“I signed a contract to play hockey. Not dance.” Oh, boy. Who’s going to be the one to tell Logan Barnes he technically did sign a contract requiring dancing? Not it! Someone else can be the harbinger of bad news. I’ll keep hiding like a coward in the back of the Summit’s main conference room. I hunch down in my chair behind the rest of the Appies staff and the owner, Larry Jenson. I chose this seat along the wall intentionally, hoping to stay out of Logan’s view while also giving myself a discreet line of sight to admire him. I’m not ready for him to see me. Yet. But I’m more than happy to
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