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She resumes typing, fingers flying over the keys. I catch a few phrases like "sculpted physique" and "dazzling smile" before she angles the laptop away.
"Ah ah, let me see."
With a huff, she turns the screen back toward me. I scan the paragraph, nodding.
"Not bad,” I tease. “But I think you can do better than 'sculpted physique.' How about 'god-like body chiseled from granite'?"
Her eyes flash with irritation, but she changes it. The more she writes, the more creative her descriptions become. And the more amused I am, even though there’s no way I’m going to let her publish any of that.
"'Eyes like shards of ice that pierce your soul.' A bit over the top, don't you think?" I ask with a chuckle.
"You wanted nice, I'm giving you nice," she snaps.
I shut the laptop lid and slide it aside. She inhales sharply as I lean in, bracing one hand on the arm of her chair.
"You're not as subtle as you think, little cat," I murmur, brushing a strand of golden hair from her face. “I’m not some guy in a romance novel. I’m a serious athlete. Now delete all that crap and start over.”
She huffs and makes a cute growly sound in her throat. “This isn't as easy as it looks. All that work I just did.”
“Delete it. Except the part about the baby pandas. You can keep that.”
“Unbelievable.”
I can practically see the steam coming out of her ears. It’s adorable.
No, no, no. Not adorable. I like kitty cats as much as the next guy, but it’s all fun and games until their claws come out. And by the look in Emily’s eyes, she’s getting ready to sharpen hers.
“A little less snark. A little more clickety clack,” I say with a teasing grin.
“Clickety clack? Really? You know… Junk-for-nuts Jablonski, I might regret telling you this, but I?—”
Suddenly, the lights go out, plunging us into darkness. For a second, I just stand there in silence as my eyes adjust.
"That can't be good," Emily says dryly. Before I can respond, there's a loud clanking noise, and the AC shuts off.
"Well, ain't this cozy," I mutter.
"Yup, definitely a power failure," she concludes. I hear her moving around, probably feeling her way along the wall.
“The ice!” I say in panic.
"No problem, the backup generator will kick in any—" She starts to say when a crashing sound echoes down the hallway. Emily and I both freeze.
"What was that?" she whispers. The words are barely out of her mouth when the lights flash back on. We blink and exchange a look, then take off running down the hall toward the sound.
As we round the corner to the trophy case, I feel my stomach drop. The glass is shattered, shards everywhere, and the Hart Memorial Cup is gone.
"The trophy!" Emily gasps. We hear footsteps pounding away from us. Without thinking, I bolt after the thief, Emily on my heels.
We careen around another corner and almost slam right into Hal, the elderly night guard. He's wheezing and out of breath.
"Someone just ran past… with the trophy..." he pants, pointing down the hallway that leads outside. “Wearing all black. Too far away. I couldn’t get a good look at the getaway car.”
Emily and I look at each other in dismay.
“Who would dare steal from the Blizzard Dome?”
But even as the words leave my mouth, I already know who did it.
