Page 47 of Pucking Around

“Oh, I knowexactlywho did this,” I reply. My gaze levels on Caleb, the guy who had my keys all morning.

Caleb says nothing, that sexy little smirk his only tell.

“How long have you all been waiting out here for me?” I say, watching the balls freewheel across the floor.

“Only about an hour,” Jake replies with a shrug.

“J-Lo snagged us some beers to drink while we waited,” Novy adds, crunching his empty can.

“And we made Porter wait in the gym to tell us when you were comin’ out,” says Morrow.

I just roll my eyes. Quite the elaborate prank for the two seconds of fun they got to enjoy.

Jake steps forward. “Come on, Doc. We’re all going to dinner.” He wraps an arm around me, pulling me away from the truck.

I stiffen. “Well, I—”

“Nope, we’re not taking no for an answer,” he says, cutting off my protest. “We tricked you twice today, and that can’t go unanswered. We’re taking you to dinner, and you get to order the most expensive thing on the menu. Novy’s buying.”

“Hey—”

I smile as all the guys start moving towards their cars. “Well—wait,” I call, gesturing around. “We have to clean up this mess!”

There are easily a thousand colored balls rolling across the floor of the garage.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jake laughs, his arm leaving my shoulder as he kicks a few balls away from his car.

“Walsh and Perry are on cleanup,” Caleb adds, stepping in behind me.

I glance over my shoulder to see the two forwards from the ice this afternoon already scooping the balls into big plastic bags. Ah, to be a rookie. I can only imagine how long it will take them to wrangle every ball.

“Come on, Hurricane,” Caleb mutters, gesturing to the passenger side of Jake’s car.

I don’t know which sensation I like more: the warm glow of his tacit forgiveness, his soft use of my nickname, or the brush of his fingers at the small of my back as he opens my car door.

23

The worst part about being a professional hockey player? The constant travel. People my size were never meant to live on airplanes. So, you tell me why I picked a career that has me traveling on a plane for a third of the year.

I move down the aisle, checking the seat numbers as I go. There are no assigned seats, but we all have our routines. Some might even call them superstitions. I’m a goalie, of course I have them. One of my habits is that I like to sit on the right side, window seat, row 20. Don’t ask me why. But this is flight one. I have to stake my claim, so the guys know not to take my seat.

My eyes narrow and I feel a growl rise in my throat. Someone is already sitting in my seat. It’s none other than the new doctor. Of course, she’s traveling with us. We always have our own medical staff at away games. Did she know this was my seat? How would she know?

I’ve avoided her all week. She’s been hounding me to complete my physical. She wants to check my range of motion, put me through stretches and balance tests. I heard from the other guys that she’s thorough. Just my damn luck that the team hires an eager new doctor that specializes in hips and knees when I’m doing everything in my power to keep this pain from getting worse. As soon as she starts jabbing her fingers at my joints, she’ll figure me out.

She hasn’t noticed me yet. Her eyes are downcast, fingers typing away on her phone. I have two options: give up my seat or draw her attention by asking her to move. I glance around. There are some empty seats further back. Or I could sit on the opposite side of the aisle. But Compton is already seated there with the equipment manager. I’d have to make them both move.

Goddamn it.

My palms are itching just thinking about sitting in a seat other than the window of row 20. Sucking in a breath, I clear my throat.

She glances up, her face flashing with a flurry of emotions before she settles firmly on annoyance. “Well, look at that, youarealive. I couldn’t be sure from the way you’ve been ghosting me all week.”

I grunt, putting my bag in the overhead compartment. “That’s my seat.”

She blinks up at me, lips parting slightly. “Excuse me?”

“You’re in my seat,” I repeat.

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