Page 33 of Ice Devil

The matchup was the number one bet being taken. At least so I’d heard.

I was actually looking forward to the game, but there was something else I was also interested in.

Her.

One sexy reporter who’d written a killer article. We hadn’t exchanged phone numbers and I hadn’t even mentioned the Chicago game. I didn’t pay attention to the schedule. I found that psyched me out in a way I didn’t need.

“You got it, man,” he said, faking some Spanish accent. He flanked my side as he moved toward the coach. “Think of it this way. You’re quite the celebrity after that article.”

I tossed him a look. “Don’t go there.”

He threw up his hands, grinning. I’d had entirely too much ribbing since the whole article had been written about me with maybe two paragraphs on the team itself. She’d made mention of Ford, but there’d been limited details other than his stats.

At least the words she’d penned had been favorable.

I’d looked her up, finding her email online. I’d debated several times sending her a note, even thanking her for the article, but my fingers had been incapable of writing anything that had made any sense. One thing was for certain; she’d created a sweet and sassy memory that would remain furrowed in my brain for a long time.

I had to admit I hoped she would be on duty for the game.

Ford appeared on my left, matching my long strides. “You did good out there.”

I chuckled. “Why does it sound like you’re disappointed?”

“Are you kidding me? To see my kid brother doing so well?” He smacked me on the back, laughing as he did.

“Kid brother, my ass. I could best you in any event.” We were close and always had been, able to handle the heat of our competition.

“Yeah, well, that could be true. Seriously, though. I thought I could fool you.”

“You need to work on that face of yours,” I offered as I stepped off the ice. “A moderate twitch occurs on the right side of your face when you’re not comfortable with a play. That’s how I knew to expect the unexpected.”

“Well, shit. Only something a beast would notice.”

Huffing, I shook my head. “Maybe, but you have two of the biggest and baddest shifters waiting for us to take the ice in the Windy City.”

“Fuck. I forgot about that. Well, I guess we’ll need to be on our A-game.”

“Yeah, you’re right. We will.”

The coach was talking to the assistant coach and when he turned around, his expression was worrisome.

“Wonder what that’s all about?” Ford threw out.

After raking his hand through his hair, Coach Griffen approached. “Ford, Beck, we need to talk.”

“What’s wrong, Coach?” I threw out.

“Maybe you want to go somewhere else.”

Neither my brother nor I liked his suggestion.

“Nah,” Ford said. “Whatever it is, just tell us.”

“I’m sorry, boys, but your father has had a heart attack.”

CHAPTER 8

Sloane