Page 34 of Grumpy Puck

I exchange a confused glance with Wolfgang.“Does that mean Michael can read minds?”

Meine Liebe, my mind is easily read.‘Cheese.’

“No.”Coach chuckles.“It means he can use his body with great precision.”

Was it Coach’s intention to give me an onslaught of dirty images, ones where Michael uses his body on me… with great precision?Wait.That makes it sound like my holes are difficult to hit or something, which they?—

“How was that?”Michael growls.

“Very… precise,” I say.“But not at all funny.”

“But the potential is there,” Coach says quickly.“Can you do it again but pretend that you’re very drunk?”

Muttering something about everyone going to dicks, Michael tries again, and this time, his fall is hilarity itself.

“There you go,” Coach says.“I knew you could do it.”

“And you’re a good coach, Coach,” I add.

Michael stretches his arms—which are probably sore from all that flailing.“Who knew looking like a fucking idiot would be such a challenge.”

“But you do it so naturally,” I say, flapping my eyelashes at him all innocent-like.

“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”he growls.

“On the bright side,” Coach says, “I’ve been telling you that you need to do more assists, and that was an excellent one.”

A female clears her throat behind us.It turns out to be Linda from HR.“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“How much of that did you see?”I ask.

She shudders.“Are you asking if I saw our most expensive player nearly break his neck?”

Most expensive?Do hockey players get paid proportionally to their grouchiness?

“What do you want?”Michael demands.

She shuffles from foot to foot.“I wanted to run something by you both.An idea from PR.”She winces.“It has to do with your accommodations in New York.”

“What about them?”I ask.

Linda wipes a bead of sweat from her forehead.“They—we—wanted to know if you two would be okay sharing a hotel room.”

I feel like my brain has just tripped over the invisible rope and is flailing its hippocampus and hypothalamus as it lands on its amygdala.“Me and him?”I point at Michael.“Or him and Coach?”

Coach raises his hands like I’ve got a gun pointed at his chest.“I’m staying with my wife.Sorry.”

“Why the fuck?”Michael demands.

“To further fuel the rumors,” Linda says.“Otherwise, the press may start to question whether you’re really together.The two of you haven’t been seen together much, so…”

I glare at her.“I’m not doing it.”

“Me neither,” Michael says, his black eyes glinting with wrath.

“It will be a room with two beds,” Linda squeals.“With a partition between them as well.”

“Aren’t those partitions made from paper and wood?"I slant a glance at Michael’s crotch for no reason at all.“I’m not exactly reassured.”

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