06 The Bet Begins

Harper

Cade set down the clipboard and walked toward the equipment room.

A few minutes later, he returned to the rink's edge in skates, a stick in his hand. He wore no pads—he'd only shed his jacket, revealing the black training tee underneath. The line of his right shoulder still looked a little stiff, but the moment his blades touched the ice, something about him transformed.

The star center from before seemed to have returned to the rink.

There was no hesitation in his movements. Gliding, turning, stopping short—smooth, as if the ice had always belonged to him.

Suddenly I understood why, a full year after his injury, so many people still remembered Cade Blackwood.

"The rules," he said.

I forced my eyes away from him.

"I attack from the blue line. Get the puck into the goal and I win. You can intercept, but you can't check me."

"Sure you don't need more of an advantage?"

"Worry about yourself."

Cade pushed the puck toward me.

"Go."

I accelerated instantly.

Cade didn't block me head-on. Instead he controlled the distance, herding me inch by inch toward the boards.

I faked left, trying to break through on the right. But he'd read my path before I even committed, his stick catching the puck dead-on. I spun to shield it, wedging my body between him and the disc. Even without any real contact, I felt his chest press close against my back.

His voice came from behind my ear. "Is brute force all you've got?"

"It's enough for you."

I slammed to a stop, my blades throwing up a spray of ice. Cade twisted aside to dodge it, and I seized the moment to drive toward the goal.

Then, from behind me, came a faint, muffled grunt. I glanced back on instinct.

Cade had stopped a short distance away, his left hand pressed to his right shoulder, his face a shade paler than before.

That single lapse of attention was all it took. His stick swept in from the side and stripped the puck clean away. I didn't even catch the moment he'd caught up to me.

The puck slid to the boards. The bet was over.

"You lose," Cade said.

I looked at his shoulder. His hand had already dropped, his expression back to normal, as if what I'd seen had only been my imagination.

"Your injury—"

"I'm fine."

"I heard you—"

"I said I'm fine."

The words sounded familiar. Yesterday, in the treatment room, I'd told him in exactly the same tone that there was nothing wrong with my wrist.

Cade clearly caught the parallel. We held each other's gaze for a few seconds.

I looked away first.

"I'll keep my end of the bet. One week—no complaining, no asking you out."

"Good."

"Starting when?"

"Now."

"Then can I say one last thing before it officially begins?"

Cade seemed to have already guessed it wouldn't be anything good.

"Say it."

I skated up in front of him and lowered my voice. "You look really hot out on the ice."

Cade closed his eyes and let out a slow breath.

"One week, Harper."

Grinning, I skated toward the exit. I'd only made it a few steps when he called after me.

"Six o'clock. Rehab session."

I turned back. "Just the two of us?"

"Yes."

I waved at him, my mood suddenly lifting.

A week without asking Cade out—fine. If he was the one inviting me to a rehab session, then I could keep flirting with him without technically breaking the bet.

---

At six o'clock sharp, I walked into the hockey arena carrying a box of pizza, a bottle of cola, and a box of donuts.

Honestly, I'd never been the one to plan a date before. Back in high school, whenever Hunter brought someone home, he usually just ordered a pizza. He said high-calorie food helped with the workout that followed.

Cade was already waiting in the treatment room.

He stood at the cabinet, sorting equipment. At the sound of the door, he turned, his gaze landing on the pizza box in my hands.

"What did you bring?"

"Dinner."

"I didn't tell you to bring dinner."

"You said we might be here late."

"That was a reminder to eat beforehand."

"You should've been clearer."

"Any normal person would've understood."

I set the pizza on the table. "Too bad your own risk assessment already proved I don't fall in the normal range."

Cade didn't bother arguing. He opened the top box—pepperoni pizza. Then he looked at the donuts beside it.

"Who told you to eat junk like this during rehab?"

"My brother."

"Terrible advice."

"Yeah, he's always been terrible. That's why somebody broke three of his ribs."

Cade's hand paused as he was closing the pizza box.

Brief—but I saw it. Every time Hunter's injury came up, he reacted like this.

"So what actually happened that night?" I asked, seizing the opening.

Cade shut the lid again. "We do the rehab first."

"You're better at changing the subject than you are at hockey."

"Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"Sounded like one."

He took a resistance band from the treatment kit and handed it to me.

I knew I wasn't getting an answer out of him tonight, so I pushed the pizza aside. "What's next?"

"Give me your hand."

