I spin toward him and jab a finger inches from his face. “Finish that, and I swear to God…”
Knight slips between the two of us. “Boys, boys, please, let’s just get along. Also, Viktor, I’m going to tell Knova that you’re objectifying Minerva. And possibly Tristan.”
“You think I’m scared of her?” Viktor blusters.
The whole locker room goes quiet. Into the silence, Camden coughs again.
Viktor finally backs off. “You’re right. I’m terrified. Mostly of losing her…”
I rub my temple. Between my frustration and the sound of Viktor’s stupid voice, I’m getting a headache. “Yeah. We all know you talk a good game. Could we focus for a minute? So, I’m bringing—”
“Your assistant,” Viktor says.
“Min,” I say at the same time.
Viktor whistles. “Min… your assistant?”
“You don’t get to call her that. Toyou, she’s Minerva. And I want to lay some ground rules. For one thing, don’t be—”
“Like Viktor?” Camden guesses.
I smirk. “That’s just good life advice.”
“Flirty?” Lenyx interjects. “You don’t want anyone hitting on the assistant. Got it.”
“Anyoneelse,” Viktor says under his breath.
“No. I mean… that too. Gah.” There are so many ways this could go badly.
Camden scratches his chin. “Too loud? Too quick to move? Too aggressive?”
I point to him. “Yes. All that. Thank you.” I don’t want a repeat of what happened the other night. “Just be normal. But notyourversion of normal.Normalpeople’s version of normal.”
Knight slings an arm around my neck and rubs his knuckles in my hair. “So protective. That’s cute.”
“You knowIget it,” Camden says. “With Dot, and everything. If Viktor says anything inappropriate to be ‘funny,’ I’ll bounce him.”
“You can try,” Viktor says, puffing out his chest.
“Fine. Whatever. If Viktor gets out of line, I’ll haveKnovabounce him.” Camden slaps my back. “Now stop messing around and wash your pits. Best foot forward. Right now, you reek of disappointment.”
* * *
The best place to drown our sorrows is at the Puck Drop, but the mood is more reminiscent of a funeral than an afterparty. Many of our fans limit their interactions with us, choosing instead to cast pitying glances our way. Mostlymyway. I drink my beer in glum silence.
Next to me, Minerva sips a Lavender Drop and prods her tablet screen. She’s not missing much in the way of conversation, but I still nudge her with my shoulder. “You know you don’t have to work right now, right?”
“Hm?” She lifts her head. “Oh, I know. I was just looking at the numbers.”
“What numbers?” Camden asks from across the table. “Our pitiful score?”
“Performance numbers,” she clarifies, before adding to me, “Your shooting percentage is down 12% on the right side.”
I pause with my beer raised halfway to my mouth. “That’s… very specific.”
She gives her signature one-shoulder shrug. “I built a performance dashboard for you.”
I just stare. Why is that so hot?
