Page 18 of Playoff

“Thanks.” He downs it in a series of long gulps and then nods. “Let’s get this over with.”

Is it weird that I hate the fact that I’m hurting him? I’ve stitched up lots of guys and I’ve never given it a second thought.

“What about you?” he asks abruptly. “You got a boyfriend? Husband?”

I wasn’t expecting a question like that, and I shake my head before I can think about being cagey.

“Nah. Too busy working. I’m always traveling and putting in extra hours to get certified for one thing or another.”

“You must meet lots of men doing your job.”

I frown. “I do, but there’s a no fraternization clause in my contract, so that’s a big no.”

“With players or anyone?” He looks surprised.

“Anyone in the organization. I mean, I don’t think anyone would care if I started hooking up with one of the security guards or something, but again, with what time? Besides, when I get ready to settle down, I don’t want someone involved in hockey. I get enough hockey at work. When I’m at home, I want to think about something else.”

His eyes drift to mine. “You used to love talking hockey.”

“Sixteen-year-old me loved listening to her boyfriend talk about anything that made him happy. You could have been talking about guacamole and I would’ve been happy. Twenty-eight-year-old me has somewhat higher standards.”

He narrows his gaze and then grimaces. “Ow. Fuck.”

“Stop making faces. I’m almost done.”

He opens his mouth, and I gently poke his shoulder. “And stop talking. The more you move your face, the more it’ll hurt.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He gives me a smirk but I recognize that same look in his eyes and it’s weird. Did I hurt his feelings? Is that even possible? The Blake I knew in high school let everything roll off his back.

Is it possible he’s actually grown up?

The buzzer goes off, indicating the first period is over, and the team comes shuffling back into the room, effectively ending all conversation.

“You’re good,” I say in my most casual voice. “Take a couple of ibuprofen and maybe go get hydrated.”

He nods. “Thanks, Ro.”

I want to protest because he knows I hate that nickname. I want to explain that the guys on the team are the only ones who can call me that.

But heisone of the guys on the team.

And if they can do it, so can he.

Dammit.

I pack up my supplies and toss out the gloves I was wearing.

“Rowan, can you look at this?” Gabe asks me. “The knee is sore as fuck. You think I should wrap it?"

"Let me take a look," I say. "I've got my special blend of essential oils for you. Let me work my magic.”

“You rock.” He nods and starts taking off some of his equipment. It’s a hassle, but the knee has been bothering him and we need him to be as pain-free as possible.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Blake surreptitiously watching me and it’s a bit unnerving.

“She make you cry, Blakey?” Bodi asks, nudging him.

“A little,” Blake deadpans.

---