How to Hook a Hottie by Tina Ferraro Page B

felt a little bad for her. Her mom had practically shoved her out the door. But then she made a face at me, and I did the only thing I
could
do. I ignored it.
    •
    Dal stood behind the rental counter, shoving pairs of rental skates into cubbyholes, his triceps flexing with each haul.
    I'd seen his arms plenty of times, and when I thought about them at all . . . well, I really didn't. Most days, I just looked away. But today, it was like someone had pushed my Pause button. I could only attribute their recent developments to all his hours with a hockey stick.
    “Hey,” he said, turning toward me.
    I shook myself from my musing. My brain must have totally been on overload. Why else would I ever have looked at Dal's arms like . . . well, a hot guy's?
    “A pair of your finest white laces, if you please,” I said, and smiled big. “Size seventh grade annoying.”
    Amusement flickered in his eyes as he reached under the counter and slid a pair toward me. I passed him a ten and watched him count back my change.
    “I'm not sure if you know, but we have a bit of a situation,” he said as I pocketed the bills.
    “Mark.”
    “Yeah. He was by here earlier. Pretty ticked. Said he didn't appreciate being sold like a farm animal.”
    I flinched. “Any ideas about how to handle it?”
    “I already did. I asked him when the last time was that some girl wanted him so bad she'd
pay
to be with him.”
    I nodded, impressed. “Good one. So do you think he's still going to take her to the banquet?”
    “I can practically guarantee it.”
    “You're great.”
    He smiled. “Damn straight.”
    “And it's definitely your lucky day. I took deposits from Dakota Wilson and Carlton Camp.” I mentally crossed my fingers, my toes—even my eyes. “You in?”
    He didn't answer immediately, so I leaned across the counter. “I'll make it worth your while,” I said, and added in a singsong voice, “Money, money,
money
.”
    He didn't jump. In fact, he did the opposite—he grabbed a rag and made big swipes on the counter. “We're talking a lot of work. And no promises we'll get lucky again.”
    “Successful.”
    “Lucky.”
    I poked his shoulder. “Oh, come on, Dal. Together, we can make this thing work.” When he didn't smile or nod or say anything, emotions fluttered inside me, too many to count or analyze. “And I don't think I can do it alone.”
    Then I froze. Was there
anything
worse than looking desperate?
    He was silent for an impossibly long moment. “Since you put it that way,” he said, then smiled. “All right. Makes this an Ideal Opportunity for me, doesn't it?”
    Okay, maybe worse than looking desperate was having your own words used against you.
    “But I want a partnership,” he said, dabbing at a pesky spot on the counter. “Not you just assigning
    me jobs.”
    I nodded, embarrassed, agreeable. Relieved.
    “And fifty-fifty on the money.”
    “Fif—” I stopped myself. I didn't like it, but I had no choice. “Okay. But remember, we might need to work some weekends. You can't be away all the time.”
With her,
I added silently.
    He just looked at me, like he'd heard my thoughts. “I'm not going to leave you hanging.”
    A sudden rush of skaters cut our conversation short, which was fine. Our arrangement was simple enough—I knew my business ethics, and fifty-fifty was fair.
    Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Lexie and figured I'd better go earn my keep. She'd already complained that I was spending too much time talking to rink workers and new clients, and I didn't want her passing that sentiment on to her mother.
    But as I handed her the new laces, my mind stayed on Dal. I was relieved that he was going to be in it for the long haul, but I sure wished I'd kept the upper hand during the conversation—especially at the vague mention of his girlfriend.
    I needed to be better prepared for whatever came my way, to handle the twists and turns like a pro. A good leader knew how to do the jobs as well as