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After the game I take my time in the shower. The bruising on my inner thigh is pretty much gone, apart from a few remaining yellowish spots. I plan to take advantage of the hot tub and the sauna back at the hotel. I’m in the middle of getting dressed postshower when my phone buzzes from inside my bag. I shrug into my dress shirt and fish it out, smiling when Stevie’s name lights up the display.
I answer the call and fumble a bit in my excitement as I bring the phone to my ear. Her smoky voice lights my insides up. “I take it you’re not in the sauna if you’re answering this.”
“No ‘Good job on the ice tonight’?” I drop down on the bench and button my shirt one-handed.
“You were too aggressive and played too hard. And you almost took a hit because you wouldn’t let your teammates intervene when that asshat from Vegas kept getting in your space.”
“I had it handled.” I love that she’s giving me shit from a time zone away. “Didn’t you just get off work? How did you have time to watch the game?”
“I planned my schedule around it. And you clearly aren’t following your postgame regimen like you’re supposed to, since you’re talking to me.”
“I’ll use the sauna and the hot tub at the hotel.”
“That’ll be hours after the game.”
“I took an extra-long shower.” I tuck my shirt into my dress pants and rearrange myself, since my body reacts to the sound of Stevie’s voice these days. “Want me to call you in the morning? We can video chat while I do stretches and you get ready for work.”
“Sure. We can do that, but I want photographic evidence of you in a sauna tonight.”
My grin widens. “I bet you do. Want me to drop the towel too?”
Stevie snorts. “Are you looking for an excuse to send me a dick pic, Shippy?”
An elbow to my side reminds me that I’m in the locker room, with half my teammates still wandering around. I glance over at Kingston, who’s already fully dressed in a crisp black suit with a team tie, hair perfectly styled, and shoes so polished I can see my reflection in them.
I mouth, What?
“You know you have that on speakerphone, right?” He inclines his head fractionally, and I look up to find Rook glaring at me from the bench fifteen feet away.
“Shit.” I fumble to take it off speakerphone. It’s pretty loud in here, but based on his expression, he knows who I’m talking to.
“Everything okay?” Stevie asks.
“Yeah. I should go. I’ll send evidence later.”
“Have a good night. Go easy on the beers.”
I end the call and jam my phone back into my bag, avoiding eye contact with Rook. I don’t particularly care what he thinks about me and his sister; what I do care about is the perception that I’m not taking my rehab seriously.
I finish dressing while Kingston group texts with his family. They’re all super tight, and he gets a million “so proud of you” emojis and GIFs. My mom sends me a good-luck message when she remembers, and Nolan always tells me to kick ass if he’s around when I’m heading to a game, but it’s nothing like the constant back-patting that goes on with Kingston and his family.
I’m unsurprised when Rook falls into step with me. “I thought I told you not to screw with my sister.”
“I’m not screwing with her.”
He narrows his already-narrowed eyes farther. “Everyone within a twenty-foot radius heard that conversation.”
“That was an accident.” I can see how he might think it was intentional, though.
“Yeah, right. You dick her around or embarrass her publicly, and we’re going to have problems, got it?”
There’s no point in arguing with him, especially not here, where there are so many witnesses. “Got it.”
He loses his glare when he addresses Kingston. “Nice work in net tonight.”
“Thanks.” King smiles his friendly, white-toothed smile.
Rook throws a final glare at me over his shoulder as he falls into step with another player. Kingston doesn’t say anything about Rook, or what happened in the locker room, when we’re on the bus with all the ears of our teammates close by.
I want to head straight for the sauna, but we have twenty-four-hour access, and it’s a good idea to go to the bar for at least one drink. I order a light beer, and Kingston, being Kingston, orders a glass of milk.
Some of the guys razz him about it, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. He takes the ribbing good-naturedly. King is pretty much the opposite of me in almost every regard: he’s easygoing, friendly, and soaks up advice like a sponge. It’s one of the many reasons I hang out with him as much as I do. I’m not sure what he gets out of this friendship, but I’m glad he tolerates me.
