes as she lifted her chin and squared her shoulders.

      “Uh, yeah. I just added up the letters in Vancouver—A is one, B is two and so on, your typical cipher—and then you take whatever the sum is, add those numbers together if it’s more than a single digit and you have it. And in this case, it was equal to nine. Jay’s birthday is September ninth, so obviously Vancouver is the luckier team for him.”

      Luke smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “So it has nothing to do with the fact that Vancouver is a team with enough depth and experience that it’s pretty much a foregone conclusion that they’ll knock Salt Lake out of the first round?”

      Holly shrugged. “What can I say? The numbers don’t lie.”

      “Sorry to interrupt...whatever this is, but I gotta use the can,” Jay announced. “Down the hall and to the left?” he confirmed, and Luke nodded. The members of the Portland Storm were so superstitious that she and Jay had been asked to trek all the way to the building’s public washrooms because no one but the team was allowed in the dressing-room bathroom on game day.

      The two of them watched Jay leave, and she used the silence to regroup. She felt much more formidable when her adversary’s baby blues swung back in her direction.

      Until he said, “What is your game?”

      “Game?”

      His laugh was derisive, but kind of sexy for all that. “You’re not fooling anyone. I know something’s up with you and I intend to figure out what it is.”

      Oh great. That was all she needed, this handsome bastard messing up the most real-life, on-camera experience on her résumé. She might not like this job, but it was good experience, and she certainly wasn’t going to lose it by making him suspicious on the second day.

      “Up to something?” She placed a hand on her chest like a Southern belle. “Me?”

      His parry was a narrowing of his pretty blue eyes. “Something has been bugging me about your act since the moment we met.”

      “Oh, you mean that time you were so unchivalrous as to walk away from me without answering my question?”

      “So I asked myself,” he continued, without missing a beat, “why would someone who disliked sports so much that she asked about beards instead of the game bother to make a fake sports show? And the only answer I could come up with was, she wouldn’t. The way I see it, you have your own agenda, and it’s not going to do any of the members of this team any good.”

      Holly shook her head, eyes wide like an ingenue. “I don’t know what you mean. The Women’s Hockey Network is all about asking the kinds of questions we girls find important, such as what kind of cologne do you wear?”

      He smelled so good she was actually a little curious.

      “Oh, really? You’re gonna keep up the act?”

      Luke stepped closer. His big body sucked up all the oxygen, and her breath came faster to compensate. Who knew having a man accuse you of being smart was such a turn-on?

      “That’s the only question you want to ask me? I’ll give you a free pass, on the record. Ask me anything. No holds barred. Nothing’s off-limits. And I guarantee you a real answer. I promise not to say ‘no comment.’”

      Holly’s hand clenched into a fist.

      Any question. On the record. The reporting equivalent to winning the lottery.

      She could ask about his brother’s accident. Be the only reporter ever to get a statement on the one topic that was off-limits when interviewing Luke Maguire. Hear in his own words how it felt to be back in the play-offs for the first time since tragedy struck.

      And she wanted to. She wanted to ask