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“I could help you!” she blurts.
"Help me? Yeah right. No way I'm letting you tag along," I scoff. Emily puts her hands on her hips, eyes blazing. "Why not? I could be useful."
"Useful? The only thing you've been useful for is pranking me and writing snarky blog posts."
"Hey! My blog provides valuable insights into the inner workings of the team."
I let out a derisive laugh. "Oh please. Your so-called insights are just veiled attempts to poke fun at us."
Emily shakes her head defiantly, honey-blonde strands escaping her beanie hat. "That's not true. I mean, yes, I take some creative liberties for entertainment value?—"
"You mean outright lies?" I interrupt.
"Embellishments," she corrects. "But I also highlight positive things that fans truly appreciate learning about their favorite players."
I snort in disbelief. "Yeah, buried under mountains of sarcasm."
"Look, my readers have really responded to the posts I've written about you lately. Your charity work, mentoring kids...you're more complex than just some arrogant jock."
I blink in surprise. That was almost a compliment coming from her.
Emily goes on, "If I can get an inside look at you tracking down the stolen trophy, it would make for an amazing story. My readers would eat it up. And it could improve your image too."
I hesitate, mulling it over. She sort of has a point. This could be a chance to reveal a different side of me.
Emily looks up at me with those bigPuss In Bootseyes. "I promise no snark this time. Just an honest, straightforward account of the investigation."
Ah jeez. I try to ignore how kissable her lips look.
"Alright fine," I concede. Emily's face lights up. "But you follow my lead, got it? No going off on your own."
"Deal!" She sticks out her hand for me to shake. Her grip is surprisingly strong for such a petite thing.
"Tomorrow night. After the game."
"You got it, detective."
She gives me a cheeky salute and starts to walk off, her little hips swaying. I force myself to look away. This arrangement is strictly business.
10
EMILY
Sneaking around after hours with Owen is the last thing I ever imagined I’d be doing, yet here I am, dressed in all black as I creep through the deserted halls of the Blizzard Dome.
Why did I even volunteer for this ridiculous cloak and dagger investigation? Owen must have used some rakish manipulation to get me to think it was my idea.
“Nice outfit, Catwoman,” Owen says with a roguish grin as he looks me up and down. "Though I gotta say, I didn't take you for the sexy burglar type."
I roll my eyes. “Can it, Jablonski. We’re not on a date, we’re committing a felony here. So keep it in your hockey shorts, okay?”
He just chuckles, clearly enjoying ruffling my feathers. I hate that he looks so at ease, like breaking and entering is just another fun game to him.
We reach Mark’s office and I pull out the key I secretly copied earlier today, turning it slowly in the lock. The tumblers click into place. I glance back at Owen, unable to keep the smugness from my face.
"After you," I say, holding the door open with a flourish.
We slip inside, and I close the door behind us with a soft click. The room is dark and cramped, filled with metal shelves stacked with equipment. Owen brushes up against me as we squeeze past a rack of sticks.
