There’s a pause, where his eyes slide across her face, taking in her pinched expression.
“I was focusing,” he says, voice flat, finally looking away as a blast of rock music filters in from the ice.
“Focusing,” she echoes.
“I need a calm mind before games,” he says. “Can’t be distracted by pocket-sized trash talkers.”
Naomi’s mouth opens, then shuts again.
Of course. He wasworking. This is literally his job. And she—well, she’d been sulking because he didn’t acknowledge her witty commentary.
Mortification creeps up her neck in a slow, rising wave.
God. Maybeshe’sthe problem. Maybe she barged in where she doesn’t belong, trying to be clever, when she’s really just—loud. Distracting. Too much.
Before she can spiral further, Jesse bounds over high-fiving kids like he’s hosting a game show.
“Like I said,” he crows, jabbing his padded fist into Tall’s chest. “Housecats. Don’t question it.”
Naomi bites her lip, a little ashamed for not understanding. She hadn’t meant to mess with his pregame focus.
She squares her shoulders and steps closer, clearing her throat. “Hey.” She reaches for the goalie stick Tall had leaned against the wall and turns to offer it to him. “I’ll let you get back in the zone. Here?—”
What happens next is nothing short of an apocalypse.
Tall recoils as if she’s just tried to hand him a live grenade. “Don’t—” His voice slices out, sharp and alarmed. “Don’t touch the stick.”
Naomi freezes. “I…what?”
He doesn’t reach for it. Just stares at it in her hands like it’s cursed. “It throws off the balance.”
Naomi stares at him, dumbfounded. “Are you serious?”
“He’s dead serious,” Jesse says, stepping in like this is completely routine. “I once sneezed near it and he made me leave the locker room.”
“Don’t take it personally,” he adds, calling over his shoulder to a trainer in a Whalers polo. “Yo, Greg! we need another twig for T!”
The trainer reappears moments later, jogging out of the tunnelwith a replacement stick. He’s wearing gloves.Gloves.Like he’s handling radioactive material.
Tall takes the now ruined stick from Naomi and leans it against the wall in the exact position it had been before, then accepts the new one from the trainer with a solemn nod.
Naomi’s eye twitches.
Carter wanders by, clocking the exchange. “Yeah, don’t touch the stick.”
She lets out an incredulous laugh. “I’m going to stand over there and not touch anything for the rest of my life.”
Turning on her heel, Naomi moves toward a kid whose foam finger is now dripping with bright red slushie.
Her face is hot. Her pride is shredded. She feels like a teenager caught microwaving tinfoil.
And as she crouches to hand the kid a wet wipe, she’s almost certain she can feel Tall’s eyes still on her.
Or maybe she’s just imagining it.
Either way—lesson learned. No stick touching without consent.
CHAPTER 6
