“Norman Bates,” she says, examining her cuticles.
“Norman Bates?” I echo as I stand, setting her other foot on the ground. The name sounds familiar, but I can’t place it.
“Have you never seenPsycho?”
“I don’t have time to watch films.”
“It’s about a severely repressed man whose childhood trauma and restrictive upbringing ultimately send him on a killing spree. He murders women who threaten to unravel his carefully curated emotional control.” She smirks up at me, sugar sweet.
I scowl. “I’m not repressed. I’m particular about my priorities.”
Sleeping around isn’t something I do frequently, due to the demands of my schedule, but that doesn’t mean I’m afraid of women. And if my upbringing had any lasting effects on me, that’s none of her fucking business.
“Norman Bates didn’t think he was repressed either,” she says.
“Do you speak to everyone like you’re their therapist?” I snap.
“Maybe you just bring out the worst in me.” She shrugs. “Whatever. Just take me to the nurse.”
“Like I said, you’ll have to ask me nicely,” I reiterate.
“Please. Before I slash your throat.” She grabs one of her skates, like she’s threatening to cut me with it. I feel the corners of my lips tick up. I’d like to see her try.
On the other hand, I’m done letting her think she’s in charge here.
Instead of offering her a hand, I grab her around the waist before she has the chance to protest, then lift her off the bench and throw her over my shoulder. She makes a strangled noise, writhing in my grip, but she’s no match for me—even when she starts pounding her fists against my back. Her hands are like butterfly kisses compared to the hits I’m used to taking.
“Put me down, asshole! I can walk!”
“I don’t think so.” I head for the lift.
“Treat me nicely, or this documentary’s gonna end up aPsychoreboot, and I’m going to show everyone how wound-up and repressed you really are.” Her hot breath tickles my ear. It sends a shiver down my spine.
“Good luck,” I reply.
“I mean it, dickhead.”
“You’re welcome, Princess.”
Chapter 14
Freddie
My head is spinning when Falkenberg puts me down. The air’s noticeably colder and I wrap my arms around myself, ignoring the throbbing sensation in my ankle. I can’t believe he just did that. If I were more like Elle, I’d consult Mateo about how to sue him.
“Hey, Ines.” Falkenberg knocks on the side of the nurse’s door.
A middle-aged woman with dark, gray-streaked hair in a ponytail, brown skin and glasses swivels in her chair to look at us.
“Already, Mattias?” She clicks her tongue.
“Not me. The ice princess hurt her ankle.”
“It’s Freddie,” I snap at him. I won’t have Falkenberg belittling and undermining me in front of the team, let alone rink staff.
He gives me a sharp look that says,I don’t give a shit.I see through it. I know that I’m under his skin like an infant Xenomorph. His feigned calm might have worked at first, but I know his game now. He’s one of those aloof types who’s desperately trying to present himself as in control, but I’d bet the family trust there’s a Patrick Bateman in there somewhere, waiting to let loose. His wardrobe is probably organized by color. I bet he freaks out if different food groups touch on his plate. He probably never leaves his little old man apartment without checking off every box in some unnecessarily tedious routine that definitely involves aggressive tooth flossing and an excessive amount of push-ups.
My ruminations on the team captain and his capacity for murder, and whether he’s more of a Norman or a Patrick, are brought to a swift end when Ines helps me over to the examination chair. My cheeks heat, knowing Falkenberg’s watching, but I refuse to look at him.
