Page 72 of Pucking Around

He stills, glancing up from his phone. “What?”

Oh, shit. Well, I’ve said it now.

“Your back tattoo,” I say. “Can I see it?”

He raises a brow at me. “We’re on a plane.”

“Yeah? And?”

“You’re asking me to strip my clothing off on a plane.”

Now I’m laughing. “I’m sorry, but hasn’t pretty much every guy on this plane already seen you bare ass naked like a thousand times? In the shower, in the locker room—”

“You’re not my teammate, and this isn’t a shower,” he deadpans.

Well, shit. Why am I now picturing it?

Because you’re a horny little horndog,comes Tess’s teasing voice in my head.

Oh god, I want to crawl under the seat and hide with my inflatable life vest. “Fine,” I murmur. “Forget I asked.”

The flight attendant comes by and offers us drinks. I order a Diet Coke and Ilmari orders milk. No cereal, no side of cookies. Just a glass of milk. I can’t remember the last time I drank a plain glass of milk. The only dairy I consume comes in ice cream or cheese form.

We settle into our seats with our drinks and the flight attendants start their safety demonstrations as the plane pushes back. In no time at all, we’re in the air, and I’m ready to settle into my routine of reading quietly and pretending not to exist. After all, Ilmari doesn’t want me here, he just can’tnothave me here.

I glance to the right and smile. Yep, Caleb is already asleep, his face smushed against the window, lips parted slightly on a soft snore that I can’t hear over the roar of the plane. He looks like a little kid when he sleeps, his tousled hair a mess, his defenses wholly down.

Next to him, Jake has his thumbs working furiously on his game controller, his little green Yoshi flying down the colorful track.

If Caleb is a Rubik’s Cube, Jake is a Bop It. And I don’t mean that in a bad way. He’s just exactly who he is. There’s no artifice with Jake. No complication. He’s fun and funny and he makes me feel good.

I want to live with them.

The quiet honesty of the thought settles my churning emotions. I want this. Is it the right thing? The smart thing? Hell if I know. But you only live once, and they make me happy, so I’m doing it. I’m moving into Jake Compton’s beach house.

I’ll tell Tess as soon as we land and make it official. Carpe diem. I’m seizing the shit out of this day. And you know what? Fuck Ilmari Kinnunen and his weirdness. I’m not gonna sit here like a houseplant and freshen up his air for nothing. I snatch up my Diet Coke and turn to face him. “So, tell me about yourself, Kinnunen.”

37

My phone is in my hands, but I’m not looking at it. I can’t concentrate. I can’t stop reliving moments from last night’s game. It was another shutout, but just barely. Each save cost me. I was in butterfly more than I was out. It hurt every time I dropped down.

Prior to getting signed by the Rays, I already had one of the highest shutout rates in the League. My size helps, and my skill. I wouldn’t be in the NHL if I wasn’t skilled. But shutouts aren’t only about the goalie doinghisjob. I need my team. But they’re not a team yet. These first several games have proven that. We need more time on the ice, more time playing when it counts. And I can’t carry all the weight alone—

“So, tell me about yourself, Kinnunen.”

I blink, glancing over. She’s sitting next to me. Doctor Price.Rachel.I like her name. There’s a music to it. In Finnish we would say it Raakel. It’s so close to Rakas.My love. My darling. So soft, so sweetly feminine.

But there’s nothing sweet about the woman sitting next to me. My mind floods with images from last night—her striding across the hotel lobby like she owned it. Her perfect breasts swayed in that black outfit, and those cherry lips parted in a sexy smile as Compton rushed forward to take her arm. I watched the whole thing from my seat at the hotel bar.

Not much can hold my attention outside of hockey or a good book, butshecan. And I don’t like it. I don’t like that she’s sitting next to me. I really don’t like that I can smell the soft notes of her perfume each time she leans up to adjust the air. She overwhelms me. I feel out of control. Why did I go to her? Why did I make her sit with me? Why do I dread the idea of her sitting anywhere else?

Damn it, she’s still looking at me. She’s not wearing her nose ring. She was wearing it last night. It was the first thing I noticed. That and the tattoo inching down between her full breasts.

“What?” I know exactly what she said.

She purses her lips. She knows too. “I said tell me about yourself,” she repeats, taking a sip of her cola.

I reach for my drink too, wanting something to do with my hands. “You know enough.”

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