They Bet I Still Wanted Him, Then His Team Owner Kissed Me

The Blades arena had a private level above the concourse, all dark carpet and glass railings, where season-ticket holders paid a small fortune to never smell a hot dog.

The alumni reception was at the far end. I was halfway down the hallway, looking for the coat check, when I heard my name through a half-open door.

"Tessa flew in for this. Flew. From wherever she lives now."

Mason.

The sign on the door said **PLAYERS' LOUNGE — AUTHORIZED ONLY.** Through the gap, I could see a slice of leather couch, a bar cart, and Derek's elbow.

"You don't book a flight for a reunion with people who made fun of you," Mason went on. "You book a flight because there's somebody you still want to see."

"Or because she put twenty grand on it," Kyle said.

"That's my point. Who bets twenty grand on showing up to a party? That's not about money. That's about proving something." A pause, glass clinking. "So, seriously, guys. Tonight, lay off the old stuff. No jersey jokes. She's clearly still raw about it."

"Says the guy who signed a jersey for her this afternoon," Derek said.

"That was a gesture."

Laughter. Then a voice I didn't recognize, one of the current Blades players probably. "Wait, so are you trying to get her back or what?"

Through the gap, I watched Mason stand, check himself in the mirror behind the bar, and straighten the knot of his tie with two fingers.

"I don't need to chase her," he said, smiling at his reflection. "She'll always have a thing for me."

The room whooped.

I waited for it. The tight feeling under my ribs, the heat in my face, the old urge to disappear. Five years ago, one sentence from him could knock the air out of me for a week.

Nothing happened.

It was like pressing on a bruise and finding the skin had healed over. I noticed his tie was a little too wide for his collar, and that was about all I felt.

I kept walking.

---

The reception hall had round tables with white cloths and little place cards in silver holders. Mine was at a table near the back, beside the service station.

Mason's black-and-silver jersey was draped over my chair. Again.

Same signature across the number. Someone had pulled it out of the equipment bin at the rink, carried it across town, and set it up here like a punchline that needed a second take.

I lifted it off the chair and folded it the same way I had that afternoon. A server in a black vest was restocking napkins at the station.

"Excuse me. Is there someone collecting team items tonight?"

He glanced at the jersey. "Uh, yeah. Merch table's by the entrance. I can take it."

"Thanks. It belongs to Mason Carter. He'll want it back."

He took it without a second look. That was the whole ceremony.

"Tessa!"

Sabrina caught me before I'd made it three steps, phone down for once, which meant this conversation wasn't for her followers.

"You're not going in the lounge? Everybody's in there."

"I'm fine out here."

She tilted her head. "Babe. It's okay to be nervous. You don't have to pretend. Are you scared to walk in and see Mason?"

She said it gently, like a nurse. Her eyes were bright with something else.

"No," I said. "I've already seen everything I needed to see five years ago."

For a second, she didn't have a comeback ready. Her mouth opened, then closed into a smile that didn't quite fit.

"Well," she said. "That's very mature."

She walked away fast, heading straight for the lounge.

---

I was on my way to the elevators when the hallway filled up.

Six people in suits came around the corner at once. Rick Donnelly, the Blades' general manager, was in front, jacket buttoned, phone pressed to his ear. I recognized him from a hundred pages of due diligence. Behind him came the team president, the head of operations, and two people from legal I'd been on calls with all month. None of them had ever seen my face. Northstar ran its early negotiations through outside counsel and a data room.

Donnelly shoved the lounge door all the way open.

"Glasses down. Anyone who's had more than two, go drink water," he said. "Northstar's lead on the acquisition is here tonight. I want everybody standing up straight and saying intelligent things."

The laughter in the room died so fast it was almost funny.

I stepped into the alcove by the elevator bank, out of the way.

A minute later, Mason came out of the lounge with his phone already at his ear. He stopped ten feet from me, facing the window, and didn't look around.

"Brent. It's me. Yeah, they just told us. The Northstar person's here, tonight." He rubbed the back of his neck. "No, I don't know who. Donnelly didn't say."

"I don't know, some finance woman from the city. Doesn't matter. Listen, my extension is sitting on her desk, right? So she's the one I have to impress." He laughed, a little too loud. "Relax. I'm good with this kind of thing. Give me ten minutes with her, and she'll see what I'm worth. Social numbers, community stuff, the fan base. I'm the face of the affiliate, Brent. I'm marketable."

He listened, nodding.

"Yeah. Tonight. She walks out of here knowing my name."

He hung up, fixed his tie again, and walked back into the lounge without ever turning his head my way.

My phone buzzed.

**Alexander:** Downstairs. Service lobby.

I pressed the elevator button.

---

He was waiting by the loading dock doors in a charcoal coat, hands in his pockets.

"You look like you've been having fun," Alexander said.

"Mason just told his agent he's going to charm Ms. Cole tonight."

His eyebrows went up. "Does he know?"

"He said my name out loud and didn't connect it to anything."

Alexander studied me for a moment. "You okay?"

"Honestly? Yes." That surprised me more than anything else tonight. "Let's go up."

The elevator was small and mirrored. Alexander stood close enough that his sleeve brushed mine.

"Donnelly's going to want to shake your hand before you even get out of the car," he said quietly.

"Let him."

"And Carter?"

"He wanted ten minutes with me." I watched the floor numbers climb. "He can have them."

"You're enjoying this."

"You told me not to."

"I told you to try." The corner of his mouth moved. "You're not trying very hard."

The car slowed. As the doors started to slide open, I heard laughter spilling from the lounge down the hall, Mason's laugh right in the middle of it.

Then a door banged against a wall.

"The woman deciding our acquisition just arrived downstairs," someone announced, loud enough to carry. "She's on her way up. Now."

The laughter stopped.

The doors opened all the way. Alexander stepped out first. I was right beside him, his head bent toward mine, still finishing what he'd been saying under his breath.

Down the hallway, the whole lounge had spilled out. Derek with his drink halfway to his mouth. Kyle frozen by the doorframe. Sabrina, phone raised on instinct.

And Mason, at the front, tie perfect, his practiced smile ready for a stranger.

It stayed on his face for exactly one second after he saw me. Then his eyes jumped to Alexander, back to me, and his smile didn't know what to do.

Rick Donnelly didn't hesitate. He walked straight past his players, past Mason, past everyone, and stopped in front of me with his hand out.

"Ms. Cole," he said. "We've been waiting for you."