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"All I was trying to say is you were rolling your eyes like a—"
"Enough!" Priest slaps his open palm into the table. There’s no force behind the move but it’s enough to bounce the pad of paper and pen in front of him.
She firms her lips.
I scowl. Jesus, did I come close to losing my temper? Me, the man who’s calm enough under pressure to have earned the call sign Stone on the field? The man who guided his team through more than fifty missions without losing a single man, until that last time. And even then, I brought them all back home, even though some of them were in body bags. "Who Dares Wins," is the motto of the Special Forces I was recruited into after I became a Royal Marine. I swore to look challenges in the face and always stay faithful. To my country, to my fellow marines, to my team. It’s the spirit that guided me through the missions. The same promise I intend to lead with as Captain of the hockey team. I allowed my emotions get the better of me in accepting the role. But now that I have, nothing is going to stop me from winning the League. Certainly not the distraction posed by the sprite of a woman who’s glowering at me from across the table.
"I’m sorry." I turn to Priest. "It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have engaged in that childish exchange."
"Now you’re calling me a child?" she begins, and I hold up my hand.
“I meant, I shouldn’t have argued with you because I was in the wrong."
She blinks. "You were?"
I nod. "I lost my temper with the journalist. No matter that he’s a scum of the earth, I shouldn’t have threatened him or broken his camera—"
"—you think?" she says in a scornful tone.
"I don’t regret it, though."
She stares at me, then a reluctant smile tugs at her lips. "You’re one obstinate asshole, aren’t you?"
I tip my chin. "It’s what’s brought me this far in life."
She gives me a strange look, then turns to Priest. "There was no damage done… this time, but—" Her phone vibrates. As do mine and Priest’s, at the same time.
Priest is the first to reach for his. He glances at the screen, then holds the device up. "Maybe it’s too early to conclude that?"
8
Giorgina
"He called me 'the girlfriend.'" I make air quotes with my fingers. "Like I'm arm candy. Or a dumb bimbo. Why is it that the girlfriend of an athlete of any kind has to be classified as someone without an opinion of her own? Also, I’m not his girlfriend. I’m not even his friend." I begin to pace the floor of the living room of Mira’s flat. "And this, after the journalist signed a Non-Disclosure Agreement and had his phone and camera confiscated. How he managed to sneak out a picture, I have no idea."
Mira continues to scroll on her phone. "It’s a great picture."
I scoff, "Stupid optics. I stumbled and fell against him.”
"He’s holding onto your arm. He’s shirtless. And you have your cheek pressed into his bare chest and—"
"I know how that picture looks and none of it is true."
"I know you’re upset with the journalist, but he’s done us women-folk a solid. Look at those abs on that man. And the contours of those biceps, whoa. They’re the size of a small tree-trunk. Not to mention the veins of his forearms, OMG. Bet he could carry you with one arm and—"
"Gimme that." I march over and snatch the phone out of her hands and click out of the gossip website she’s on.
"Aww, party-pooper." Her lips turn down.
"Go admire someone else."
"He’s the captain of the hottest hockey team in the country. Soon, every woman out there is goiIg to be salivating over him," she points out.
I curl my fingers around her phone with such force they hurt.
"Umm, are you going to do a Rick and destroy my phone?"
"What? No." I force myself to relax my grip on her device and hand it over. "Just don’t ogle him in front of me, okay?"
