Page 50 of Pucking Around

“Well, Seattle Girl?” Jake said with a wide grin, his face wet with sweat. “How’d you like your first NHL game?”

“You were amazing, Jake. Really incredible,” I say, smiling up at him.

He leans in, his body twice as large as usual in his full kit. “Fuck—god, I wanna kiss you so bad right now.”

I lean away with a laugh. “Fat chance, 42. You smell like a half-dead badger.”

“You looked gorgeous tonight, baby.”

“Uh-huh.” I’m trying to stop my stupid stomach from fluttering.

“What’s it gonna take to get you to wear my jersey to a game?” he asks, eyes scanning my Rays polo. “Of course, you’ll have to keep your little charge paddles handy ‘cause seeing a big 42 across your back might just kill me dead.”

Okay, he’s not allowed to be so good at flirting.

“I couldn’t keep my eyes off you. You’re gonna have to wear a paper bag on your head so you don’t distract me at the next game.”

I roll my eyes. “You seemed pretty dialed in to me.”

“I’m an excellent multitasker,” he replies. “How about we continue this conversation over a drink later? Maybe you sit on my lap naked and tell me more about how amazing I looked out there tonight.”

I give him a shove. “Go, 42. Shower, before you attract vultures.”

“I’m not giving up on us, Seattle. We’re inevitable.”

“Yeah, yeah. Change, before you make Caleb mad.”

That has his smile falling. “Oh, shit—yeah. And I’m up for press tonight. See you on the bus!”

He hurries into the locker room, and I move down the hall to the room set aside for PT. It’s got a nice setup inside with a hot and cold tank, massage tables, stretching equipment, exercise bikes. Walsh and Karlsson come through showered and powder fresh. They both head straight to the massage tables for leg massages. A few more guys filter in and hop on the bikes and start pumping their legs, breaking down their lactic acid buildup. One or two just want a space to do some stretching.

Then Kinnunen comes through, talking low with Coach Tomlin. He looks so different out of his kit. He’s still a bear of a man, but he looks more approachable now, more human. The only time I saw him today was on the plane, and goodness gracious but does that man look fine in a suit. I mean, all the boys look great, but Ilmari rocks a sexy Viking mafia boss vibe that would melt anyone like butter. Too bad he has to be such a dick all the time.

Now he’s wearing the Rays warmup gear of shorts, tech shirt, and trainers. His hair is still wet from his shower, tied up in a top knot.

Setting my annoyance aside, I call out. “Hey Kinnunen, great game.”

“That last save torqued his left knee,” says Tomlin.

My eyes narrow immediately to his legs. His quads muscles are thick and well defined, wrapping around the top of his knees. I’ve already read his files thoroughly. Like most of these guys, his knees have taken a beating in his career. Several pulls in his hamstrings and ligaments. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has issues with his meniscus. You can’t do the constant range of motion a goalie does and not shred your meniscus bare.

“What’s the problem?”

“I dropped down too fast,” Kinnunen explains. “My angle was off, and my knee twisted.”

“Let’s take a look.”

He hops on the table, and I get to work, starting with a visual exam. No defined redness or swelling in either knee. I palpate his right knee first, looking for any tenderness or excessive heat. “Does this hurt?” I murmur, dropping to one knee as I glance up at him.

“No.”

I switch to the other knee and don’t see or feel any difference. I do a few standard range of motion tests on both knees and he doesn’t seem to be in any pain. “On a scale of 1-10, how bad was your pain out on the ice?”

“Six.”

I glance up again. “And now?”

“Three.”

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