The moose stamped, the massive slabs of muscles in its chest flexing. Tor frowned. Fuck playing dead. If he fell to the ground and got run over, he’d look like roadkill. Nothing for it but to override his urge for flight and flip the switch to fight mode. Throwing his arms up over his head, Tor faked his own lunge. Arms extended above his head to give the impression that he was larger than he was, he bared his teeth and gave his best snarl.
No reaction.
Shit.
If the moose did charge, those powerful legs were going to hurt. But he had no intention of letting that happen. Tor had a rep for making big gambles that played out. Maneuvers where his players would achieve the impossible, leave fans delighted and opposing teams scratching their heads.
But he’d never physically put himself on the line.
This moose wasn’t going to back down without a good reason. He knew a fake out when he saw one.
Time to mean business.
Tor ripped off his running top, grabbed both sleeves and raised it above his head, whipping it wildly. He ran forward screaming. This time he wasn’t going to stop. It would be him or the moose. There could only be one. And he knew who would win.
Fifty feet. Forty feet. Thirty feet. The moose held its ground, eyes growing wide.
Tor yelled again. Fifteen feet. Ten feet.
At five feet, the moose veered and ran for the hills. Literally.
Tor bent over, bracing his hands on his knees.
“What the heck were you thinking?” Neve emerged from the woods. “Are you insane? No, don’t bother answering. I already know. Yes. Yes, you are. Crazy as they come. You just chased down a frigging moose!”
“I didn’t want it to hurt you.”
“I’ve never been so scared, and also turned on.” She reached out and touched his abs. “Why did you take your shirt off?”
“I figured it might make me look bigger if I waved it around.”
She grabbed him at the elbows. “You. Are. Crazy.”
“Come on.” He arched a brow. “You aren’t a little a-moosed?”
She shook her head even as an unwilling smile tugged her lips. “Too soon.”
“It appears I moose-spoke. I moose have thought you had a better sense of humor.”
“Tor Gunnar. Head coach. Moose slayer. All-around punny guy.”
“It’s no joke, make no moose-take.”
She groaned, burying her face in his chest.
He kissed the top of her head. “I can keep going.”
“I beg you to quit. Seriously, let’s get out of here before Bullwinkle on steroids decides to pay a repeat visit.”
He slid on his shirt. “Good idea. Plus this snow doesn’t look like it’s letting up.”
They only took a few steps before he noticed she ambled stiffly, like someone trying to repress pain.
“You hurt yourself.” Not a question.
“Oh, it’s nothing. I just turned my ankle fleeing a giant woodland creature.”
“Sprain?” His voice sharp.
