**MILA'S POV**
The players' lounge at Frost Bank Arena smells like sweat, ice, and the particular expensive cologne that young men with too much money always seem to land on. I've been in here before, during agency events. Never like this, though. Never as the person everyone stops to look at.
Ten sets of eyes find me the moment I walk through the door.
Hockey players. Big, tattooed, absurdly good-looking hockey players, all of them clocking the plus-size girl in the powder blue blouse and matching heels.
I keep my smile easy and my shoulders back. Five years of walking into rooms where people didn't expect me has taught me at least that much.
"Whoa." A blond guy detaches himself from the group and bounds over — Knox, the cocky young forward I'd spent an afternoon watching on film. Al
