Page 8 of Puck Princess

“Okay, so it’s tender.But it’s not broken.”

Even though that’s obvious, I continue working my hands along her leg, massaging gently as I go. It’s quiet for a moment.

It’s also warm in here. I tell myself it’s because winter in Houston is the same as every other season in Houston—humid. Thick, wet humidity you could drown in.

I glance up at her.

Her eyes are on me.

She bites her lip.

Kinda like the tension in this room.

“Does that hurt?” I ask, my voice gruffer than I intend for it to be.

“No.” On the other end of the spectrum, her voice is sweet, almost sultry.

I wonder if that’s what she intended…

“It actually feels kind of good.” She bites back a groan when my thumb finds a knot in her calf. “I know I’m not very far along, but I already feel sore. And tired.”

“You have every reason to be worn out.”

She lifts a hand like she’s going to reach for me before she thinks better of it, letting it fall to her lap. “Does your mouth hurt? It looks like you got your ass handed to you on the ice today.”

“It doesn’t feel great, but I’m used to it. Hockey is… rough.”

Having a teammate you want to bury in a shallow grave is rougher.

Her brow furrows. “Why are you here, anyway? It was only second period when I— I mean, you were at the—” Her face flushes an adorable pink. “You had a game tonight.”

The revelation that she was keeping tabs on me is neutralized by the second, much worse revelation that I have to tell her what happened.

“I left early.”

She frowns. “Youleft? You can’t just leave in the middle of a game.”

“You can when you get ejected.”

“For what?”

For what, indeed. I’d sure like to know.

I stop massaging her leg and take a seat on the couch, facing her. “Tell me what really happened with Miles.”

Callie pulls her legs to her chest so she’s not touching me. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you walked out of your uncle’s office crying after he asked you to resign, and I want to know what happened.”

“You talked to Miles. I’m sure he told you.” She won’t look at me, and I want to grab her chin and force her eyes to mine. I want to dive deep into those stormy blues until I find the truth.

“Miles fed me a bunch of bullshit. I don’t believe any of it.”

Her jaw tenses. “He needed help because of an injury, and I might have let things get out of line with?—”

“Bullshit,” I repeat. “I call absolute bullshit. You look sick every time you’re alone with him. There’s no way in hell you’d make a move on him.”

“And how do you know that?” she spits out. Her obvious anger only proves my point.

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