He just chuckles. “Because you’re hardly ever quiet. Normally, that mouth of yours is constantly moving, so when you have nothing to say, I start to question what’s going on in that head.”
I’d argue back if he was wrong.
“Oh, I have plenty to say,” I eventually reply. “Just struggling to work out how to word it.”
Mason moves to work on his other skate, and I stand from the bench, pulling off my jersey and tossing it into the laundry bin in the center of the room.
“You have the hots for her.”
I stand motionless.
He flashes me a knowing grin. “See what I mean? Your silence makes me anxious because I know there’s something fucked up going on in there.” He reaches forward and taps my temple. “And just so you know, banging your publicist—whether or not you have history together—is not a wise move.”
He freezes at his own thoughts and comes to stand directly in front of me. “Wait, isn’t she also Coach Callaghan’s daughter?”
“Shh!” I hush a teammate for the second time tonight. “Why don’t you speak up and let the whole damn arena know about it?”
Mason side-eyes me and pulls off his jersey, tossing it into the laundry bin too.
“I might be a little bit attracted to her,” I admit, squeezing my thumb and forefinger together.
Another dubious look comes my way.
“All right, Will, whatever you say.”
Mason starts pulling off his pads, and I do the same.
“Has anything happened between you two?”
“No,” I say with a headshake. “And you’re the only one who knows anything, so keep it that way.” I pause and study my teammate. “How did you guess?”
He looks at me like it’s obvious. “The gala. Dude, you were throwing Tristan daggers while he danced with her. Every time she moved around the room, your eyes would follow.” He shrugs his shoulders. “What can I say? I was dateless and bored that night. I had plenty of time to people-watch.”
Fuck.
“Was I that transparent?” I wince.
“Completely fucking see-through.”
Finishing up on my gear, I pull a white towel from the hook set directly in front of me and wrap it around my waist. “I’m taking a shower.”
Mason tips his head at the locker room door. “You aren’t hitting the gym for a cooldown first?”
I’ve never missed a postgame cooldown before. However, since I don’t have any press responsibilities tonight and all I want to be is back at the hotel so I can dissect the last conversation I shared with Drew some more, I grab my wash bag from the bench and say, “Nah. I didn’t sleep well last night and could use the additional rest.”
Mason looks doubtful. “You aren’t heading out tonight to celebrate a successful away series? Pittsburg has some great places to eat.”
A little like a cooldown, I never miss a night out either, so when, “Nah,” leaves my mouth again, Mason catches me by the arm before I walk away.
“You need to come out tonight. If you don’t, people will start asking questions, especially after the way you’ve dominated the ice this past week.”
I really don’t want to go out tonight, but my teammate is right. It would be weird, and Tristan would likely love that I’m not there.
Releasing a low groan, I give him a tight nod. “All right. I’ll show up. But only for an hour because I’m genuinely fucking exhausted.”
18
. . .
