I hustle towards the door.
He drops the stick, heads to a console table, grabs his phone, and taps on it, killing the epic soundtrack seeping from the surround sound speakers.
His sparkling blue eyes lift to meet mine. “Morning, Goldilocks. I hope the music didn’t wake you up. I tried to keep it low.”
That was low?
“I was awake.” My eyes slide to the dummy before landing on Kaz. “The Viking tattoo is stunning. What’s on your other arm?”
He angles his body.
The intricate tattoo is an eye-catching homage to the sport that made him a legend, with his jersey number—22—proudly displayed.
“I admire people who are brave enough to get tattoos,” I say. “I’m too chicken for that kind of pain.”
“I endured the pain to commemorate three of my biggest achievements as a hockey player,” he says. “I got one after each Stanley Cup.” He points to his left arm, his right, and his right forearm.
“No tattoos for your Olympic medals?”
He shakes his head. “Winning at the Olympics was an incredible honor, but at the same time, it was a bit of a pipe dream. Canada and Russia are the Goliaths in this game and hard to dethrone. When I got drafted in the NHL, I set a goal to hoist the Stanley Cup at least three times—two more than my father.”
He picks up the stick and does a little dance, shuffling on the balls of his bare feet.
Whack.
Whack.
Whack.
Whack.
“I’m guessing you don’t adhere to the philosophy of a lazy Sunday morning,” I say.
“Nope.”
He drives his point by striking the dummy four more times in quick succession.
“What has that poor schmuck done to warrant such mistreatment?”
“Escrima is the national martial art of the Philippines.”
Okay.
“Jamison here”—he points to the dummy—“helps me work out”—he cracks his neck—“my emotions.”
Whack.
Whack.
Whack.
Whack.
Jamison wobbles.
I’m walking on dangerous territory here, but I have to know. “Emotions related to the confrontation you had with Chett at the gala? Or…” I bite the inside of my lip.
His eyes darken from ocean-blue to a stormy, dark-blue. “From the moment the security guards escorted Chett out of the building, he was no longer my problem. I don’t care enough about the brat to let him upset me.”
