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And on the next throw I get one more.

Whatever.

I march over to Ace and sink down onto the bench next to him.

“Didn’t think I’d find something you’re terrible at, princess,” Ace teases, slinging his arm behind me and tugging me against his side. “But twenty-four points in eight frames. Good God.”

Oakes picks up a ball and launches it down the lane, getting a strike and making it look easy.

Bastard.

“I should give him another right hook,” I grumble.

Ace chuckles and stands, snagging a ball and walking up to take his turn.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom,” I tell Noble who rolls his eyes and says, “Thanks for sharing.”

Swatting him, I clamber over Beck, round the wooden shelf with balls, and hit the bathroom.

It’s uneventful—so long as no one counts my battle with the sensor on the automatic faucet. That takes multiple swipes and me cursing at it for enough water to come out so I can soap up and rinse my hands.

But eventually, they’re clean, I dry them, then use a fresh paper towel to tug at the handle on the door, kicking it open enough for me to walk through it.

Is all that a pointless dance since I’m about to go and shove my fingers into a ball other—likely dirty—fingers have been in? Followed up by me downing curly fries and chicken strips and nachos without washing my hands in between because that counts as lunch?

Gross.

But yes.

Unfortunately, my finger-shoving and curly fry consumption is stymied by Lex standing outside the bathroom.

“Hey,” I say, since he’s standing there, blocking my path and it would be rude to push by without acknowledging him.

“Hey,” he says back.

Then just stares at me.

“Right, I should—” I hitch my thumb toward the lanes.

“I know what game you’re playing,” he says quietly.

I still, not liking the look in his eyes. Or his tone. Or the way he steps close to me.

Trying to intimidate me.

“What game am I playing, Lex?”

He smirks. “Ms. Goody Two Shoes when you’re nothing but slut who’s the daughter of another slut.” One lanky shoulder lifts and drops. “Then again, like mother, like daughter, am I right?”

Apparently, he’s discovered I’m a Conrad. Or half Conrad, anyway.

It’s not something I’m hiding. Not something I can hide. The hockey world is small and gossip is rampant and my half-brothers are infamous.

So, I guess he’s decided to take a page out of their books and he thinks this is an insult that will wound me deeply.

He doesn’t get that if I’ve heard this once, I’ve heard it a thousand times.

So, I just start moving, patting his arm as I shove by him. “Cute, Lexi boy. But if you’re trying to rile me, you’ll have to do a lot better than that.”