Page 28 of Puck Prince

I bolt for him. Lance steps between us just before I can throttle the guy.

“The press has been brutal on him,” Lance snaps at everyone as he loops an arm around my torso to keep me pinned back. “And we need to stick together. We are a team.”

That comment earns him some snickers, but I gotta admit, I appreciate him. He’s always got my back.

“Is that why you moved away from the rest of us downtown and up into that family-friendly apartment complex?” Heath asks. “Or were you just MILF hunting?”

“I mean, the paparazzi doesn’t exactly go sniffing around for hockey players in neighborhoods with splash pads and dog parks,” Lance answers for me.

“Maybe I just wanted to spend less time around you idiots,” I add, stepping away from Lance and heading for the showers. I crank it up to Hades-hot, and I’m about to hop in when Miles intercepts me.

“You know what you need, Sharpe?”

“For you to not start a conversation with me when I’m butt-ass naked?”

He ignores me. “You need to fall in love.”

I actually laugh at that, getting in the shower and yanking the curtain shut. “Get bent, Miles.”

“I mean it, bro.” He is standing right outside the curtain, because “privacy” is apparently a concept with which he is unfamiliar. “Settling down is the best thing I’ve ever done.”

“You didn’t seem settled down at the strip club last weekend,” Heath calls out.

“I can look at the menu—I just can’t order anything.” Miles goes on, completely unbothered. “Listen, nothing says ‘boring’ to the press like a man happily in love. You’ll never hear your name again. I don’t even have to worry about the papz anymore. The second I got on one knee, it’s like I became invisible. No more hounding. No more watching what I do or say. They couldn’t care less.”

I have to admit: it sounds nice. The paparazzi-free existence, not the relationship part. That, I have no interest in whatsoever. Notafter recent events, anddefinitelynot after everything I’ve put up with in the last year.

If anything, life has taught me that the world is a fucked-up place. It needs fewer fucked-up people in it.

I’m enough of one as it is.

When my skin is raw and red, I shut off the shower, change, and head for the training area. The guys are all going out for lunch, but I’m not in the mood. I’d rather take my anger out on sore muscles. I need to clear my head and get my shit in order. No more talk about relationships or press or Cal?—

Oh, fucking hell.

I stop in my tracks when I walk in the room and see Callie working with someone. I turn on my heels to leave, but before I can slip back out of the door, she calls out to me. “I’m about done with him if you need something.”

This is the last thing I need right now, that’s for damn certain. But her tone is weirdly off and curiosity gets the best of me. Plus, bolting now makes me look like a coward. I was here first, goddammit. This is my team. My organization.

And she’s not going to have me pussy-footing around my own arena.

“Yeah, I uh… I have a knot.”

She smiles and says something to the other guy—one of the new group of rookies, I can’t remember his name—who smiles backand walks out. I wait, but she doesn’t look at me. She just wipes everything down and points at the chair. “Have a seat.”

“Right.” I saunter over.

“What’s the problem?”

“I don’t appreciate you tangoing with me in front of the team.”

Callie’s face sours. “I meant with your body. Where’s the knot?”

Oh.Right. “Uh, my… calves are tight.”

It’s quiet for a beat while I lay back and she begins massaging right above my ankle. The first touch of her fingers on my skin nearly makes me hiss, but I bite it back before she can hear.

For a five-foot-nothing girl, she sure can get to it.

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