Page 19 of Pucking the Team

Eduardo really was as handsome as he was whimsical when it came to romance. I had no doubt he could have been a model with his tall physique and wide shoulders—if hockey hadn’t hooked him, that was. I could already think of a few agents who would be happy for an introduction.

Eduardo suddenly spotted me watching him. His grin widened, and he raised his hand in a wave.

I nodded and smiled back.

Instantly, several of the girls around him spun to me, staring, hackles raised, eyes full of daggers.

“For fuck’s sake,” I muttered and returned to my curry.

“And that’s Rick Lewis, our captain.” Theo gestured to the buffet. “Known to the fans by the name Ramrod.”

A huge guy, bigger than all the others—and there wasn’t a little bloke in the bunch—was piling food onto a plate. His stubble was dark and his hair damp as though fresh from the shower. I spotted a wedding band.

“And just coming in with the dark ponytail, that’s Raven, he’s our star defender, along with Vadmir. Those guys are impenetrable.” Ben nodded seriously. “Our job would be pointless without them.”

“So you’re the ones who get the goals, right?” I asked.

“Many as we can.” Ben broke a piece of bread in half and dipped it in his sauce.

“This food is so good,” I said.

Dylan nodded at me, seemingly pleased that I had an appetite.

“So what do you do?” I asked him.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you get goals or stop them?”

“I get plenty, and I work with players like these two.” He gestured to Ben and Theo. “They’re on the wings, I’m in the center.”

I nodded. “And Eduardo?”

“He’s a defenseman, like Raven and Vadmir.”

“So no good at getting goals.”

“He’s fucking ace at getting goals, just doesn’t get quite as many chances, he’s got a net to defend.” Theo reached for a jug of water and began pouring glasses.

“So…” I did a quick headcount. “What is it like… eleven-a-side?”

There were a few chuckles.

“What’d I say wrong?” I asked.

“Six on the ice at a time.”

“Six! So why are there so many of you?” The bus had been packed, or at least it had seemed that way, and so was this room.

“It’s a fast game, people get tired, or injured, or thrown off for bad behavior, so lots of subs are needed,” Dylan explained. “You should come watch the game tomorrow. Get a feel for it.”

“No can do.” I set down my fork. I was getting full. “I’m going to be on a flight out of here.”

“To where?” he asked.

“Any-fucking-where.” I paused. “Except Panama. I went there once and was sick for two weeks afterwards, put me off.” I pulled a face.

“Fair enough.” Dylan shrugged.