Konstantin is quiet for a moment. Then, pleasantly, he says, "I was following your example. Making nice with the staff."
I keep my face completely neutral, a skill I've been honing for thirty-two years. “Konstantin, man. Do us both a favor and don’t make me kick your fucking ass right now. I have no chill about her.”
Konstantin lifts his hands. "My mistake." He looks at Mollie once more, and then he walks away down the corridor without hurrying.
Mollie hisses, “Great, now he knows.”
“He suspects. But he doesn’t know for sure.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “You think you have everybody figured out. It’s one of your less attractive qualities.”
“Oh yeah? What are my more attractive qualities?” I smirk, my hands itching to find her waist and pull her to me. “It’s my big dick, isn’t it?”
She hits me in the torso playfully. “It’s definitely not your humble attitude.”
Silas and Jett step out into the hall, talking about their plans for the evening. I have to move back and let Mollie go as she waves to the guys.
“Can I get your reactions to the first preseason game?” she calls. But she shoots me a soft smile over her shoulder. Something that’s just for me. And I can’t wait to see her later.
Fuck it. I pull out my phone and send her a text about coming to my room tonight. That way there are no uncertainties between us.
I never seem to get enough of Mollie Tate.
Chapter Twenty
Thorne
After the game, the arena chefs lay out a buffet for us. I grab an empty table, making a concerted effort not to look for Mollie. It’s hard because I hear her laugh as I stare at my sweet potato, stabbing it viciously with a fork.
Beck takes the seat beside mine, giving me a look. “What’d that sweet potato ever do to you?”
“Nothing. I’m just still wound up from the game.” Technically not a lie.
Jett and Hunter take seats at the table. Hunter scowls down at his plate as he attacks a chicken breast. Not a big talker, that guy. Jett raises his chin at Beck. “That second goal was tricky. Good on you for distracting Johnson.”
He’s talking about the Vipers’ goalie. Beck smirks and takes a bite of his salmon. “Someone had to do something. This idiot had other things on his mind.” He nods at me.
“I was distracted,” I admit with a shrug. “Cross had to know that putting me and Kuznetsov on the ice together without designating our positions was going to be rough.”
As if conjured by my saying his name, Konstantin appears. He nods to an empty seat. “You mind?”
“Go ahead.” Beck pushes out the seat for him. “We were just talking about you.”
“I bet.” Konstantin sits down, glancing at me. “We played like shit.”
“No kidding.” I look down at my plate for a beat, then remember that he needs to be able to see my mouth to lip read. “A good captain would try to look at the bright side. We both got better throughout the game. Maybe in the next game where we’re both on the first line, we can work together more.”
Konstantin dips his head in agreement. “That will be the plan, then.”
His accent catches my attention. There’s a vague flatness to his vowel sounds.Thatandplanare contorted coming off his tongue. I wonder if that’s from being hearing impaired, or if that’s a leftover from being born in Russia.
“Probably figure it out before then,” Jett says. “We have practice five days a week. You should ask Coach for strategies.”
“No doubt Cross has some ideas,” Konstantin says.
I size him up. If Konstantin is actively angling for my job, he doesn’t show it. Then again, he doesn’t show much of anything.
“I’m bushed,” I say. “I’m going to head up to my room.” Rising, I grab my plate, a couple of protein shakes, and several electrolyte drinks.
