Page 53 of Love Me, Goaltender

Good luck with that, guys.

He had returned to his usual stoicism and was mainly giving monosyllabic answers.

I, on the other hand, didn’t have that luxury.

“I saw that you didn’t try to throw a punch. In fact, you helped break it up. Do you think that the inclusion of women into hockey will change the spirit ofthe game?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, already knowing. At my forced innocent voice, Sebastian looked over from his own horde ofreporters.

“Fighting is one of the draws of hockey. It’s why men’s hockey is more popular than women’s. People love a good fight, but the more women that join the league, the less violent it’s going to get. Do you think the inclusion of women will be the downfall of hockey as weknow it?”

Sebastian’s eyebrows rose at the blatant sexism in thatquestion.

I didn’t think I had ever been asked that so bluntly in person. Online? Sure. People are usually braver from behind a screen. But this guy just let it all out right in my face. It was kind of impressive—in a fucked up, raised-by-wolves kind of way.

Apparently, Lukin agreed with the guy because he let out a haughty chuckle from his spot a few yards away from me.

“Well, fighting in the NHL has been decreasing for years. It’s just not efficient. This is, ultimately, a game. The goal is to get a puck in a net, not to punch someone in the face. That’s what professional fighting is for. Also, I broke apart the fight because it was pointless. Glass ran into me by accident, regardless of what it may have looked like. I understand that teams have to avenge their goalies, but it wasn’t interference this time. Hell, if he had done it on purpose, I would have tried to get a piece of him myself. I’m fully capable, just like every other woman, of taking care of myself. I know what I can do, and I know my limits.”

As I finished with my mini rant, a look of understanding crossed Sebastian’s face.

Ah,he got it.

We made brief eye contact, anger visibly already draining from him, before the next questions took our separate attentions.

Chapter 15

“Keep quiet,” a voice breathed into my ear, and I was towed into an empty room by a firm grip on myupper arm.

Behind me, the door slammed shut, shrouding us in completedarkness.

“Jesus Christ, Sebastian. Don’t be so creepy.” I hit the switch, and light bathed Sebastian and the room I used to meditate in before games.

“Sorry. I just couldn’t let you go before I got to talk to you.” His hand tensed absently, and a dull pain rolled through my arm.

“Okay, but youdoactually have to let me go because I landed on my arm when Glass ran me over and that hurts.”

Sebastian’s hand jerked back like he had touched a hot stovetop. “Jesus. I’m sorry. Are you okay?” He squinted at my bicep as if trying to see through my jacket and furrowed his brow. “How bad is it?”

I stepped back and crossed my arms, ignoring the intense throbbing. “Seriously,Kingston?”

He flinchedguiltily.

“Look, I’m not really in the mood to give another guy a lesson on feminism in sports right now. Could we maybe pick thisup later?”

“No, no, wait.” His voice, like his beautiful grey eyes, turned pleading. “You’re right.”

I eyed him warily. “I haven’t even said anything. What am I right about?”

“Everything. Whenever you’re going to say, you’re right. I messed up. You’re right. I shouldn’t have done that. You’re right. I overreacted. You’re right. You can take care of yourself. You’re right. The only thing I did was give it to press more ammo against you. You’re right. This isn’t a part of our agreement. You’re right. You’re right about everything, and I’mso sorry.”

My arms dropped frommy chest.

“I’m not going to argue with you here, Riley. I know this ismy fault.”

I sighed and walked to the far end of the room. Then back. Then again. “No. It’s not all your fault. It’s not your fault that you don’t always treat me like Warren instead of Riley on the ice. It’s not your fault because I don’t always treat you like Kingston on the ice. I’m not supposed to flirt with you on the ice or make you smile mid-game. So if you got confused, that’s on me. I can’t treat you like a boyfriend, no matter how mu—”

I came to a screeching halt on my sixth lap across the room, staring at the wall in horror.Damnit, Warren.

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