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“You’re not going out with Jack.”

Startled, Lucy glanced up and sighed heavily. Naturally. “The seatbelt sign is on, Dax. You’re not supposed to be standing at all,” she reminded him.

“You’re right,” he said tersely and plopped down into the seat next to her. “Is this better?”

Groaning, she pulled her fingers from the keyboard. She was hoping to use the flight to Edmonton, Canada, where the Hawks had their season opener tomorrow, to catch up on work. But first Matt had annoyed her by saying he was bored, so she ended up giving him her favorite crossword puzzle from the New York Times, and now Dax was making himself comfortable next to her. She had already spent too much time with him these last few days.

During their mission to portray him as the wonderful, compassionate human being that he was not, they had visited two children’s hospitals together, hosted a meet-and-greet with a few fans, and created a YouTube video for the Hawks’ channel, where Dax gave up-and-coming ice hockey players tips on how to improve their technique.

Dax had refused to give an interview because he felt any sensible journalist would ask him questions about Jack West that he didn’t want to answer. Lucy secretly agreed with him—not out loud of course—but had persuaded him to at least make a few statements for the press.

Overall, last week had been a complete success. It was refreshing to read something nice about Dax on the internet, and the way he’d interacted with the kids in the hospital was incredibly sweet. The kids were so excited, and Dax was surprisingly patient and not at all annoyed…

She was losing focus.

“Dax, I have to work,” she replied brusquely.

“Hm,” he uttered before reclining the seat back, stretching out his long legs, and crossing his hands behind his head with his eyes closed. He seemed content with his seat.

Rolling her eyes, Lucy leaned back and took advantage of his moment of inattention to let her gaze wander over his body.

Why did the players always wear suits when traveling? She didn’t understand this tradition at all. Athletes didn’t have to look respectable. They had to look sweaty and rough. It’s not like they would make good businessmen. Plus, slim fit should really go out of fashion soon. Those white shirts that clung to Dax’s strong shoulders and defined muscles like a second skin were really…not PG-13.

The suits were probably simply another way to make female fans swoon and sell more jerseys, because suits automatically made men look better regardless of whether they had square jaws and ice-blue eyes. Because ice hockey players in tight black jackets and these shirts…

“Staring at people is incredibly rude, Lucy,” Dax murmured.

She winced. “I’m not staring,” she replied immediately.

“Lying is also rude,” he continued. “You know, I usually only allow women lying in my bed waiting for round two or fans who pay to stare at me so intensely. Do you fall into either of these two categories?”

Heat filled her head, so she abruptly turned her face away. “Your tie is crooked, that’s all,” she explained dryly. “Get over yourself.”

He chuckled softly, a deep, husky laugh that vibrated throughout her body. “Given that you work in marketing, you’re a shockingly bad liar. Besides, didn’t I say that was rude?”

She sighed, closed her laptop forcefully, and then slammed her fist against the button on his seat that brought him back into an upright position. His hands fell to his sides, but otherwise, he remained in his relaxed pose, his expression pure serenity.

Dumbass.

“Okay, I’m listening,” she said annoyed. “You said something like I should definitely go out with Jack?”

He opened one eye and gave her a dark look. “Is everything out of your mouth meant to get a rise out of me? Or do you sometimes actually say neutral things?” he inquired directly.

She lifted a shoulder. “Oh, sometimes. On select Sundays. But not in your presence.”

He snorted, yawned briefly, and then opened his other eye. “Okay, then I’ll say it again. You’re not going out with Jack.”

“Jack,” she murmured, tapping her chin with her index finger. “Jack…Jack…that rings a bell. Jack Ryan…Jack Frost…Jack Sparrow?”

“Pirates are not good company for tiny people with big mouths like you,” he lectured. “You would have to walk the plank on the first day. And you know exactly who I mean. You’re just trying to provoke me again. If I were you, I’d be careful.” He narrowed his eyes and leaned in so his thigh brushed hers. It was warm and hard.

