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  The walk over was cool but not too bad. Logan had to laugh at some of the L.A. natives he walked past in hats and scarves. It was 65 degrees! He couldn't imagine how these people would handle a good old Canadian winter near his boyhood home in Winnipeg.

  Logan and the team walked into Aquarius and found a booth with some seats near the back. A few of the guys started looking over the cocktail menu or ordered wings and some other food. But Logan knew what he wanted. He always knew.

  "Martini, no olives."

  The waitress gave him a flirty smile. "Yeah, but is it really a martini if you don't have olives?"

  He shrugged. "Don't care."

  The waitress scribbled it down and headed back to put the order in. Ten minutes later, his martini showed up. No olives.

  Ryan McCloud, one of the younger players on the team, stood up with his drink in hand. "Alright, boys. Great game tonight, but there's something I need to get off my chest."

  He pulled a cheap toy sheriff's badge out of his jacket pocket. It wasn't just any toy sheriff's badge. It was the sheriff's badge, the one that was passed from one player to another to reward the latest star of the game. Was it stupid? Maybe. Cheesy? Definitely. Heartbreaking? Only for Griffin, the son of winger Sam Martin, who didn't realize his dad stole his sheriff's badge until last week. Apparently, there was a lot of tears when he figured out what he dad had done.

  Sure, it was dumb, but it was also a good morale booster. Some teams had wrestling belts or hard hats or whatever. A sheriff's badge was shiny and cool — and easily portable. And tonight, it was Ryan's turn to hand it out.

  "This was a tough choice tonight, boys," Ryan said. "Lots of goals, lots of assists. But we also got lots of saves thanks to Matty so this one's for you!"

  He held his drink up as a salute, then put it down on the table as he walked over to Matt and pinned that cheap badge on his fancy suit. The guys cheered and hollered for their goalie and another successful night.

  As everyone started to dig into their food, Logan got up to get another drink from the bar. He liked their waitress but didn't need to get judged again for ordering another martini with no olives.

  He was standing at the bar waiting when he saw her walk in the door. Max was all business, dressed in a black pantsuit that was tailored in all the right places, and a pair of sensible heels. They were more function than fashion, but they were red and made Logan think bad thoughts. He was glad he didn't notice them when she was interviewing him in the locker room earlier when he was only wearing a towel.

  Max was with Charlie Cooper, who covered the team for a sports blog, and Bob Shaw, the team's broadcast guy who did play-by-play for each game. The guy was old as dirt, but his mind was sharper than anyone Logan had ever met when it came to hockey, which Logan loved about him. He and Bob once spent two hours debating which player in the league had the best stick tape routine. Logan changed how he taped his stick the next day.

  He watched as they walked over and started talking to some of the players. He would need to find a way to make a grand entrance after he got his drink. There was something about the way Max would look at him in those situations that just made him feel… good? Nice? It was weird for him to think about it so he tried not to dwell on that. Instead, he grabbed his martini from the bartender, threw some cash on the bar, and headed over.

  "Boys!" Logan bellowed as he approached the table with his martini. "Oh, and Max. I didn't think journalists were cool enough to come here."

  He got a sarcastic smile from Max tonight, and he loved it.

  "Does cool mean drinking out of a pretentious glass?" she asked.

  "It's a martini."

  "It doesn't even have olives. It's pretentious."

  Alex reached over and snatched Logan's martini out of his hand before he could object and took a swig from the glass. "And now it's mine."

  "Seriously?" Logan asked incredulously.

  "I scored two goals tonight."

  "I assisted on both of them!"

  Alex shrugged and with his eyes staring at Logan, drank from his newly claimed martini.

  Logan sighed, his shoulders hunching over as he had to accept the fact that he needed to get another drink. To be fair, Alex did in fact score two goals tonight. He would make Logan buy him a drink at some point anyway so why not tonight in Los Angeles?

  "Anyone need a drink now that I have to go get another one?"

