Page 66

“Hey, Steele,” Aiden calls from the next stall, peeling off his pads. “You skating like you’ve got a death wish today.”

“Something like that.”

More like I’ve been skating like a man possessed. Taking hits I should have avoided. Making plays that were all aggression and no brain. Coach pulled me aside twice to ask what the fuck was wrong with me.

He chuckles, and Jax chimes in. “You break the nutritionist already?”

I shoot him a glare that could melt ice.

He grins, unfazed. “Figured. You’ve had that ‘I fucked up and liked it’ look since Monday.”

He’s not wrong. But I’m not about to unpack that shit with Jax fucking Taylor. The guy’s got a mouth bigger than the penalty box and zero filter.

“Shut the fuck up, Jax,” I mutter, yanking my gear off with way more force than necessary. My shoulder pads hit the floor with a satisfying thud.

“Ooh, touchy.” Jax doesn’t know when to quit. “Must be some serious sexual tension if you’re this wound up.”

I’m on my feet before I realize it, ready to show him exactly how wound up I am. Aiden steps between us, hands raised.

“Easy, boys. Save it for the ice.”

I force myself to sit back down, jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth. Jax just laughs and goes back to his gear like he didn’t almost get his face rearranged.

Once I’m dressed, I head over to Aiden, towel slung over my neck. “You got a minute?”

He reads the look on my face and nods toward a quieter corner. “What’s up?”

I hesitate. Don’t know why it feels weird asking this, but it does. “I need a date spot.”

Aiden blinks. “You… what?”

Jax hoots from across the locker room. “Holy shit. Hell just got season tickets.”

“Somewhere good. Private. Classy.” I ignore Jax completely, focusing on Aiden. “Not some dive bar where the puck bunnies hang out.”

Aiden whistles, suddenly intrigued. “You’re actually gonna do this right.”

I shrug, jaw tight. “I’m not half-assing it. If we’re gonna sell the story, I’m going all in.”

And that’s the truth. Whatever this thing is with Katarina—fake relationship, PR stunt, whatever the hell they want to call it—I’m not going to fuck it up by being lazy. She deserves better than that. Even if it’s all pretend.

“Look,” I continue, running a hand through my damp hair, “I’ve never had to plan actual dates before. Usually it’s just ‘want to come back to my place’ and that’s it. But this is different.”

Aiden nods, “Different how?”

I struggle to find the words. How do I explain that Katarina gets under my skin in ways I don’t understand? That every conversation with her feels like a chess match where I’m always three moves behind? That she’s Griffin fucking Novak’s sister and I should run the other way, but instead I want to know everything about her?

“She’s not like the others,” I mutter. “She’s sharp. Doesn’t let shit slide. Looks me dead in the eye and calls me on it.”

Aiden raises a brow. “And you like that?”

I exhale hard, jaw tight. “I fucking hate that I like it… but yeah. I do.”

Aiden thinks for a second. “Vino e Cucina. Quiet, local, no phones allowed. Romantic without trying too hard.”

“Solid,” I nod, filing it away.

“And Skyline Lounge after. Rooftop bar. Great view. Not too loud, not too flashy. Makes you look like you planned ahead.”