A shiver ran down her spine, not that she would ever let Dax know. So she jutted her chin out and raised an eyebrow. “Be careful?” she echoed, unimpressed.

“Yes,” he whispered, tilting his head. “Because we are in a metal box twenty thousand feet above the ground. You can’t run away and I could punish you in any way I please.” A lazy, self-satisfied smile spread across his face.

Her mouth went dry and her lips began to tingle. She would have liked to shift in her seat, to put some distance between them, but no dice. She could feel the heat of his body on her skin, and she couldn’t ignore the sweet knot in her stomach it was causing. And her dirty mind immediately responded to the word punish .

Oh God, this was ridiculous! Fifty Shades of Grey had really had a bad influence in the world.

She cleared her throat and put on her most professional expression. “Why can’t I go out with Jack?” she asked, folding her arms over her chest. “And why do you presume to have any say in my personal life?”

“You have one in mine, so it only seems fair I have the same right.”

“No,” she stated simply, “I’m not sleeping my way through Los Angeles, I never told any child to drop out of school, and I have yet to give any journalist the middle finger. So different rules apply to me.”

“No, I don’t think so. The way I see it, Lucy, you’re at my mercy,” he replied, in a voice that was unsettlingly friendly. “I’ve behaved for the last week and Leslie must be incredibly happy about it. However, I’m fickle and who knows how things might be next week?” He sighed theatrically. “You simply can’t rely on me.”

Lucy pursed her lips. “I’m sure I’ll regret asking, but what the hell do you want from me, exactly?”

“Nice of you to ask.” He grinned broadly before stating matter-of-factly, “It’s simple: If I’m not allowed to date, then you’re not either.”

An awkward laugh escaped her lips. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. It’s only fair.”

She flipped him off. “What utter nonsense. I can do whatever I want.”

“No,” was his simple reply and he leaned forward with his eyes narrowed. “You want me to be a good boy and it’s up to you to help me. It’s like, on the flip side, men who give up red meat and alcohol for their pregnant wives.”

Her eyes widened in disbelief. “But you’re not pregnant and I’m not your husband!”

He waved his hand. “A technicality. The same principle should apply here.”

“Why?” she asked in disbelief.

“Because it distracts me.”

“It distracts you when I date?”

“I’m distracted by the thought that someone is dating and I can’t.”

“Oh, good God.” She let her head fall against the backrest behind her. “You’re absolutely ridiculous and I’m sticking with my original statement: I can do whatever I want. But, if it’ll make you feel better, I’m not dating Jack, of course, because he’s a player and I don’t date players.”

“Right,” Dax murmured, tilting his head thoughtfully. He opened his mouth…but said nothing, just stared at her indecisively for a while. Finally, he asked quietly, “Would you go out with him if things were different?”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Um…I don’t know. Why is that relevant?”

He suddenly turned his face away and leaned back into the seat. “It’s not,” he replied tersely.

Confused, she stared at his profile. “So,” she said slowly, when the silence between them grew too thick, “since you were speaking about last week, I wanted you to know I’m actually grateful. You were fantastic. At the hospital. At the meet-and-greet. That helped me out immensely.” The corners of her mouth twitched. “But I still won’t be celibate just because you have to be.”

“Mm-hm,” he said again before turning his face back to her, frowning. “What were you two talking about?”

“What? Who?” she asked innocently, although it was immediately clear to her what Dax was getting at.

He looked at her darkly. “You and Jack. At practice last week.”

“Oh, that.” She nodded and smiled. “Mostly, we talked about you.”

He bolted upright. “What?”

Her smile broadened. “You’re an interesting topic of conversation, Dax. And now, would you be kind enough to move? I want to finish writing this press release.” She gestured to her laptop.

“What did you say about me?” he replied, ignoring her request.