  "Sure," Max smiled over at her media guys. "I owe Bob a drink anyway so I'll come with you."

  "Get our usual," Bob said. "And next time, remember how many championships Montreal won in the pre-expansion era."

  "And bring another martini!" Alex yelled.

  Logan could only roll his eyes and muttered, "Think again, Birdie."

  He turned to follow Max, her hips swaying as she made her way over the bar, squeezing her way in between a few people in the crowd. Of course, the bartender quickly noticed her.

  "Two Jacks on the rocks."

  "And another martini, no olives," Logan added.

  She turned and smiled at him. "Still sticking with the pretentious glass, eh?"

  He shrugged, knowing full well that she was teasing him. He was more than willing to let her play that game with him.

  "So what brought you guys here tonight?" he asked as they waited on their drinks.

  "It was close," Max replied. "Easier to trudge back to the hotel if the newspaper has a question about my game story."

  "Did your game story include my quote about L.A.'s goalie sucking it up tonight?"

  She just rolled her eyes at him. He would never admit that he thought it was adorable.

  "It was pretty obvious their goalie sucked," she said. "Six goals in one night isn't a good thing."

  He took a step closer, almost getting close enough to invade her personal space. Almost. "I didn't ask you about Denisov's save percentage. I asked if you included a quote from me."

  He saw the corners of her mouth begin to curl up teasingly. "I used a quote from your captain." She grabbed the two Jacks off the bar and smiled at the bartender. "All three of these are on the tab for that table over there."

  The bartender nodded, but Logan gave her a quizzical look.

  "What?" she said.

  "I thought you didn't let players buy your drinks," he said. "Journalism ethics and all that."

  Max's eyes flashed down to Logan's lips — just for a split second but long enough for him to notice. She was thinking about their night together, and about the fact that there had never been a repeat because of her vaulted "journalism ethics."

  "Who's picking up the tab tonight?" she asked.

  "The captain is letting us charge it to our per diem account," he said. "He said it's considered team building even if he isn't here."

  Max nodded. "I'll give him some cash later."

  She turned and walked her ass back to their table while Logan could only stare at her. She really was going to stick to her line about ethics just to avoid him, wasn't she? Of course, knowing Max, it wasn't a line. She took her job seriously. She took covering this team seriously. Logan would just have to accept that she was shutting him out. Again.

  He finally caught up with her as she took a seat at their table and handed Bob his drink. Logan grabbed an extra chair that was sitting across from Max. He couldn't sleep with her, but he could definitely enjoy a little banter before he went back to his hotel room alone.

  "So Logan," Bob said. "Settle a debate for us. Who's the best defenseman on the ice right now?"

  "Besides me?"

  Max rolled her eyes again. "Besides you," she said definitely. "Charlie says it's some guy up in Toronto, and Bob won't answer the question because no current defenseman is as good as Bobby Orr."

  "And I stand by that!" Bob said, raising his glass in an old-school salute.

  Logan couldn't help but smile before Max started rattling off stats from some of the defensemen in the league. He could do this all night — debate hockey with some real hockey people — as long as one of them was the brown-eyed woman sitting across from him listening to his every word. Even if she insisted she would never sleep with him again.

  Chapter 3

  Road trips could get monotonous sometimes. Same cities, same hotels, same people. Sometimes the monotony needed to be broken up with a little fun or some down time, which is how Max ended up at the swanky cocktail bar with two of her favorite media guys and a handful of hockey players. Sure, it was the same people in the same cities but at least the setting had slightly changed.

  Plus, they were all on their third drinks. What started out as a debate about the best defenseman in the league had evolved into some kind of argument about which company made the best sticks, the superiority of Russian vodka over Swedish vodka, horror stories from the minor leagues, and the best way to get rid of a clingy puck bunny.

  "Tell her you're going to be on the road for the next six weeks," Charlie suggested.

  "Won't work," Alex said. "Tried it. She'll just want to come on the road with you."

