Page 101 of Rookie Attraction

“Yes, I know this.” He looks away. “Sorry.”

I sigh, feeling bad.

“It’s okay,” I insist and nudge his arm. “You’re not entirely wrong, but things are different now.”

Maybe I’m too sensitive. Back in Chicago, I wouldn’t hesitate to tell my teammates about my hookups—of course, it was only about the women I slept with—and it was the same for them. It’s not like it’s unusual among a group of pro athletes, or any group of guys for that matter.

“One more thing.” He nudges my arm in return. “I made her come three times.”

I lean down and get busy lacing my skates so I can leave this convo, and this room, as quick as possible.

“Didn’t need to know that either,” I say with a shake of my head.

“So uptight, Kirkland. In Finland this is normal discussion.”

“At work?”

“With friends.”

“We play together. I don’t think we qualify as buddies yet.”

Makela puts a hand to his chest and throws back his head dramatically.

“Kirkland, how can you say that. We are becoming friends, yes?”

Other teammates like Sorensen and Druin wander over, listening to our conversation.

“Friends? Sure,” I reply. “Until you almost stabbed me with that steak knife at dinner in Toronto.”

“I did not stab you, was only a tap,” he replies with a glint in his eye. “But not like I tapped that woman’s ass.”

Sorensen and Druin start to laugh. I shouldn’t find Makela amusing, but in a weird way, he’s entertaining. He has zero filter and reminds me of my youngest brother Atticus, who has no control over his mouth and never will.

“Shut up already,” I quip and finish tying my skates. “No wonder Karson can’t stand you.”

I notice Makela’s hands clenching tight and he gives me a scowl that makes me pause.

“Your brother is a big-headed, lying, fake asshole.”

Makela’s reaction seems a little over the top but maybe he’s dramatic that way. At least I’ve discovered one way to get him to switch topics.

“Got it, you have beef with Karson. Not my problem.”

“You have no idea what he is capable of.”

I toll my eyes. “You’re just jealous because you and your teammates got the bronze and Karson’s team won the gold. Get over it.”

“That was years ago. Like I care,” he huffs. “I’m the better player.”

I get up and grab my stick.

“Whatever you say,” I laugh and make my way to the exit.

I’m walking out the door when I spot Finn and stop short. My eyes immediately do what they’re not supposed to—they lock on his heart-shaped lips, pink and swollen.

Finn looks freshly kissed, and you’re the reason why.

My heart takes off at a wild clip as we stand there and stare, neither of us moving or speaking a word. I feel like a caged animal ready to pounce on him. If I don’t leave soon, it might happen. Whatever this primal urge is, it’s not letting up, and I need to keep it under wraps.