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Good management could arrange the basketball team’s game around ours and
move the poor basketball team out of the convention center. It would also
facilitate more concerts. More events. The University could use it too, I’m
sure. And then there are the concessions.” Garrick’s waving hands jerked with
frustration. “He’s had the same fried dough, cheap pizza, and watery beer
stands going for decades. Microbrews like Picaroons and even bigger local companies
like Moosehead would easily outsell at least half the Bud and Molson taps. And
don’t get me started on the lack of corporate sponsors and season ticket
holders. I could—” He stopped abruptly, shaking his head. “Listen to me ramble
on about shit I know nothing about.”
    “I am listening. It’s interesting.”
    “I’m easy-chair quarterbacking. I don’t know what I’m
talking about.” He stared down at his boots, his hands stuffed in his coat
pockets.
    “It sounds like you know what you’re talking about.”
    He shrugged. “Not really. I just have lots of ideas.”
    “Have you told Lamont your ideas?”
    He looked at her. “Lamont?”
    “Yeah, you know, the guy who could actually make money by
listening to you?”
    Garrick’s eyes widened. “I couldn’t. I mean, I’m just a
hockey player. I don’t know anything about running a team or an arena.”
     Garrick had struck her as a lot of things, but never
insecure. His lack of confidence surprised her.
     “Seems to me you know plenty. Everything you just said makes
sense and jives with what I’ve seen other arenas do. And don’t give me the just
a hockey player crap. The smartest men I know are hockey players, so that
doesn’t mean shit to me.”
    She couldn’t be sure in the strange light, but it was
possible Garrick LeBlanc was blushing.
    “Yeah, well anyway, to answer your actual question,” he
said, obviously avoiding a response to her outburst, “I think the Cats and the
arena need to find a buyer with good ideas and a willingness to invest. And
given the current state of the economy, no, I don’t think that’s going to
happen quickly.”
    She nodded. He was right. He was also a hell of a lot
smarter than she’d given him credit for.
    She stood, head tilted to the side, and stared up at this
new Garrick, aware of the bemused smile on her face. He blinked, slowly, and
his eyes darkened, going black in the dim light.
    She licked her suddenly dry lips. His gaze darted down.
Otherwise, he didn’t move. Not a muscle.
    I could kiss him.
    The thought—which she never should have had to begin with—held
way more appeal than it ought to. Not because she felt sorry for him, or
because she was grateful for his help these past weeks. But because he was
gorgeous and kind and smart and funny and holy crap. When had she
stopped pretending he wasn’t smoking hot?
    Of course, none of that mattered. He was a player on the Ice
Cats.
    “Goodnight,” she said abruptly.
    “Goodnight.” His deep voice drifted over her skin and made
the little hairs on the back of her neck stand up beneath her scarf.
    She yanked her keys from her pocket, unlocked the car, and practically
dove into the driver’s seat. Screw waiting for the engine or the frigid air around
her to warm up. She slammed the car into gear and hightailed it out of there.
    She looked back in the mirror, once, just before she turned
out onto the highway. Garrick stood exactly where she’d left him, watching her
drive away.

Chapter Five
     
    Savannah was all business the next morning when she saw
Garrick, which, for some reason, he seemed to find amusing. She doggedly ignored
his failed attempts to hide his smile while she resolutely spoke of training,
conditioning, his hip, and his groin pull.
    That she wanted to smile back was another issue, one she
refused to acknowledge. She hadn’t meant to befriend one of the players, but
she had, and it didn’t mean she’d lost her ever-loving mind and would do
something colossally