Page 71 of Goalie Secrets

“Guess I’ll see you next time,” I state sharply. The reminder of our end date is a bitter taste in my mouth.

For a second, I catch a flicker of something in her eyes. Maybe she’s not as unaffected as she’s pretending to be. But then she’s gone, and her herbal aroma is replaced by the usual stink.

When I’m finished with stretching, I stop by my locker to send a text to Jazz Hands. That’s Vanya’s name in my contact list. Because musicals.

You need to warn me when you’re coming into the arena.

Jazz Hands:Is that so?

I can practically hear the smirk in those words.

Me:It’s impossible to look at you and not touch you. Barely kept my hands to myself.

Jazz Hands:Restraint is a virtue. You need practice.

Me:Is that an offer?

Jazz Hands:To restrain you so you can learn to be a good boy?

“Who is Jazz Hands?” Gordon asks from over my shoulder.

This! This is why I have to make a pseudonym, because my teammates are sneaky bastards.

“No one you know,” I grumble.

Me:I’ll be done with my shower in five minutes. Where are you right now?

Jazz Hands:On my way to the office. I’ve got a few more appointments.

Me:Do you have a break between? I need a consultation.

Jazz Hands:[dots appear and disappear]

Optimistic jackass that I am, I take her silence as an invitation.

Jeremy strolls in from the back door of the medical wing and greets everyone jovially. My stomach flutters at the mere sound of his voice from down the hallway.

“I’m here to consult with Vanya,” he says to Sabrina. “Lionel showed her game footage so we’re working on preemptive exercises.”

“Preemptive exercises, Jeremy? Do you even know what that means?” she says in that familiar way of hers. Sabrina was once a professional hockey player and is well-versed in the trash talk of their tribe.

“If I knew what that meant, I wouldn’t need a consult, now would I?”

Silly, clever man. I should be mad at him for coming here. I told him to meet me at home at the end of the workday.

“Hi, Dr. Kapur,” he says mischievously when he enters my office.

“Why are you here?”

“For my consultation. You need to check your notes in that iPad of yours.”

I whisper as he comes closer. “I texted you to meet at home later.”

He lifts his phone to show our message thread. “No, you didn’t.”

In my rush to go to the next appointment, I must have forgotten to press send.

“I wanted to talk to you about revising my treatment plan,” Jeremy declares loudly so his voice carries down the hallway.“But can we do it privately? I would be more comfortable if we talked about preemptive exercises privately.”