I held out my right hand. The instant his fingers touched my wrist, Nova rose inside me.

Closer.

This is close enough.

We could sit on his lap.

That would interfere with the treatment.

Cade bent his head, slowly unwinding the athletic tape I'd wrapped that morning. His fingers were steady, his thumb pressing gently along the wrist bone, checking every joint.

"Tell me if it hurts."

"It won't."

He pressed the same spot where he'd found the problem yesterday, and a sharp pain shot up my arm. My fingers clenched on reflex—closing right around his hand.

Cade went still. His gaze moved from our joined hands up to my face.

"No pain at all?"

"Just a little sensation."

"Pain is a sensation."

"Has anyone ever told you how much you love correcting people?"

"Only when they're wrong."

"No wonder nobody at school ever wanted to date you."

"I thought it was because I turned them down."

He said it as calmly as if he were commenting on the weather.

I narrowed my eyes. "So the rumors are true?"

"What rumors?"

"A girl brought you breakfast every day for a month, and you handed it right back untouched every single time. And someone slipped their phone number into your hockey glove, and the next day you posted it on the lost-and-found board."

Cade was silent for two seconds. "The breakfast was peanut butter sandwiches. I'm allergic to peanuts."

"And the phone number?"

"There was no name on it."

"So you turned it in to lost-and-found?"

"I didn't know whose it was."

I couldn't hold back a laugh.

All of Blackridge treated that as the legendary proof of Cade's cold heart—when he may have genuinely just been trying to return a phone number to its owner.

"What's funny?" he asked.

"I just realized you might not be insufferable. You might just be oblivious."

Cade slid the band over my hand, his face expressionless.

"Rotate outward."

I pushed against the resistance as instructed.

"Again."

The first ten reps were easy. Cade swapped it out for a heavier band.

"Keep going."

This time my wrist began to ache, and I had to stop.

"Tired?" Cade asked.

"As if."

"Then five more."

I looked up and glared at him.

My wrist started to tremble, my shoulder tightening along with it. I was getting through the reps almost entirely on raw force now.

"Wrong," Cade said. "You're using your shoulder instead of your wrist."

He rose from his chair.

"I don't want to do this anymore." I dropped the band—and just then Cade moved behind me.

I thought he only meant to watch my form. The next second, his chest was pressed against my back.

My breath caught.

One hand steadied my elbow; the other covered the back of my hand, holding my arm in the correct position.

Through the thin training shirt, I could feel the warmth of his chest.

Too close. Close enough that his breath brushed the side of my ear. Close enough that if I leaned back even slightly, I'd fall completely into his arms.

Nova lit up at once.

Yes. Like this.

This is just treatment.

Then we should get injured every day.

That suggestion was even worse than sitting on his lap.

"Relax your shoulder," Cade said against my ear.

His voice was lower than usual.

I tried to relax, but his hand was pressed to the back of mine, his thumb resting between my knuckles. Every time I pulled the band, his body drifted lightly closer with the motion.

"Like this?" I asked.

"Drive from the wrist."

"I'm trying."

"Your shoulder's still too tight."

"Maybe that's because someone's standing too close."

Cade was quiet for a beat. "And who exactly has been trying to get close to me?"

"Nova."

"Your wolf?"

"She doesn't have much respect for personal space."

Liar.

Cade's breath fell against the side of my neck. "And you?"

"Me what?"

"Do you?"

I should have said yes.

But right then, I caught a trace of something. Very faint—like cedar buried under snow and ice, briefly woken by body heat.

The scent flickered past in an instant, and Nova slammed hard against my consciousness.

I turned my head on instinct. Cade clearly hadn't expected it—our noses nearly collided.

His face was less than an inch from mine. His gaze settled first on my eyes, then drifted slowly down to my lips.

The room went suddenly, intensely quiet. I could even hear the faint contraction of the band in my palm.

"Close enough now?" he asked.

His voice was so low it was barely more than breath.

My heart gave a hard, heavy slam.

"It could be closer."

Cade's fingers tightened all at once.

He still held my hand, but his other hand slid from my elbow to my waist—as if to stop me from turning any further, or to keep me from leaving.

I stared at his lips. Just a little closer—

A low growl rumbled from deep in Cade's chest.

Not a warning. More like some instinct suppressed for far too long, finally breaking loose of his control.

I lifted my eyes. Around Cade's pupils, gold was slowly rising to the surface.

"Cade?"

His hand locked firmly at my waist.

"Don't move."