“This and that,” she said vaguely. “But, Dax, you should concentrate on tomorrow, not what I talk about or what I do behind closed doors with the men of my choosing…” She raised her eyebrows meaningfully. “You shouldn’t think about anything other than the fact that tomorrow is the first game of the season. The first game you play alongside Jack West, your declared nemesis. That you have to harmonize with Jack so that no one can say management made the wrong decision. And how you’re going to fall in line.”

Dax didn’t answer. His brow was furrowed and his chin lowered. He looked…tense.

“Oh,” she said quietly, her heart sinking a notch. “You’re already thinking about nothing else, aren’t you?”

He raised the corners of his mouth cynically. “There’s not much else to keep me busy, is there?” he asked, his voice harder than before. “After all, every day someone reminds me how important tomorrow’s game is.”

“No. I guess not,” she replied softly, suddenly feeling the need to reach out to him, to touch him gently on the cheek to make him look up. She sometimes forgot how much pressure the players were under, on the outside as well as the inside. Some more so than others. Dax was always so arrogant and confident that it had never occurred to her that he might be nervous about tomorrow, that he actually did care how the press and Hawks fans reacted to his debut with Jack.

Her fingers twitched nervously, but she kept them where they were. Instead, she murmured, “You shouldn’t put so much pressure on yourself. You are a fantastic player. Possibly the best of your generation.”

He laughed dryly. “Not if Jack is my generation, Lucy.”

She wrung her hands, then hesitantly looked up at him and muttered, “He’s good, no question, but…you’re much better at keeping the puck close to your body. You don’t lose the puck as much as the others. Just look at your stats, Dax! You’re unbeaten in that.” Jack couldn’t give Dax the compliment, but she could.

Dax turned his face to her and she saw genuine surprise on it. “Did you just say something nice to me?”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help but smile. “The air is terribly thin up here. My brain is obviously not working properly.”

He raised one corner of his mouth and Lucy’s heart skipped a beat. “That must be it,” he murmured. “But none of that changes the fact that I played like crap last week.”

She remained silent because she didn’t want to lie to him and therefore couldn’t argue.

What she had seen from Dax on the ice last week had not been good. The players knew it, the coach knew it, and Dax knew it, too. His footwork had been erratic, his passes had rarely reached their intended targets, and he’d lost patience with his teammates and himself even more quickly than usual. It was as if he was no longer comfortable on the ice. As if it was no longer his…home.

“You’re just nervous,” she whispered. “That’s all. Because you’re no longer focused on the puck on the ice, but…all the emotional baggage you carry around with you. But it will pass.”

Dax laughed mirthlessly. “The thing with Jack happened twelve years ago. And it still hasn’t passed,” he noted.

Twelve years . The brothers had been quarreling for more than a decade?

Dax remained silent and Lucy didn’t say anything either, so the silence between them steadily grew, only to be interrupted by the rustling of Dax’s jacket. Her gaze fell on his lap. He had put his hands on his legs and that was when Lucy noticed that he was holding a dice in his fingers. It was red with white dots, its edges so worn that it certainly couldn’t have been part of any functioning game.

“Is that a good luck charm?” she asked, nodding at the dice in his hands.

Shocked, Dax glanced at the object as if he hadn’t realized he was holding it. “Something like that,” he murmured. “A memory.”

“Of what?”

“That I don’t believe in luck, only hard work. And that life is not a game—and you shouldn’t treat it that way.”

She opened her mouth slightly in surprise. “And you don’t? Treat life like a game?”

Dax wrapped his fist around the cube and looked her straight in the eyes.

“I don’t play,” he said seriously, his eyes darker than usual. “Not with feelings, not with trust, not with other people’s lives or futures. Why do you think I’ve been so damn well behaved this past week, Lucy? Certainly not because I thought it was best for me.” He stood abruptly and Lucy’s stomach reacted oddly. It felt like it was jumping, but there was no turbulence.

Her throat suddenly felt strangely tight and the words that left her mouth next were almost a croak. “Good luck tomorrow, if we don’t see each other again.”

“Yep,” he replied, turning. “It’ll be okay.”

Then he left her sitting there.