"My girl's calling." He disappears.
The second he's gone, she steps back, putting distance between us.
"You're fucking kidding me right now," she hisses.
"Wish I was," I answer, sipping my beer. It’s kind of funny but also not.
"You're the captain. You play with my brothers." She looks angry.
"And you're the new physio," I say, draining my beer. I need another to deal with this.
She crosses her arms, defensively, as if this was my plan all along. But it just pushes her tits up and I remember the way they bounced when I fucked her. I force my eyes to her face. It's much safer there.That's a lie.Her face is fucking stunning. But ... anyway. It doesn’t matter. Focus.
"You could've mentioned you were a professional hockey player," she hisses.
"You could've mentioned your last name was St. Pierre."
"Why would I tell some random hookup my real name?"
"Some random hookup?" The words sting more than they should.
"That's exactly what it was," she argues back.
"Right." I step closer. She doesn't back down. "And now that random hookup is your boss."
She laughs. "You're not my boss. You're the captain of a team I work for. I report to the medical staff, not you." She looks at me with disdain.
"Semantics."
"Facts."
We're close now. Too close. I can smell her perfume. It’s different from London but just as intoxicating.
"Let's pretend London never happened," I say through gritted teeth. It's a lie, but it's one I need to tell myself to forget her.
"Already forgotten. It was hardly memorable," she spits back at me.
Her words cut me deeper than I'd like. "Liar." My eyes narrow on her.
Her eyes flash. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. You haven't forgotten shit."
"You have a high opinion of yourself."
"Please. The way you were screaming while I fucked you tells me everything I need to know."
The icy look she gives me tells me I’ve crossed the line. "Fuck you." She seethes.
"You wish."
"No, you wish," she argues back. "I know you haven't forgotten either."
"No. I haven't. Not even close." My confession silences her. She swallows slowly, not expecting my truth.
"The past doesn't matter. We're colleagues now. That's it," she tells me.
"Agreed. I've got rules. Team policy."
