He didn’t let go. “The best.”
The crowd roared, yelling the hashtag chants louder than ever.
Fuck the cameras. Fuck the goddamn hashtags. This is real.
Photographers rushed onto the ice, asking for pictures. After we took team photos, everyone gathered for a group shot, with Packy and me planted front and center.
While the cameras flashed, he leaned over and said, “I forgot how much I like to play when it doesn’t feel like war. We should get some guys together for shinny sometime.”
He wants to spend time with me? Voluntarily?
“Yeah.” I tried to sound casual. “That’d be great.”
He grinned again, and some of my tension let go. Maybe we were starting to find our way out of the hate pit.
In the locker room, I’d only had time to strip off my pads when the door swung open, and Packy walked in with a crowd of reporters trailing behind him. My teammates lit him up with chirps while he gave me an apologetic look.
“Sorry, Nico. They’re on a deadline. Mind if we do this here?”
It took me too long to answer because my brain had hit pause. Pack was shirtless. Sweat still shone on his skin, and the overhead lights brought out the clean lines of his shoulders, chest, and stomach.Damn.When I forced my eyes upward, I caught him looking somewhere south of my face.
I was bare-chested too, but what the fuck? Did he like that?
He lifted his gaze, and though our eyes met, neither of us said a word.
A reporter cleared his throat. “How did it feel playing without the stress of a Warriors–Condors matchup?”
Packy’s grin looked genuine. “Easier on the bruises, harder on the ego. Rossi’s team almost kept up.”
As my teammates heckled him from their stalls, I laughed. “We carried the show. He just got lucky at the end.”
Another reporter laughed. “You have a lot of chemistry for two infamous rivals.”
“Don’t let that get out,” Pack said. “The league will have us sharing a room next.”
“You wouldn’t last five minutes,” I said.
His eyes locked on mine. “Try me.”
The boys whooped like it was all a joke, but I wasn’t sure it was.
When the reporters finally cleared out, Packy stayed. After a moment, he shifted on his feet. “I need a shower,” he said. “Looks like you do too. Meet in the hall?”
“Ten minutes,” I said.
He nodded and headed out.
We didn’t talk much in the car. Packy scowled at his phone, thumbs stabbing the screen hard enough to make me wince.
“What’s wrong?” I finally asked.
He didn’t look up. “The guys.”
“Warriors?”
“Yeah. Them and some from college. A few around the league.”
He turned toward me, eyes hot and restless.
