Page 3 of Puck Off, She’s Mine

"Has anyone ever told you that you're annoying?"

"A few times." He cracks another smile. Maybe he's been concussed a few times too many. It's decidedly unnatural to be this happy this early in the morning. Is he always like this? I run through everything I've read about him, but there was nothing about him being a weird little ray of sunshine. "You going to answer my question, or do I need to hit like a freaking truck again?"

"Cara Oliver," I mutter, giving up, not because I'm convinced he'll flatten me again, but because he's going to learn my name either way. It's not like my identity is a state secret or anything. If giving it to him gets him out of my way, I'll play along. "You can move now."

"I have a better idea."

"Of course you do," I sigh, tipping my head back to look up at him. "Let's hear it then."

"You can go out with me tonight," he says, "to make up for the mean things you're going to write about me in your first article about the team. My pops is absolutely not hotter than me."

"Oh, absolutely not!" I cry, my voice louder than intended. That's not my fault. He's shameless, and it's a little shocking. Does he hit on everyone like this? I haven't heard a single rumor about him, but the answer is probably yes. I don't know why that annoys me, but it does.

"Why not?"

"I don't date hockey players," I growl.

"Why the fuck not?"

Truthfully, there is no reason. It's a new rule, established approximately thirty-nine seconds ago. But it's a good rule, and he doesn't need to know when it was created. That's my business.

"Because I'm here to do my job. That's it," I say, my tone final.

"Well, that's a pity," another voice drawls from somewhere behind me. I whip around to find Corey Simms skating toward us, a cocky smirk on his face. Like Phoenix, Corey is hot, but in an all-American sort of way. Messy blond hair, deep green eyes, and dangerous dimples. Unlike Phoenix, he isn't a star anywhere except his own mind. He's a decent skater, but he isn't great.

Phoenix was a first-round pick. Corey barely made the draft. And yet, for some reason, Corey still manages to find a way to end up in the papers regularly. The man steals attention like some men steal valor. It has to be because he's hot, right? That's the only logical explanation.

"Simms," Phoenix growls, his smile slipping when Corey stops a little closer to me than I'd like.

"Michaud," Corey murmurs, his eyes still locked on me. "You going to introduce me to your beautiful new friend?"

"No," Phoenix says bluntly.

If Corey hears the tension in Phoenix's voice, he ignores it, reaching for my hand with a smirk. "Fine, then I'll do it myself," he murmurs, lifting my hand like he's going to kiss it. "Corey Simms. Who are you, beautiful?"

"Cara Oliver," I say, snatching my hand back before he can kiss it. And not because Phoenix growls, either. He has nothing to do with anything. "Reporter."

Corey grins at me, and Phoenix scowls at him. "You're the new reporter, huh? Nice."

"Yes. Now, you've met her. You can go away," Phoenix says, trying to place his big body between Corey and me, but Corey manages to sidestep. Phoenix tries again, and Corey sidesteps again.

"She already shot you down, Michaud. Why don't you move out of the way and let me say hello?" Corey says.

"Why don't you fuck off and go away?" Phoenix shoots back.

"Nah, I think I'm good here."

"You'd be better over there," Phoenix practically growls at him.

I stare at the two of them, trying to figure out what the hell is going on with them. Phoenix looks pissed. Corey is amused. And I'm just…annoyed.

"Are you two always like this?" I ask.

"Like what?" Phoenix asks.

"No," Corey says at the same time.

"Right." I scowl at both of them. They're like two dogs fighting over a bone. But I'm not a bone, and I'm not interested in being fought over. Hell no.