Page 60 of Risking the Pucking Defense

“Fucking love it when you say my name like that.”

Shut up, you idiot. She’s not interested.

But the way her lips pop open and her eyes widen makes me wonder.

Is she? Maybe just a tiny bit?

No, she’s just doing her job and making sure everything you don’t want in the media is kept under wraps. Stop thinking her intentions mean anything more than that.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” I’m not, not even a little bit. But it sounds good, right? “What are you doing tonight? Do you want to grab some din⁠—”

“Marilyn, hurry the fuck up. Those tacos won’t wait,” Killer bellows.

I hang my head, wishing that I hadn’t agreed to go out with the guys.

“Seems like you’ve got plans,” Hailee says, sounding suspiciously relieved that she doesn’t need to let me down.

“Maybe another night then?”

“Mmm…maybe,” she agrees before taking a step back. “You know where I am if you need me.”

“That’s a dangerous offer right there, Hails. What if I need you tonight?”

She stares at me, and I try really fucking hard not to read into the silence, but I do. I fucking drown in it.

“Marilyn?” Linc shouts this time.

I take two steps back, my eyes still on her.

“Alright, keep Parker’s panties on, I’m coming.”

“Have a good evening,” Hailee says.

“You’re going to the ball, right? Friday night?”

She nods. “Of course. Working, obviously.”

“Obviously,” I repeat. “If you have a few free minutes, though, maybe you could save a dance for me.”

She doesn’t respond; instead, she just smiles at me as Brooke calls her name and marches toward us.

“I got some great content of you earlier, Monroe. The bunnies are gonna love it.”

I swear something flickers in Hailee’s eyes as Brooke says that, but I can’t be sure it’s not just wishful thinking.

“Great. I’ll look forward to all the attention. Later, ladies,” I say, giving them a salute before ducking into the locker room.

“At fucking last,” Killer mutters, walking toward me with a towel around his waist. “I’m too fucking hungry to be waiting on your ass.”

“You could leave me behind,” I suggest as I begin undressing.

“Oh no, we never leave a man behind. That’s not how this team works.”

I make quick work of getting cleaned up, and then I follow them all to the parking garage before we head toward our regular dive bar, the Fractured Compass.

Our usual booth is waiting for us, and we slip in as if no time has passed since we were all last here. To be fair, they might have been coming here all the time I was away. It might only be me who hasn’t been here since our Stanley Cup loss.

Without having to say anything, beers are delivered to our table, and then not long after, food begins arriving. It fills every inch of the table. It’s devoured almost as fast as it arrives, and we’re soon having a second round delivered.