Page 37 of Puck Me Twice

“Was that Rupert?” She nods to my phone.

“Yes. When we’re away, I check on her every morning.”

Taking my phone, I unlock the screen and show her the video feed. My bird is free to fly about the living room. She’s gliding through the air, seemingly playing the limbo with a vine that stretches across the room.

“Oh, she’s so cute.” Vanessa leans closer, looking at the screen. “Does she know you check in on her?”

“I think so.” When I sit alone and have my headphones in, I can turn on the sound and talk back to her, but I know it scares Brigitte when I do, so I try to time it for when she is out of the house. She’s cleaning the house today; that’s what she always does on the first day I’m gone.

Vanessa takes a sip of her coffee, sighing happily.

“How’d you sleep?” I ask.

“Good. You?”

I would have slept better with her beside me.

I don’t say that, though.

“Not bad. I’m used to the late night, though.”

She hums softly. “I’ll get used to it. It’s just a new routine.”

After breakfast, we have a team meeting. Vanessa disappears with the other support staff—she doesn’t need to hear about Pittsburgh’s intricate defensive plays—but comes down to the lobby as we’re about to head to the arena.

We get some stares when she sits beside me on the bus. Nobody says anything, though.

Do I want them to? I don’t want to hide it. I just don’t think we need to announce it.

The locker room is loud, and it gets conspicuously quiet when I walk into the room.

“What the fuck is going on, Larsson?” Pope demands. He’s a defenseman with the personality of a prickly bear, 6’7”, and as big as a brick shit-house.

“What are you talking about?” I keep my tone neutral as I reach for my gear.

“Morgan travels with us for the first time all season, and when she does, she sits next to you?” he demands.

I shrug. “She likes me.”

Lewis scoffs. “Is that all it is?”

Even though we have clearance from the team, even though it’s all above board, it feels strange to confirm our fake relationship without her here.

“She doesn’t hook up with players,” Sinclair says. “Like, distinctly off-limits, get booted from the team if you touch her.”

“I’ll take that under advisement,” I say neutrally.

Clark shakes his head. “You’re risking career suicide, dude.”

What I don’t tell him is that she would be worth the risk. Eleven out of ten times, she’s worth it.

As I go about my regular routine, my mind drifts to Vanessa. She’s working. I wonder what she’s doing. I don’t exactly understand her job, just that she likes it and without her, the team wouldn’t run nearly as smoothly.

She’s not on the bus back to the hotel after practice, but at dinner, she’s sitting at a table with the other staff members. I sit at the end of the table and keep to myself. I’d much rather sit beside her than next to Clark and Jenkins.

Some of the guys head to a bar after dinner. I don’t join them. I don’t know if she does. I’m not in the mood to drink or try to get laid—as if. I’m ready to relax and let myself rest.

My phone chimes with a message. Vanessa’s name is on the screen.