Page 27 of Grumpy Puck

“I call herptichka,” Michael growls.“Nothoney.”

The doctor looks nonplussed.“That’s good for you…”

“Is she hurt?”Michael demands.

“Boo, I’m perfectly fine,” I say in a saccharine voice.

The doctor nods, and Michael looks so relieved that it tugs on something in my chest.

Wait.What?I’m being silly.The brute was just worried because I never signed any sort of a liability waiver before his lesson.He couldn’t care less about me, I’m sure of that.

“Is that what you plan wear under that outfit every day?”Michael asks, his black eyes glinting dangerously for some unknown reason.

“Sometimes,” I say.“Sometimes even less.”

“Less?”His nostrils flare.

“What business is it of yours?”I demand, and then recall we’re supposed to be dating.

“Fucking fuck,” he growls and rushes out of the little office, slamming the door on his way out.

“All hockey players are hotheads,” the doctor says sagely.“I’m sure he’ll cool off and apologize for that later.”

Does that mean she still thinks we’re together?“Thanks, doctor,” I say as I pick up my suit.

“You’re not putting it back on?”she asks.

“Why?”

She shrugs.“Some guy might whistle at you, and Michael might overhear and?—”

“That’s ridiculous.”But I yank on the suit.“Happy now?”

“I had nothing to do with this,” the doctor says.“Please take care.”

Holding my head high, I leave the office and return to the ice.

To my relief, no overbearing assholes are around, so I focus on mastering stopping the way Michael showed me.Just as the Zamboni machine shows up to spruce up the ice, I nail a perfect stop, but my excitement is cut short by a slow clapping behind me.

I execute a figure-skating-like spin to see who’s there.

Surprise, surprise, it’s Michael.I mean, who else would be here to rain on my parade?

“You spying on me?”I skate over to where he is standing and stop perfectly once again.

He shrugs.“Someone has to make sure you don’t break something.”

“I’m perfectly fine without you,” I say, and, of course, nearly fall on my ass for no reason at all.

“That should be a clue that you’ve overtrained,” he growls.“Can you finally go change?”

I set my jaw.“Why do you care?”

He sighs.“I’m starving.”

“So go eat,” I snap.“What does that have to do with me?”

Unless it is me that he wants to eat.It’s eerily easy to picture those masculine lips on my?—

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