Page 8 of Rule 1: Never Accidentally Marry Your Teammate

“Oh, God, no. He doesn’t meet with us plebs. I see him sometimes. And I guess technically I met him, but we’ve never had a conversation or something.”

Noah nods.

I get him set up with Blizzards jerseys, Blizzards sweatpants, Blizzards everything.

“Get dressed,” I say.

“Now?”

I raise an eyebrow, and pink invades his cheeks. He slides off his no-name gray sweatpants and slides on his new blue Blizzards one. Then he exchanges his black t-shirt for a white t-shirt with the Blizzards logo. His nipples form stiff peaks. Guess it’s colder here than I thought, or maybe the Blizzards need to start making their gear with thicker fabric.

He frowns at his sweatshirt.

“You don’t need to worry about that now,” I say. “Not necessary when we work out.”

He gives a relieved nod, and I stifle a smile. Newbies are adorable.

I drag him to the mirror so he can see how awesome he looks. I pull him in front of me, since the mirror isn’t wide, and I want to see his expression. “See you’re an NHL player.”

“I am,” he says, his voice soft and filled with wonder.

I grin at his reflection. “You are.”

His t-shirt has a wrinkle, and I pull it down, sliding the ends toward his hips. My fingers zing, and his face pales.

Maybe he doesn’t like to be touched.

“Sorry,” I murmur, stepping away. “Sometimes I’m a bit much.”

“I don’t think you’re too much,” he says.

“No?”

He nods, and his green eyes dilate. They’re super green, and I wish I knew plants better so I could ask him what shade they most resemble, but then decide that he might think that question is weird.

I mean, I think that question is weird.

But maybe I’ll browse my mother’s gardening books next time I’m home.

The door slams open, and Noah lurches forward.

Dmitri enters, giving us a strange look.

“Ah. This is Dmitri Volkov,” I say.

Dmitri glowers, and Noah shrinks.

“He’s, um, not as scary as he looks,” I assure him.

“Ha.” Dmitri shakes his head. “Of course, I am as scary as I look. I amRussian defenseman.”

“Um, yes.” I gesture to Noah. “This is Noah.”

“The rookie.” Dmitri smirks, then heads for the weights.

Noah shadows me for the rest of the day, listening as I explain everything about the arena, expounding upon the cafeteria and best foods in potentially excessive detail. When he’s been thoroughly briefed, a task that technically one of the admin people could do, we go to one of the exercise rooms. A few rebounders sit against the wall, though most of the room is filled with weights and machines.

I like this. I like helping new people. Something about Noah’s shyness which he’s trying to hide and wide-eyed enthusiasm draws me in. He’s not cool—not like Dmitri or Axel, but I find myself grinning at him.