Page 193 of Revenge Puck

The driver pulls out a chair for me.

“Alright,” I say, heart thudding. “So, where is he?”

The driver gives me a look that’s almost apologetic.

Then he nods toward the far end of the rink.

I turn.

And my stomach drops straight through the ice.

It’s not Declan walking out of the tunnel. It’s Aaron.

Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?

He’s not in a suit. He’s in crisp dark jeans and a navy sweater, hands shoved into his pockets. His hair is damp as if he was in the locker room, showering. Several fresh cuts mar the skin at his neck from nicking himself when he shaved.

He stops a few feet away.

And suddenly, I’m left in the middle of a professional hockey rink with the man who bothmadeandruinedmy entire week.

“This is whackadoodle,” I say under my breath.

Aaronhuffsout a low rumble.

“Was this your plan to get me to show up?”

He nods. “Affirmative.”

Hmph. I have to give him props for that.

“Fine, I’ll admit it. I’m impressed.”

He pulled a fast one over on me.

My mind tries to sort out how that could be possible when the invitation came from my brother. How is it feasible that Aaron is here in his place?

I narrow my eyes at him. “Where is Declan?”

Aaron’s mouth twitches. “Busy.” He gestures to the table. “Would you sit with me?”

My chin notches. “Do I have a choice?”

“Of course you have a choice.”

The arena hums around us, cavernous and cold. The candle in the center of the table flickers as if threatening to go out if we dawdle long enough.

I glance over his shoulder.

The Zamboni driver is not gone.

He’s at the far end of the rink, leaning against the machine like a man who didn’t clear his evening for rink maintenance and is now here for drama.

“Is he on payroll for this?” I murmur.

Aaron doesn’t turn around. “He’s been compensated for his discretion.”

I blink. “You paid him?”