Page 197 of Pucking Around

“Oh…shit,” he murmurs, eyes wide as saucers. “Okay, so umm…fuck.” He lets out a heavy exhale. “Right, then. Let’s start with their names.”

“Let’s start with coffee,” I counter.

He nods, dragging a hand through his dark hair. “Yeah…coffee. Good idea.”

86

“Mars!” I bark, crossing the gym towards the row of exercise bikes.

He’s sitting on the bike at the end, phone in hand, sweat pouring down his face. He glances up sharply at the sound of my voice. “What?”

“Where’s Jake?” I say, trying to control the hint of panic in my voice. I haven’t found Rachel and her mystery man either.

“No idea,” he mutters, eyes back on his phone.

“Well, where’s Rachel then?”

“Office,” he replies.

“No, the fuck she isn’t. Apparently, she’s been spotted around the facility arm-in-arm with a handsome, dark-haired, tattooed man.”

The asshole has the audacity to smirk, his gaze dropping from my face to my tatted arm. “Is it not possible they’re gossiping aboutyou? They’re all talking about your jersey trick from last night—”

“How can I be the hot guy she’s hanging on when I’m righthere, trapped in this time loop of a conversation withyou,” I growl. “Are you not the least bit curious to know why our girl is flirting with another guy?”

His brows lower over his blue eyes as he glares at me. “Why don’t you speak louder. I don’t think they heard you at the beach.”

“Fine. I’ll go find her myself!” I stomp off, determined to do another circuit of the practice facility when he calls out.

“Caleb, wait!”

I turn to see him unfolding himself from his exercise bike, grabbing a sweat towel to dab at his face. “You’re coming?”

“Only to keep you from trouble,” he replies. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for what Rachel is doing. And she won’t like this jealousy,” he adds, looking me solemnly up and down. “Pack it away.”

I take a deep breath, my frustration simmering. But fuck, he’s right. I know he’s right.I don’t like this feeling. I’m not this guy. I don’t get jealous. I take another breath.

“Better?”

Slowly, I nod.

“I would check the coffee cart,” he says, slinging the sweat towel over his shoulder.

“She was already spotted there,” I reply, turning on my heel to head for the doors. It’s an odd sensation, but my limp suddenly feels worse, as if my body is betraying me, trying to slow me down before I make a total ass of myself.

But I’m not worried. I have Mars to hold me back. He’ll keep me from doing anything truly embarrassing, like dropping to my bad knee and begging Rachel not to leave us for a broodier, sexier man.

We make our way through the practice facility, out of the Rays-only area into the large, glass-walled atrium. The coffee cart is hopping with a long line of figure skating moms all sporting their matching hairdos, little puffy vests zipped over their designer sweaters.

I may as well be invisible as all eyes focus on Mars. A few eager kids come rushing over. He runs interference, saying hello and shaking some hands as I peer around the room. I don’t see her anywhere. And we’ve got to get out of here before we get swarmed by fans all wanting a piece of Mars.

“She likes to watch the figure skating,” he says over the heads of the kids. “She’ll take breaks and sit up in the stands with a coffee.”

“How do you know that?” I say with a raised brow.

“Because I like to watch her,” he replies with a shrug.

I laugh, grabbing him by the arm. “Okay, Mr. Kinnunen, time to go. It’s time for your Swedish seaweed wrap and hot stone massage. Say bye, kids. Wish him luck against Toronto.”