Page 50 of Risky Pucking Play

"I'm not admitting shit." I start changing into my practice gear. "It's just another bullshit story from people with nothing better to do."

"Come on, man." He won't let it go. "The whole team knows you've been different lately. More focused. Less of an asshole—most of the time at least. There's gotta be a reason."

I pull my practice jersey over my head, buying time to think. "I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

McCoy laughs. "You turned down at least three smoking hot women at Miller's the other night. All three of which I would have taken home, no questions asked. That's not the Barnesy I know."

Other guys filter into the locker room, and they’re all talking about the picture. Fan-fucking-tastic.

"Yo, Barnesy!" Tucker calls from across the room. "My sister wants to know if you're officially off the market."

This sets off a round of laughter and catcalls. I force a smirk. But my mind is racing, not with worry for myself—I'mused to this kind of attention—but for Elena. What if someone recognizes her? What if her dad sees the photo and knows it’s her?

"Look at his face," one of the defensemen says. "He's actually blushing. Holy shit, Barnes is in love."

"Fuck off," I mutter.

Wilson, who’s well known for sleeping with puck bunnies, sits down next to me. "Seriously though, who is she? Anyone we know?"

I stand, pulling on my gloves. "A gentleman never tells."

This prompts another round of laughter, even louder this time.

"You're no gentleman, Barnesy, so spill…" McCoy says, standing too. "Who is it?"

I flash a mysterious smile but remain silent. I’m enjoying the attention but fuck if I’m going to tell these dickheads who’s in the picture with me.

The questions keep coming as I finish getting ready, each one adding to the knot of tension in my chest.

Coach's voice booms from the doorway: "Ice in five, ladies! Move your asses!"

Relief washes over me at the interruption. I grab my stick and head for the door, ignoring the continued ribbing from my teammates. As I pass Coach Martinez, I can't help but search his face for any sign that he knows—that he's seen the photo and recognized his daughter.

His expression remains neutral, focused on the practice ahead. Does that mean he hasn't seen it? Or is he just really good at hiding his feelings?

The cool air of the rink hits my face as I step onto the ice. Usually the scrape, scrape, scrape of my blades centers me. But not today. Instead, I’m thinking about Elena, wondering if she's seen the article and whether she's panicking.

I push hard during warm-up laps, hoping the physical exertion will clear my head. No such luck, though.

Daniels glides up beside me, his goalie pads making his movements awkward. "You good?"

"Yeah," I lie, skating a little faster. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because you just missed a pass that hit you right on the tape." He matches my pace. "And because I've seen the picture."

I slow down slightly, glancing at him. "It's nothing. Just the usual bullshit."

"Uh-huh." His tone makes it clear he doesn't believe me. "Just be careful, Barnesy. Whatever—or whoever—has got you all twisted up lately... make sure she’s worth it."

Before I can respond, Coach blows his whistle, calling us to center ice for drills. Daniels shoots me one last look before skating away, leaving me with his words echoing in my head.

Is it worth it? The question bounces around in my head as I line up for passing drills. Elena's career versus my feelings for her. Her future versus whatever this thing is between us.

I need to talk to Elena. And soon.

After practice, I stand outside Elena's office door, my head spinning. The hallway is empty—I made sure of that, waiting until most of the team had cleared out after practice. My knuckles hover over the wood for a second before I force myself to knock. Three quick taps.

"Come in." Her voice is muffled through the door.

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