Page 40 of Gloves Off

“The league’sbest goaltender and Vezina Trophy winner three seasons in a row Jamie Streicher wants to know, who’s messier?” Miller asks.

We hold up our boards and Miller lights up with surprise. The audience applauds.

We glance at each other’s boards—we’ve both written her name.

“Wow.” I turn back around. “You admitted a fault. A first for you.”

A quiet scoff. “Because I’m so insecure?”

A weird feeling stabs beneath my ribcage. I didn’t mean to say that earlier. I don’t know why she gets this reaction out of me. I lose control around her, say things I don’t mean.

“Our favorite bartender couldn’t make it tonight but Jordan wants to know, where was your first date?”

I write down my answer, praying the doctor writes the same one. We hold our boards up and Miller reads the name of the restaurant where Owens, Darcy, the doctor and I went last year on the double date.

Our gazes meet, the hostility in her eyes dimming. She gives me a subtle nod, and I nod back. See? We can do this.

“They’re finding their rhythm,” Miller says. “Coach Tate Ward wants to know, what was Alexei surprised to learn about Georgia?”

I scrawl my answer, and the corner of my mouth twitches. Ihold my sign up and the crowd laughs.Her morning breath can wake the dead.

“Volkov, I swear to god,” she mutters as everyone chuckles.

“It would look weird if I suddenly started acting too much like Owens or Miller.”

“This one is from a new member to the team, Luca Walker. What’s Alexei’s dark secret?”

Big fan of dog shows and cries when the dogs win,the doctor writes.

Everyoneawwws. On the mic, Miller shakes his head, smiling. “Volkov, under all the pins and plates holding you together, we knew you had a heart.”

Beside me, the doctor stiffens before she flips her hair over her shoulder.

“This next question is inappropriate.” Miller’s grin turns mischievous. “I want to know, who looks better naked?”

For a split second, I picture it—the doctor spread out on my bed, beneath me, all that pale, soft-looking skin on display, wearing only that wicked smile.

My groin tightens.

We both write the doctor’s name. It would look weird if I wrote my own name for this. Anyone can see she’s a knockout. This whole thing would crumble into dust if I can’t even admit she’s attractive.

Her boyfriend sees her naked,an ugly, irritating voice whispers in my head, and I grip the marker. Whoever Damon is, I hate him.

“Who’s more likely to burn the house down while cooking?”

We both write the doctor’s name.

“Who has the better hair?”

Again, obviously the doctor, but she surprises me by writing my name. I lift my brows at her. “You like my hair?”

Her gaze skates over my hair, lingering. “It’s not your worst trait.”

Huh. Another almost-compliment.

“Who snores the loudest?”

We both write my name, and when the crowd laughs, we glance at each other. There’s something in her expression, a flicker of what my teammates and I feel when we score a goal. She’s competitive, and she likes winning. One of the very few things we have in common.

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