Page 69 of Dirty Pucking Player

The practice facility door swings shut behind me, I scrub my hands over my face and back through my hair to keep it off my face. After a restless night of non-sleep thinking about Greer, it’s hard to concentrate on what’s ahead for the day. Especially knowing I’m going to see her and have to pretend she’s just my coach.

Maybe suiting up and getting on the ice will help me push my concerns about what’s happening with her to the back of my mind, but I have a stop to make first.

I make my way toward Bob’s office and practically collide with Greer just in front of his door as she comes from the opposite direction. She skids to a stop and stares up at me, her eyes widening.

Her gaze darts to the closed door, then back to me.

I narrow my eyes on her. “What the hell is going on?”

Why is she at Bob’s office?

She hisses shhh at me from between her teeth and frantically motions for me to follow her around the corner. A few steps down the hallway, she spins to face me. “I don’t know. Bob just asked me to come meet him in his office.”

“Shit.” I run a shaky hand through my hair and check behind me toward where our GM apparently waits for both of us. “He asked me to come in, too.” Acid crawls up my throat, and I swallow it down. “You don’t think he knows…”

A very unflattering shade of green overtakes her face, and she looks like she’s about to throw-up. “Oh, God.”

I place a hand on her shoulder, then quickly jerk it back and glance down the hallway both directions. Everyone will be coming in soon. I’m only here this early because Bob called to ask me to talk before practice. But anyone could come around the corner, and someone catching Greer and me in a compromising position in the hallway outside the GM’s office isn’t going to help whatever is about to happen.

And honestly, this could be about anything.

Returning my focus to Greer, I try to sound confident when my stomach is tied in knots. “Let’s not assume the worst. Take a deep breath.”

She closes her eyes, sucks in a breath, and releases it slowly. Her eyes flutter open, and she pushes away from the wall she’s leaning on. “I’ll go in first. You wait a couple minutes before you come in.”

Good call.

Arriving together might look suspicious, especially if he’s already called us here with certain information in his head.

Is it possible he knows?

It was stupid to touch Greer last night. To get so close. To be so fucking reckless in the way I spoke to her and looked at her.

Anyone with half a brain could have figured out what was going on between us, and despite what many members of the public might think, hockey players aren’t stupid.

Far from it.

We have to be observant of everything that happens on the ice—and that translates off it, too. Anyone could have seen something as simple as a heated look and read into it something they felt Bob needed to know.

This meeting could be the thing we’ve dreaded this whole time.

Greer disappears around the corner to Bob’s office, and I drop my forehead against the wall.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

What if Lebedev said something to Bob last night about what he saw…or what he thinks he saw. I was touching her.

Idiot.

This could be bad fucking news. I’ve been terrified of what Greer has been doing to me without really considering the consequences in the greater scheme of things. I’ve ignored her concerns, encouraged her to forget them and push them away in favor of exploring our attraction.

And it could have catastrophic consequences.

But I have to take my own advice.

Don’t freak out until we know what’s going on.

Panic never helped anyone in any situation. It doesn’t when we’re on a 3-5 penalty kill or when we’re down one with thirty seconds left in a game. It won’t here, either.

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