"So, tell me," Sara said, a wide smile on her face as sitting back in her chair she sipped at her champagne, "What should I expect from this evening?"

Grissom's brow arched devilishly. "Well, Sara dear, you should expect to be wooed."

Choking on her champagne, Sara set her flute down on the table and used the napkin to dab at her lips. "That's…not what I meant," she said when she'd recovered, glancing worriedly at the nearest tables and yet unable to suppress a smile. "I know very well what to expect..." Pausing, she cast another quick look around. "I was talking about the game."

"Me too," Grissom retorted, a self-satisfied grin on his face. "Live hockey's great, Sara. You're going to love it. It's a religion here, not like back home."

"You mean to say I won't be bored?"

"Bored?" he repeated with disbelief. "Oh, I guarantee you will not be bored."

The happy twinkle in his eyes, the excitement in his voice, had Sara entranced and grinning back at him.

"Hockey is—it's fast-paced, intense and exhilarating," he went on enthusiastically, "All-encompassing even. You make one with the crowd, Sara. You'll come out buzzing. It's—"

"Better than sex?"

A slow smile spread across his bearded face. "No, darling, it's not better than sex."

And then with his eyes, Not with you anyway.