Page 102 of On Thin Ice

“Good for you.” A delighted grin broke out across his face as he pushed to his feet. “All that social media hustle is finally paying off.”

I nodded again, trying—and failing—to keep my eyes from seeking Ethan out across the room where he was sitting, silently watching my exchange with Miller, his expression unreadable.

Well, unreadable to anyone but me.

He was miserable, only I didn’t know why.

He’d done this to us.

Created this distance that was eating us both alive.

Was it more than the “Bodies in Motion” opportunity, the way he’d shut it down without even considering it? How he’d drawn a line in the proverbial sand—a line that had “love” on one side and “secrets” on the other?

Even before I brought the special issue up, I got the impression he was already upset. I kept replaying that horrible conversation, his “abso-fucking-lutely not” ricocheting around in my head.

Was it the REND campaign that set him off?

That didn’t make any sense, though. Why would Ethan care if I did a photoshoot in my underwear? I’d been posting half-naked pictures of myself for years.

Hell, just last week I’d posted a photo of me rocking a pair of their holiday-themed trunks, the outline of my junk covered by a strategically-placed red bow. While I was adjusting the focus on my camera, he’d walked into the room, taken one look at my outfit, and laughed, calling me a menace.

He’d never complained about these sort of shots before.

Showing off my body was what I did. What did it matter if it was for a million thirsty Instagram followers or on a digital billboard in Times Square? At the end of the day, they were just looking.

Ethan Harrison was the only one allowed to actually touch these goods.

“Everything okay there?” Miller asked.

I glanced up at him. “Uh, what? Sorry. I zoned out there for a bit.”

“You and Harrison? You getting along any better?” His eyes flicked to Ethan and then back to me.

I ran my hand through my hair, taking a moment to carefully weigh my words. “We were, but he’s pissed at me. Not sure for what this time, though.”

Miller made a sound that was somewhere between amusement and understanding. “Remind me again how we wound up living with the moodiest guys on the team?”

“Well, your place burned down, and Coach forced Ethan to babysit me. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I require adult supervision at all times.”

That earned me a real laugh. “Never change, man. Never change.”

When Miller went back to his stall, I finished stripping out of my gear. I wanted a hot shower and to crash. I was ready for today to be over.

First, though, I needed Toby, our equipment manager, to check out my right skate. A wobble on my inside edge had nearly sent me sprawling when I tried to pivot during Washington’s power play in the third period.

A few of the guys shuffled toward the showers, while two guys recently called up as injury cover were collecting pucks and water bottles, part of their post-game duties. Down the row, Roonie was meticulously rewrapping the knob of his stick—superstitious as always after a loss. The trainers moved around the room, plastic bags of ice in hand for those nursing the usual assortment of bruises and tweaked muscles.

With a sigh, I heaved my body to my feet and forced myself to move.

I was halfway to Toby’s equipment room, skate in hand, when Chet came barreling around the corner, a towel wrapped low around his waist and wet hair plastered to his forehead. He clocked me mid-step and gave that smug little grin I’d grown to hate.

“Sorry, princess. Didn’t see you there.” His gaze dragged down my bare chest, then flicked over my shoulder and back again. “You seemed distracted tonight. Not getting enough cuddle time with your boyfriend?”

I stiffened, my body going on high alert. What was this asshole doing now?

“Or maybe you two had a lovers’ spat? That what’s got you playing like shit tonight? Didn’t get a thorough enough dicking down from Harry before the game?”

Bang. The sound of equipment being slammed to the floor sounded through the space.

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