Caged (Gold Hockey #11) - Elise Faber Page 0,3

at the moment. But he’d meant it when he’d promised himself that if she didn’t return his interest, he wouldn’t press this, that he’d just go back to pretending he wasn’t attracted to her.

“Okay,” he said, holding up the tablets. “I’ll take these to the locker room.”

She nodded.

“For the record, I never thought you were stupid,” he said, “and I don’t mind the shy.” With that, he turned and made his way down the hall, cursing himself six ways to Sunday as he moved. He should have played it so much cooler, should have won Dani over before springing a date on her. He should—

“Fuck,” he whispered on a sigh.

Because he had been trying to win her over these last months, finding reasons to be in her presence—e.g. tonight volunteering to grab tablets she was going to deliver, asking for extra tape, casually joining the conversations when she was with Brit or Mandy, testing the waters when she was with people she was comfortable with.

And he’d thought he’d made progress with trying to get her to talk and loosen up.

So today, tonight, he’d hoped for her to let him in just an inch.

Too fast.

Fucking hell.

Ethan knew that most of the guys on the team thought that Dani was a little cold. But most of the guys were idiots. Okay, that wasn’t true, not even in the least. The San Francisco Gold were the NHL’s newest team—though that would soon change with several more expansion teams entering the mix next season—and they were one of the best franchises to play for. He’d been around for the last win of the Stanley Cup and for last season’s heartbreaking loss. Before that, he’d bounced around the league, playing a few seasons with different teams. But nothing had ever stuck. Or maybe, the roster hadn’t gelled like the Gold’s did.

Or perhaps . . . it was because the Gold were more like a family than a business.

Which should sound ridiculous because it was a business, and hockey was his job.

But somehow, it wasn’t ridiculous.

The men and women on the team were a family. Without qualification. As obvious as a crosscheck to his opponent’s numbers would get him sent to the box. It was just . . . fact.

What was also fact?

That even now, well after the game, the locker room would still be full of the guys and Brit shooting the shit, hanging around because they actually liked each other.

A rare feat indeed.

Laughing to himself as he strode through the door, handing the tablets to Max and Coop, he thought back on his first game with the team. God, it had been such a weird feeling, as though he’d ended up in an alternate reality.

There wasn’t the least bit of hazing or him needing to earn his spot. They’d included him, given him the benefit of the doubt, and right away, he’d felt like he had a place.

They’d invited him to dinner after the match.

They’d actually included him in the conversation from the get-go—as well as giving him an assigned day on manning the radio. The latter was something everyone took turns with, and though the guys had some overlap in taste, it was something of a rite of passage to get your pregame playlist poked at.

Today’s postgame playlist was Brit’s choice, which meant that as he finished getting undressed and headed to the showers, he was serenaded by various boy bands with syrupy lyrics and poppy soundtracks.

The songs were fucking catchy, he’d give Brit that.

But he much preferred his classic rock pre or postgame.

He wondered what kind of music Dani listened to, though he supposed he wouldn’t be in a position to find out.

“What’s going on in that big, juicy brain of yours?” Max asked, when Ethan sat back down in his stall and began pulling his clothes on.

Big, juicy brain was the team’s favorite way to refer to him.

A guy works on getting one master’s degree, and suddenly he was everyone’s favorite nerd.

But seriously, what else was there to do when a man was on the road for half a season and drinking and partying got really old? Plus, his parents were professors, had always teased each other about being career students. It would have been a surprise if he didn’t follow in their footsteps, at least a little bit. “What are you talking about?” he muttered.

“You look all mopey,” Max said, bending and tying his shoes.

Ethan scowled but didn’t otherwise comment as he yanked on his underwear and slacks, began buttoning