  "Concussion-like symptoms erased my memory a few times," Matt said.

  Max's glass stopped right before it touched her lips. "Did that really happen?"

  "Nope, but it's believable enough."

  "Probably because goalies have a few screws lose already, which is why they voluntary wear all that equipment," Charlie replied.

  Alex scoffed at him. "The heaviest equipment you use is a typewriter."

  "We don't use those anymore," Charlie muttered.

  Max sat back and smiled, completely entertained as these grown adults continued to tease each other. One of the reasons she thought this team was working so well together on the ice right now was because they worked so well together off of it. This was the perfect exam
ple. The fact that they could even roll with the punches teasingly thrown at them by a few reporters just proved how cohesive they really were.

  Of course, it was also bittersweet. This is what she missed about playing hockey. High school boys could be ruthless, but she could hold her own against them and they could hold their own against her. Well, she could hold her own until they were physically stronger than her and she couldn't compete with them anymore.

  "Hey, Logan! What's your excuse?"

  All eyes, including Max's, turned to the defenseman who was staring back at Matt.

  "What's my excuse for what?"

  "What do you do to get rid of a puck bunny?"

  Max froze, trying but miserably failing at her attempt to not stare at him. She had no idea what he was about to say. And did he think she was a puck bunny? Or did he even think about their night together at all? Because while it was hard to forget, Max had made it clear it was a one-time thing, and that it couldn't happen again.

  She grabbed her glass and tried to casually take a sip, hoping Logan's answer wouldn't be about that night. It would be fine. He wouldn't even…

  "Just tell her it was a mistake. She won't be back."

  He remembered. Oh, he definitely remembered. Max tried to casually glance at him, his head dropping as his fingers played with the rim of his own glass while the rest of the table sat uncomfortably quiet.

  And then Alex spoke. "That's the dumbest answer I've ever heard. No woman would back off after that."

  Crisis averted as everyone laughed at the Russian's comeback. Count on Alex to make a joke and break any tension or awkward situation. She had to give him extra credit for being able to do that in his second language.

  Max grabbed her drink and shrugged. "I mean, you never know," she said. "It could work."

  Oh, crap. Those words actually came out of her mouth. Why was she saying anything, let alone saying that?

  "What do you mean you never know?" Alex asked. "If Logan fucked you and then said that, you're telling me you would just back off?"

  Logan did fuck me, you dumb Russian oaf. "At least he was being honest," she said, trying not to sound too defensive. "Besides, I'm a reporter. That would never happen. I mean, ever."

  She sounded too defensive, didn't she? Because she was being too defensive. All her talk about that night with Logan never happening again, and the person she was trying to convince the most about that was probably herself. It would be dangerous and bad, especially if people found out, but damn, she wanted it.

  "Nope!" Alex said. "You would do it, and if you did it with me, you would come back."

  Max laughed in his face. "That's never going to happen."

  "Your ego is as big as your damn country, Birdie," Logan said.

  Max could only shake her head and smile. She could never thank him in person, but right now, she was quietly repeating in her head, Thank you, Birdie, for distracting everyone from realizing that Logan was talking about me.

  Which just made her think of Logan again, his muscular, warm body weighing down on her as he—

  Max's phone vibrated in her jacket pocket, distracting her from the trip down memory lane. She pulled it out see "Sports desk" on the caller ID screen. Standing up, she squeezed her way out of her seat at the table, explaining that she had to take this call from the office.

  Bob and Charlie nodded in understanding. "Don't let them give you crap with some dumb question," Bob told her. "And get me another Jack on your way back."

  Max smiled and nodded before heading out the front door to call the office back. The night had become a bit cooler, but it was still southern California. There were people walking by with scarves on while she enjoyed the warm weather that was very different from the bitter Michigan cold she had left behind.

  She called the sports copy desk back, surprised that Amanda, who was usually lazy about picking up, answered her before the phone even rang twice.

