Page 69 of Dirty Play

“I wouldn’t say I’ve changed.” I drum my fingers against the armrest. “But I’m trying to keep my emotions in check. I’m human, and sometimes, the adrenaline gets in the way. We’re all giving it our best out there, and I guess my best is a bit heated sometimes.” I give a small laugh. “But I am trying to be better.”

“So, it’s a conscious effort?” Michael asks, nodding.

“Something like that.” I tilt my head.

Livia shifts again, arms still crossed, but there’s something softer in her expression now.

Michael studies me, then grins. “Alright, let’s lighten things up. I’ve got a few rapid-fire questions for you.”

“Hit me.” I give the armrests a little slap, leaning back. I can do that.

“Favorite pre-game meal?”

“Steak. Rare.”

“Biggest hockey superstition?”

I think about it for a second.

“I always put my left skate on first.” Odd how I’ve never noticed until now.

“Go-to cheat meal?”

“Cereal and sushi.”

“Something you’re not good at,” Michael asks with a little smirk.

“Singing. I won’t be demonstrating,” I huff out a laugh, shaking my head. “My sister threw a shoe at me one time.”

“That bad, huh?” Michael laughs.

“Whatever you’re imagining, it’s worse.”

Michael laughs harder. “Okay, okay, last one. If you weren’t playing hockey, what would you be doing?”

“Not sure,” I shrug with a shake of my head. “I never really had a plan B. Hockey was always the plan.”

“You wouldn’t want to be a doctor like your parents?” Michael asks, and I stiffen.

“No,” I answer truthfully. “My parents were damn good at what they did, and so am I. I don’t bother myself with what-ifs.”

For a second, there’s silence. Even Livia seems caught off guard.

“Well, good thing it worked out for you.” Michael nods with a smile.

“Yeah. Guess so.”

The moment the interview wraps up, Livia is on her feet.

I watch as she thanks Michael, shaking his hand like the perfect PR pro she is, all polished smiles and firm nods. But as soon as we exit the room, she turns to me, her eyes flashing.

She takes three quick steps forward, stopping just shy of my space like she’s physically stopping herself from grabbing me by the hoodie and shaking me.

“What the hell was that?” she demands as we walk toward the parking lot.

“What?” I arch a brow.

“That! You…” She gestures wildly toward the building. “You were actually…nice.”

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