Page 44 of The Puck Contract

Becker clutches his chest in mock pain. "Wound me deeper, why don't you?"

The conversation shifts to tomorrow's game, predictions and strategies flying across the table. I'm surprised when Mateo joins in, asking Petrov about his thoughts on the opposing team's defense.

"You've been studying," I observe quietly as the others debate a controversial call from last season.

Mateo shrugs, looking slightly embarrassed. "The binder is actually pretty helpful. And I've been watching game footage."

"Game footage? Voluntarily?" I'm genuinely surprised. "You hate sports."

"I don't hate sports," he corrects. "I just don't usually find them anthropologically interesting. But this is different."

"How so?"

He considers for a moment. "It's like being dropped into a foreign culture with its own language, customs, and social hierarchies. The anthropologist in me can't help but be fascinated."

"So we're your research subjects now?" I tease.

"Maybe." He smiles, and for the first time sinceThe Incident, it reaches his eyes. "Or maybe I just want to understand your world better."

The simple statement hits me harder than it should. Before I can respond, Washington stands and taps his glass for attention.

"Early night, everyone. Bus leaves for practice at eight sharp tomorrow."

As dinner breaks up, Becker approaches with a suspiciously innocent expression. "A bunch of us are watching the league highlights in the lobby if you two want to join. They're doing a special on the playoff race."

Mateo looks at me questioningly. "Up to you," I say. "I'm used to Becker's schemes by now."

"It'll be educational," Mateo decides. "Lead the way."

The hotel lobby has a comfortable seating area with a large TV, currently showing sports highlights. About half the team is already sprawled across the couches, arguing over whether baseball or golf is more boring to watch.

"Move over," Becker commands, shoving Wall's legs off a couch to make room for us. "The lovebirds need seats."

Mateo takes the teasing in stride, settling beside me on the couch. Our thighs press together in the limited space, and I try very hard to act like this isn't affecting me at all.

The sports channel cuts to a hockey segment, the announcer's voice rising with excitement: "As we enter the final stretch of the regular season, the playoff picture is starting to take shape. Let's look at where things stand in the Central Division."

Graphics appear showing team standings. The Wolves are currently in the second wild card position—not comfortable, but not dire either.

"The Chicago Wolves have been showing real momentum lately," the announcer continues. "If they maintain this pace through the final stretch, they should secure their playoff berth. But with only fifteen games left in the regular season, every point counts."

More graphics display the remaining schedule, highlighting key matchups. The announcer emphasizes that the real pressure starts in April when the playoffs begin.

I feel Mateo stiffen beside me. "April," he repeats quietly, almost to himself.

It takes me a second to realize why that date matters. April. Playoffs. The end of our three-month contract. The timeline when Kingsport will make their final sponsorship decision.

"Yeah," I confirm, keeping my voice low. "Regular season ends early April, then playoffs if we make it."

He nods, eyes still fixed on the screen but looking far away. "Right. That makes sense."

The mood between us shifts again, the reminder of our arrangement's temporary nature hanging in the air like a bad smell.

Becker, oblivious to the tension or perhaps intentionally breaking it, bounces up from his spot across from us. "Time for couples trivia!"

"What?" I blink at him. "No, absolutely not."

"Too late!" Becker produces a stack of index cards with a flourish. "I've prepared questions for all our lovely couples to test how well they know each other."

---