Page 8 of All That Glitters

“You never want to talk about anything,” Nash counters. “You’re allergic to conversation about anything other than what happens on the ice.”

“That’s …” I huff. “I’m not allergic to it..”

The only person I had deep conversations with is shooting daggers at me from the stands. At least, I assume she is. I glance up as I skate past her. Yep. As to be expected. Nash looks up when I do.

“Yikes. She looks like she wants to stab you with her pen.”

I grunt in response.

“What’s that about?”

We turn and skate to the middle of the rink where the face-off circle is. The rest of the guys file in after us. Conrad leads the stretch routine, as always.

“It’s complicated,” I say to Nash after a minute of silence. “Not the place to get into it.”

He bobs his helmet.

“Can I date her?”

I give him an incredulous look. How did he go from sounding like a concerned friend to being an absolute idiot in less than five seconds?

“Answer me, and I’ll drop this for now,” he says, much too calmly for a man risking his life.

“No,” I grind out.

I catch the flash of his dumb grin.

“That’s what I thought.”

I come out of the locker room and almost trip over my own feet when I see Marigold leaning against the wall across from the doors. She smiles at Nash, and the sight feels like someone just checked me into the glass. Her gaze lifts and the smile drops off her rosy lips.

“I was just telling Marigold here about how I can skate laps around you,” Nash says with a grin.

His blue eyes sparkle with mischief. I scowl.

“I have strength. I don’t need speed,” I say as I approach.

Marigold’s previously relaxed stance stiffens into something statuesque.

“Then why were you doing laps before practice?” she asks, her pen poised over her notebook.

“He’s jealous, of course—”

I palm Nash’s smirking face and push him backward.

“Go bother someone else,” I growl.

Nash bats my hand away with a laugh.

“Now why would I do that when you’re conveniently right here?”

I glare at him. He lets out an exaggerated sigh.

“Fine, I’ll be on my way, but only because I have a date, and gentlemen are never late.”

“You are the furthest thing from a gentleman,” I say.

He grins. “But she doesn’t know that.”