Because that was what happened when Gang Lu decided practice had started.
I fell into formation, muscle memory overriding the part of my brain still cataloging last night's mistakes. The glass. The mess. The voicemail I hadn't listened to.
Hades grinned at me across the face-off circle. "You good, Jones? Look a little distracted."
"I'm fine."
"Fine's what you tell reporters." His eyes gleamed. "I'm asking what's true."
I dropped the puck between us. "Skate."
The puck dropped. I won the draw clean, sending it back to Jeremy, who snapped it cross-ice without hesitation. Muscle memory. Patterns drilled so deep they bypassed thought entirely.
We ran the play three times before James circled back, that shit-eating grin still plastered across his face.
"So," he started, because Hook never knew when to shut up. "Anyone catch the blonde in section 112 last night? Held up a sign with my number on it. Very creative placement of the digits, if you know what I mean."
"We know what you mean," Jeremy muttered. "Subtlety died when you learned to talk."
"Subtlety's overrated." James winked at me. "Right, Jones? When's the last time you did subtle?"
I let the question hang for exactly two seconds—long enough to seem considered, short enough to keep it casual.
"Last Tuesday. Lasted about an hour."
James barked a laugh. "An hour? Christ, you're getting sentimental in your old age."
"Generosity." I shrugged, stick resting easy across my knees. "She earned it."
"And then?"
"And then I had an early skate." I met Hades's eyes, let the smirk touch my mouth but not my voice. "Women come and go. Schedule's permanent."
"I don't know, man." Hades scoffed. "Marriage is…"
"Fucking whipped," James muttered. "Marriage is for bastards who peaked in high school."
"Or got trapped," Jeremy added darkly.
"Trapped implies you couldn't see the cage." I pushed off, circling back toward the blue line. "I prefer keeping my exits clear."
"Smart man." James followed, effortless as always. "Nothing worse than expectations. They want dinner, then breakfast, then suddenly you're meeting parents and pretending to care about wedding colors."
"Wedding colors," I repeated, letting disbelief color the words. "The fuck would I know about wedding colors?"
"Exactly." Jeremy spread his arms wide, nearly clipping Gang Lu, who swerved around him without comment. "We're athletes. Built for performance, not permanence."
The line landed perfectly. Got the laughs I'd calculated it would.
Gang Lu's eyes tracked me for half a second longer than necessary.
Then he turned away.
I kept skating. Kept the easy smile on my face. Kept being exactly what they expected—the man who never stayed, never wanted to, never needed anything he couldn't find in a new city with a new face.
It's easier to be desired than known.
The ice stretched ahead, clean and predictable.