  "Sports desk," Amanda said matter-of-factly.

  "Hey, it's Max. You called?"

  "Yeah." Amanda's voice had become quieter than usual. "Where are you?"

  "Outside a bar in Los Angeles," she replied with a teasing smile. "There's palm trees and warm weath—"

  "Stop and listen to me, OK?"

  Max paused, the smile disappearing from her face. Amanda sounded weird. Unsure or nervous. Definitely serious. It sounded like this wasn't some call about Max's story. It sounded like it was about something much worse.

  "I'm listening," Max replied quietly.

  "There's an emergency editorial meeting tomorrow," Amanda explained. "It's at 10 a.m. or whatever time that is out there."

  "Seven a.m."

  "Seven a.m.? Fuck," she muttered.

  Max took a deep breath to try and calm herself down. "Is that a problem?"

  "We're probably going to be fine, but I don't think the meeting tomorrow is good news," she said. "Just call in and we'll find a way to get you back here if we have to."

  "Amanda, what are you talking about?"

  Max could hear her shuffle the phone and rustle some papers before she finally spoke again, her voice even lower this time.

  "There are rumors that the paper is going to announce more layoffs."

  Max cursed under her breath. Another round of layoffs? This was going to be the third round in five years. Sure, the newspaper industry was in decline, but at some point, the paper was going to have to find other ways to cut back on costs. It was getting close to a point where they wouldn't even be able to put out a paper if they laid anyone else off.

  What was even worse was that the people who had already been laid off were good people. Great writers. People that the leftover writers and editors had to cover for. If there was another round of layoffs, the sports department may ask Max to start writing a second or even third column during the week in addition to all her hockey coverage.

  That was assuming that Max would be fine, because of course she would be fine. But her job included a line item in the budget for travel that was as much as an entry-level reporter's salary. Would she be able to justify the cost of her work with the fact that her coverage specifically brought in extra advertising revenue and reader subscriptions?

  This was all a mess. All of it. The paper's parent company was asking too much of them to do another round of layoffs. They were going to cut too close to the bone. This was going to hurt. Again.

  "Max?"

  She shook her head, trying to focus on Amanda's voice. "Sorry, I'm here. I just… My mind wandered a bit."

  "It's OK," Amanda said in a reassuring tone. "Listen, I'm going to send you the phone number for the conference call so you can call in tomorrow, and then we'll go from there."

  Max rubbed her forehead in frustration. "How bad do you think this is going to be?"

  "I think the sports department will be OK," she said wearily. "I just worry about the rest."

  Max took a deep breath and stared up at the clear night sky. "Me too."

  "Go get some sleep. We'll know more in the morning."

  Max said goodbye and hung up the phone, then turned around to look through the front window of the bar. The players and reporters seemed to be having a great time, laughing as Logan told some story with his whole body moving around. He was gorgeous. He had his share of women, just like other young single guys on the team, and Max knew that. But the night she spent with him, the night that neither of them planned, was different. Even if she was just another notch in his bedpost, when she was with him that night, he made her feel like she was the only one. And if his response to Alex's question tonight was any indication, she may have had that same effect on him.

  But she was right. It was a mistake. It could never happen again. That was even truer now that her job was once again hanging in the balance. It wouldn't take much for the paper to pounce on an excuse to fire her. Sleeping with someone she covered would be the perfect reason to give her the boot and a big help for the parent company doing whatever they could to slash the paper's budget.

  Max looked down at the phone in her hands — her work phone paid for by the Detroit Herald — and took a deep breath, trying to concoct a good excuse that would allow her to sneak back to the hotel without suspicion.

  She typed up a quick text to Charlie — Have to head back to hotel. Sports desk had issues — and pressed send.

  It was a perfectly plausible excuse for her to not go back in and join them. It wasn't true, of course, but it was believable enough that she could get away for the rest of the night without any questions. She would just deal with them tomorrow.