Page 7 of Player Misconduct
Peyton finally sets her phone down. “Speaking of emotional support—can we discuss how the entire city exhaled last night? I swear my car drove smoother this morning.”
“Winning does make the roads less bumpy,” Cammy agrees. “It’s physics.”
“Or the hockey gods,” Isla chimes in.
“We had a good game at home, but we’re away tomorrow and Colorado doesn’t lose much in their own arena,” Penelope says. “Let’s not order the champagne and confetti just yet. The Series is still 2–1.”
“Spoken like a woman whose love language is cautious optimism,” Isla says.
“I’m the GM. I have to plan for both endings,” Penelope shoots back with a grin. “Speaking of cautious optimism…” She glances over to me. “...how’s Scottie this morning?”
“He looks good. He’s back on the ice this morning. The neurologist had a look and Coach put him on light duty to keep him fresh for tomorrow’s game.”
“As if Scottie understands the concept of ‘light duty,’” Cammy teases.
If any of the boys on this team knew the concept, it would make my job of keeping them healthy, a lot easier.
The bell above the door jiggles again, and a group of teenagers in Hawkeyes hoodies tumbles in, all elbows and victory glitter. One of them points at the display of team stickers next to the register and groans that they’re sold out of Aleksi ones.
Of course.
Isla catches the direction of my glance and works up an innocent face that fools exactly no one. “Speaking of light duty… Aleksi looked like he was doing some light duty on the bench with you during last night’s game while you were working on his face,” Isla snickers.
“Oh my God, I’m glad someone else brought it up because I’ve been dying to say something since Oakley’s last night. I swear I thought he was going to pull you onto his lap and make out with you right then and there,” Cammy jumps in, eyes wide, leaning in across the table as if worried she’ll miss a word.
I choke on chai as the heat of the idea of him doing that blooms in places between my thighs that it most definitely should not. “I—what? No, he wasn’t. He was just being his usual chatty self. You know how he is. Fun facts about random things.”
“Oh, he’s chatty, that’s for sure, but the way he couldn’t wipe that smile off his face, even the nosebleeds could tell what thatboy was in the mood for,” Juliet says, smirking behind her own cup.
Panic rushes through me at Juliet’s words—“even the nosebleeds could tell what that boy was in the mood for…”
If the girls were the only ones who could see it, fine. But did the press see it? Would the medical board see it and jump to conclusions? Would the NHL think something more was going on?
The medical board has already allowed public persuasion with zero evidence to cause an audit—which puts my medical license at risk. But I’m not the only one with something to lose here. If the NHL thought there was an inappropriate relationship between the team doctor and a player, they could force the Hawkeyes to trade the player or bench him, at least. The NHL could bring down sanctions on the Hawkeyes for allowing an inappropriate relationship to happen under their nose, potentially affecting the draft.
“Ground Zero,” Peyton says, pouncing. “Three weeks ago. Your birthday. One drink. One dance. One relentlessly cheerful Finn who does not stop smiling.”
I’m not proud of the way heat prickles my cheeks. “It was one song. He caught me on the way to the bathroom.”
“He intercepted you like a gentleman,” Cammy corrects. “And spun you like an old movie.”
“It was a dance club,” I say, too quickly. “Everyone was spinning.”
Isla smirks. “Everyone was spinning. You were glowing.”
“I was sweaty and had two blueberry mojitos,” I protest. .
“You were seeing a tipsy glow at best.”
“You’re deflecting,” Peyton says.
I tear off a corner of the croissant I swore I wasn’t eating. “There’s nothing to deflect. You all know my rule.” Then I glanceat Penelope, who knows just as well as anyone what’s at stake and why Aleksi and I can’t date. “A little help here?”
“‘No players,’” the table choruses like a church. Even the toddler at the pastry case turns, as if he’s heard this sermon before.
I set the croissant down and lace my fingers together on the table. “It’s not a cute boundary. It’s a survival strategy. And it’s not just for me.”
Penelope softens. “I know,” she says, nodding. She’s been uncharacteristically quiet since Isla brought up Aleksi. And since she’s known as the unofficial matchmaker of this WAGs group, she’s the one who would have jumped my ass about Aleksi the moment I walked through that door. But she hasn’t, because she knows what that could mean for everyone involved. “Your medical license could be called into question, and the team could face sanctions,” she says calmly, like the true GM she is.
