Page 27 of Goalie Secrets

Do I really want to know, or do I simply want to prolong this conversation? If I’m being honest, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

“Embarrassing. Demeaning. Most of all…unnecessary!”

“Unnecessary? I wasn’t going to let your fall on your ass. Wouldn’t that be worse?”

“Worse than us grinding on a massage table in front of everyone?”

“Technically, the coaching staff was waiting in the next room.”

I’m not stuck on the image of usgrinding.I’mnot.

“This might be a joke to you, but it isn’t for me. I was literally the only woman in that room. The position you put me in was not an endorsement of my qualifications.”

I’m not obsessing aboutthe position I put her in. I’mnot.

Clearing my throat, I restart my apology. “I know. That’s why I came over, Vanya. I’m sorry I grabbed you. I didn’t mean for you to feel, you know…”

“Your erection?” she blurts out with a huff. “Don’t worry about it, Jeremy. It happens sometimes.”

“Whathappens sometimes?” I already know I won’t like the answer, but I’m a sucker for punishment. “What happens, Vanya?”

“Reactions to being touched. It’s not a big deal when people don’t act on it.”

“Wait a minute. You work on guys with hard-ons all the time and that’s not a big deal?” There’s no hiding how pissed I am.

“It happened, like, a couple of times.” She lifts her arms in frustration. “This is not a conversation we need to have tonight. Or ever.”

She tilts her head toward the door, a clear indication that I’m to walk through it.

“Have a good night, Jeremy. I accept your apology. You didn’t need to come here to extend it. An email would have sufficed. Or silence. That works too,” she gripes sarcastically.

Vanya crosses her arms over her chest. I finally look past her pretty face and notice that she’s wearing a hoodie underneath a flannel jacket.

“Why is it so cold in here?”

“It’s fine.”

“Is your heater busted?”

“I left a message at Professor Sorel’s voicemail this afternoon. If he doesn’t get back to me by morning, I’ll figure it out. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You’ll freeze overnight.”

“I moved here from Boston and grew up in Toronto, where winter was invented. This won’t be a problem.”

“Let me see what I can do.”

I shrug off my suit jacket and walk to the kitchen. These duplexes have floor plans similar to my bungalow across the street.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

I barely hear, because I’m already halfway down the basement stairs.

Instead of answering, Jeremy undoes his shirt sleeves to roll them up. The ripple of his wide, muscular back under the white shirt is sexier than the last time I saw a shirtless man. That’s saying a lot, considering I was in a treatment room filled with stripped-down hockey players.

Dammit Vanya, what nonsense is this?

The basement is dank and dark with a faint smell of mildew. Stacks of old cardboard boxes line the walls. A shelf brims with obsolete electronics, plastic boxes, and old shoes. It’s even colder down here. Jeremy hits his head on the naked bulb hanging from the ceiling, making it swing like we’re in a horror flick.