Page 178 of Pucking Around

It’s in that moment that the most delicious little idea slips into my head. What’s the old saying? Two hockey players, one puck?

I reach for Cay, looping my arm in his. “When the game ends, trade jerseys with me.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” I say with a grin.

He glances down at me, those dark brows narrowed. He works through my angle in his mind, the gears churning fast. His carefree smile turns to a matching grin as he leans in. “Oh, you really are out here fixing to get me killed tonight.”

“Don’t worry,” I sing. “The boys might just let you beg for mercy.”

80

Ashutout. Rays win 3-0. The win was hard earned, which is just how I like it. We all had to work together tonight to keep the Kraken from gaining any points. I know I played a great game, but when my team looks good, it makes me look even better.

By the end of the third, the Kraken were rabid dogs. Penalties flew on both sides. They pulled their goalie to gain an extra man, but it didn’t help. Sully scored on the open net with less than a minute left in the game. The buzzer hadn’t even sounded before our fans were already celebrating.

Getting back to the locker room is a blur. Showering is a blur. Somehow, I’ve found myself being shuffled down the hallway towards the press table. The FIHA scouts will be waiting there, the Finnish press. They want to see me, speak to me.

Compton walks just ahead of me, still grinding nails in frustration that Rachel wore my jersey. I’m just as angry. I had to spend the game knowing she was watching my every move. And Caleb was right by her side, taunting me. He kept touching her, his hands brushing over my number at her shoulders, as if he hoped it might rub off.

Impossible. She’smine.

I don’t know if this is a game they’re playing, but it’s not funny. The last thing I need right now is Compton finding a reason to push me out faster. Petty revenge because Rachel wore my jersey seems like enough of a reason.

But I can’t think about that now. The lights flash and pop as we take our places at the table, me on the end, him in the middle, Coach Johnson on his other side.

Jake is in no mood for press, but he’s a professional, answering the first question that asks him about his cutthroat performance. “Yeah, you know, it was about bringing the heat from the first drop of the puck. We wanted the Kraken to fight for it.”

I stop listening, my gaze catching on a few familiar faces in the crowd. Torben Korhonen is standing at my end of the table with a press pass around his neck. He works for the Finnish Liiga. He’s covered me for years here in the U.S. Behind him stand a group of men in European suits. The FIHA reps. They stand so quietly, watching the press event unfold.

Korhonen’s voice hooks my gaze back to him. “This is a question for Kinnunen,” he calls. “May I ask it in Finnish?”

I lean forward, giving him my full attention. “Joo.”

He switches to Finnish, and I feel like I can breathe. “This is your first game in three weeks. Information from the Rays coaching and medical staff has been sparse. Should your fans have concerns about your health?”

Holding his gaze, I answer the question clearly fed to him through the FIHA reps. “If I wasn’t fit to play, I wouldn’t be on the ice. The Rays coaching and medical staff take a deep interest in the overall health and wellness of all their players,” I reply. “I’m grateful to play for a team that puts my health first, focusing on my longevity of play, not merely that I play every game.”

Korhonen nods and the person next to him jumps at the chance to ask her question. Coach leans into his mic, ready to answer. As I sit there, listening to his complicated answer about a possible conference win, Compton goes still as stone next to me. Then he backhands my arm, his gaze locked on something in the crowd. I follow the direction of his gaze.

That’s when I see them. They’ve slipped into the back of the press area using their team IDs. Rachel and Caleb stand together, his arm around her shoulders. My heart races faster as I take her in, my gaze dropping from her gorgeous face down to her shoulders to—

I freeze.

Not my number. The little witch is wearing 42 on her shoulders now. My gaze darts over to Caleb and I see the 31’s on his shoulders. They switched jerseys. The asshole has the gall to blow me a kiss and wave. Rachel slaps his hand down.

I’m going to kill him. I jerk in my chair like I’m about to get up, but Compton’s hand on my arm stills me.Not here, he says wordlessly. Not now. Not in front of the FIHA scouts. I just have to sit and let them tease me.

Why does Compton seem just as upset? He got what he wanted. Rachel is in his jersey now. I glance at him, noting the way he fumes. But his eyes aren’t on her anymore. They’re on Caleb.

I sigh with realization, sitting back in my chair. This is about my jersey. He doesn’t want either of them wearing it. He wants them both for himself. As we watch, the pair of them wave, grins on their faces, and dart away. Compton and I both crane our necks, watching as they disappear. If we weren’t trapped at this press table, we’d be charging after them. Or at least, he would. I don’t know that I’d be welcome to interfere.

The press event drags on, with Compton and I both managing to answer two more questions each. Then our PR rep calls an end to the event and Compton launches to his feet, grabbing me by the arm. “Come on,” he growls.

Korhonen steps forward like he’s about to steal another question, but I don’t even hesitate. Spinning on my heel, I let myself be dragged by Compton back into the tunnels.

“He thinks he’s so fucking funny,” Compton mutters, marching past the security towards our locker room. “I know he put her up to this.”