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I turn and see Novak towel-drying his wet hair, glaring in our direction. “Did the cops give you a discount for your frequent flyer miles?” I snap back, unable to hold my tongue.

Several players erupt into laughter and Novak deepens his scowl as he straightens and throws the towel in a hamper in the corner. “When are you due to graduate?”

My nostrils flare and anger boils my blood. The retorts burn on my tongue, but I swallow them back. I don’t want to make this impression on my first day meeting the players. Instead, I take a deep breath and turn back to the other players, hellbent on ignoring Novak completely. “I’ve been working at St. Helena’s hospital in both the ICU and CCU departments. I look forward to working with you all this season. I’ve been a huge fan for years.”

Novak scoffs. “I doubt that. I bet you haven’t even watched a full game.”

I hate him.

I’ve met him, and I don’t care how many points he can score for the team.

I hate him.

He gives me a slow once-over and it makes me feel dirty — in the worst way. He smirks, and that too makes a shiver crawl up my spine. Then he cups his junk, and says, “I’d be happy to give you some pointers, Doc. You can write your final assessment on the anatomy of a big dick.”

The locker room falls eerily quiet and I can’t tell if it’s because this is normal for someone like Elias Novak, or because everyone — the GM included — has been shocked silent.

Hearing him call me Doc reminds me of Graham, though I actually liked it when he called me that. The asshole in front of me, however, is a different story.

I’m about to tell him to go fuck himself when the eighth man and team captain, Dominic Carter, stands from his place on a bench. “Enough, Elias,” he growls and turns his attention to the group around the phone. “And shut that shit off!” He holds out a hand to me, which I shake gingerly. “I’m Dominic. Glad to have you on board, Anastasia.”