“Okay. I should go.”
“Have a good game.”
His lips tilt into a small smile. “Thanks.”
And then we hang up.
I collapse into one of Blakely’s chairs and drop my phone to the floor as I let my tension-filled body relax for the first time since he sent me that text about his apple.
“Wow, that was . . . that was something I never want to experience again,” Blakely says. “I don’t know if I should thank you for including me or demand you grace me with a present after having to deal with that.”
I gently close my eyes. “Maybe a little of both.”
ChapterTen
ELI
“Good game,” I say to Pacey as we make our way into the locker room. “You had some pretty brilliant saves.”
He looks my way for a moment before turning toward his locker and muttering, “Don’t suck my ass.”
Ohh-kay.
So, we’re still not on talking terms. That’s fair.
At least we won tonight.
And at least we both played marginally better than the night before. I still felt off, though, like my skates weren’t entirely listening to what my brain was telling them to do, but it was better.
Posey claps me on the shoulder, and we both take a seat at our lockers. He whispers, “He’ll come around. On the other hand, I’ll tell you right now, if you ever fuck up my nap again, I’ll murder you myself.”
“Noted.” We both take our skates off and leave them in front of us as we tug off our jerseys. Some of the guys enjoy the time in the locker room of dressing and undressing—not because they enjoy watching each other, but because it’s a time to bond. I don’t mind getting ready for the game, but undressing, no fucking thank you. I wish the entire jersey and equipment was a zip-up suit that I could easily shed afterward.
What’s crazy to me is that some of the guys, two of our biggest bruisers on the team, change their underwear between every period.
Do you know what it takes to change your underwear between periods? A lot of goddamn work that I’m not interested in.
“Are you going to call her when you get back to your hotel?”
“If she’s awake,” I say while shedding my absolutely drenched shin pads.
“Do you have any idea what you’re going to say to her?”
“Sort of. I think I’m just going to be honest and tell her how I feel.”
Posey pats me on the back. “Wow, what a novel idea.”
“Don’t be a dick.”
“Hey, I heard of this bar in Vancouver that we need to check out. When we get home in a few days, you game?” Taters asks as he takes a seat next to me. He’s usually the last to arrive in the locker room after the game—only if we win—because he hangs out with fans, signs some things, and takes pictures. He’s been known to give away more pucks than anyone on the team, which is impressive because Posey will hand out pucks for candy, and the fans know this. There will be signs lined up along the Plexi, asking Posey to trade a puck for a Milky Way. He goes for it every time.
My eyes float to Pacey, who’s staring daggers at me.
“Uh, no,” I answer. “I’m probably going to be staying in for the foreseeable future.”
“Oh, because of the—”
“Don’t say it.” I don’t want him to clue in the other guys with what’s going on. The last thing we need is to start more fighting within the team. “But yes, I have some things I need to take care of.”
