Page 2 of Puck Off, She’s Mine

"Chase the Bunny isn't an on-ice activity, sweetheart," he drawls, his eyes flicking up and down my body. "That usually happens later."

Oh, gross.

Maybe I overestimated how true those reports about his reputation actually are.

I draw up to my full height, which, let's be honest, isn't that impressive standing next to a giant, and cross my arms to glower at him. "First of all," I growl, furious, "I'm not a puck bunny. Second, I wasn't running from you for you to chase. I was crossing the ice. Third, gross."

His grin widens, sexy little lines appearing around his mouth. "Point taken. You good?"

"No."

"Shit." His smile slips, his eyes widening. "I hurt you?"

Well, now I feel a little bad because he's genuinely distressed by the idea, worry carved into the deep furrow between his brows. And I'm not hurt, only annoyed.

"No," I grumble. "You didn't hurt me. You skated into me."

"You were standing on the ice," he reminds me as the noise behind us grows, alerting me to the fact that the rest of the team has arrived.

They don't do it quietly. The hum of their voices and the clack of skates and sticks ricochet throughout the arena. Oddly, none of them bother us, either, like they aren't the least bit curious who I am or what's happening here.

"Crossing the ice, Michaud. I was crossing the ice. Do you not watch where you're going?"

I'm not sure why that makes him smile again, but it does. "You know who I am."

I narrow my eyes at him. "Cocky, aren't we?"

"No, just impressed." He leans against the boards, still staring at me in a way that's making me uncomfortably hot. Maybe I'm going into early menopause. It can happen at twenty-five, right? "A beautiful woman knows who I am."

I stare at him for a full three count and then roll my eyes before pulling out my notebook to jot a note.

"What are you doing?" he asks, curiosity in his tone.

"Making a note."

"What kind of note?"

I don't answer until I finish writing and then turn it around for him to see.

"Phoenix Michaud," he reads, "cocky, arrogant, and full of shit. Hits like a freaking truck. His dad is hotter." His deep laugh booms across the ice, echoing off the walls. "What the fuck is this?"

"Notes," I say, tucking the notebook back into my pocket. "So I know what to say about you when your name comes up in my first article about the team."

His eyes light up. "You're the new reporter we were warned about."

I came with a warning? Nice!

"That's me. Now, if you'll excuse me…" I try to step around him, but he blocks my path, still grinning like a madman.

"What's your name, gorgeous?"

"It's not that," I grumble.

"Tell me."

"If I tell you, are you going to move?"

"Tell me," he says again.