Page 39 of Grumpy Puck

She shakes her head.“I likeStuart Little, and he’s a mouse.”

“Ah.You like rodents then.”

She shakes her head again.“I like Pikachu, and he’s a Pokémon—a fictional creature with superpowers.”

“Yeah, but he still looks rodent-like.”

She narrows her eyes.“How are you so up to speed on things that kids like?Do you have any of your own?”

“Nope.”

“Nieces or nephews?”

“No.”The word comes out more growly than I intend.“I don’t haveanyfamily.”Fucking fuck.How did we get on to this subject?

She gapes at me.“Any?”

“No.I grew up in a Russian orphanage—and the less said about that, the better.”Else I might just go berserker on the nearby media fucks, and that wouldn’t be good for the team’s PR.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, staring up at me.“I didn’t know.”

I feel a muscle pulse in my jaw.“Can we change the subject?”

“Yeah.Sure.Let’s just finish talking about movies.What kinds do you like?Maybe we can find one that we’d both enjoy?”

“I like movies with spies and superheroes,” I say.“My favorite character is Black Widow.”

She rolls her eyes.“Is it because you think Scarlett Johansson is hot?”

“No.I relate to her character’s backstory.”

Shit.Why did I just say that?

When Calliope stares at me like I’ve grown a second head, I’m forced to explain.“Born in Russia, recruited into a grueling training program.The only difference is the curriculum: spying versus hockey.”

She just continues staring at me, her face a kaleidoscope of emotions.“So, when Coach said you started hockey at four, it wasn’t voluntary?”

“It wasn’t, but I grew to like hockey pretty soon after that, and I understood that my life would be much worse without it.Still, being trained using Soviet-era methods is not something I’d recommend, even to my enemies.”

She takes my hand into hers, her small palm soft and warm around my fingers.“I’m sorry… again.”

“It’s fine.”I nod toward the journalists.“They’re probably getting some great pictures of us having a heart to heart, so there’s that.”

“Yeah,” she says and releases my hand.

I mourn the loss of her touch, but I can’t tell her that.“Have any movie suggestions?”I ask instead.

She nods.“How aboutThe Suicide Squad?”

I cock my head.“The old or the new one?”

I heard the older version sucks.

“Only the newer one has the ‘the’ in the title,” she says.“And it’s the only one that has Ratcatcher 2, a character who likes rats as much as I do.”

“No spoilers,” I say gruffly.“I haven’t seen it.”

“Oh.”She smiles.“You’re in for a treat.”

---