Page 6 of Double Puck

"Sure you were. You always start assessments at the waistband?" He drags the towel through his hair, then plants one elbow on the bar. Still shirtless. "So, Spreadsheet Lady. How many decimal points did you have to move to get me kicked off the team?"

I cut him a hard look. "I didn't move anything. Manipulating the data would defeat the purpose of collecting it."

"Oh, good." He nods slowly. "So the numbers just woke up one morning and decided to ruin my life."

My insides squirm, but I take a deep breath to soothe the tension.

"I don't have the authority to trade you, Beck. I simply submitted a recommendation. Ownership, management, and coaching staff will make the final decision."

"Right. So you just loaded the gun." His grin sharpens. "And now someone else gets the blame when they decide to pull the trigger... not you?"

I don't dare flinch. "I did my job."

He moves a fraction closer, his forearm settling on the bar beside mine.

"Alright. Then answer me one thing, Ms. Madden." The torment finally drains out of his voice, leaving something quieter underneath. "Do you actually believe I'm the weakest player on this roster?"

"Beck, we don't have to talk about this—"

He moves closer again.

"Yes. We do."

I know I'm not leaving this bar without answering him honestly, so I take a deep breath, and lay the facts out.

"Your performance metrics make you the most logical trade asset among the three of you. Declan provides leadership and defensive stability. Mason is consistent across both ends of the ice. You carry a high salary, you draw penalties, and you've failed to convert enough of your key opportunities."

I glance across at him, hoping that when I look into his eyes, it will distract me from his body.

It doesn't.

Because Beck Morrison's eyes are even sexier than his abs.

"I know what Declan is," he says. "I know what Mason is. Everyone's been explaining it to me my whole life."

"So then what are you?" I ask.

That irritating grin returns as he leans back and releases a heavy sigh. He looks out at his teammates drying off on the sand and shakes his head like even he doesn't know the answer to my question.

"I'm… available."

"You're—" I frown, trying to make sense of that. "Wait. What?"

His gaze drops to my mouth. "I'm available."

His eyes stay on my lips a second too long, and I feel it like a thumb dragged across them.

My whole body clenches around absolutely nothing.

Oh no.

This is a problem. This is a significant problem.

I'm getting turned on by the man I'm supposed to be kicking out the exit door.

"Well… You keep looking at me like you're trying to work me out." He rolls his shoulders with a cocky shrug. "So, why don't you find out for yourself?"

I roll my eyes. "You're drunk."