Page 62 of The Game Plan

Doc is crouched in front of me. “Jax, are you good?”

I squeeze my eyes shut, opening them again, repeating it until they feel clear. “Yeah, I’m good. Just creaked my neck and shoulder.”

I roll my shoulder back and down, leaning my head to one side. Doc gives the area a quick rub, restricted heavily by my pads. “Nothing’s broken,” I tell him.

He leaves me to it, but damn, that’s going to be sore tomorrow. Standard day in the life of a pro. A few bruises won’t take the shine off my second career hat trick, or my new superpowers.

* * *

“Four wins on the bounce, Jax. Great way to start the season,” the reporter says, holding his microphone in front of me after the game.

“Yeah, it feels good for us to come out strong.”

“Is this the start of the Dragons defending their Stanley Cup title?” he asks.

I shrug. Stupid question. “’Course, yeah, but at this stage in the season, it’s all about winning the game, on the day, and bedding in the new team and changing lines. It’s early days but a nice way to start the season, for sure.”

“You, in particular, have come out fighting, haven’t you? A second career hat trick, how does that feel?”

As he asks the question, Sienna finally comes into the locker room wearing a tailored dress that hugs every one of her curves, hair falling down her back and drawing my focus to the way her body dips above her hips. She leaves it late coming in and I’m sure it’s intentional, to make sure the guys have replaced their armor with training T-shirts. She always, always, does what she’s doing right now, which is purposefully looking everywhere except in my direction. It makes me smirk. I can sense her, like a moth to a flame, wanting to glance my way, but she won’t let herself.

“Jax? What would you say to that?” the reporter asks.

“Huh? Sorry, what was the question?”

He grins – he’s onto me. “Some people are saying they’re seeing a maturity to your game this season.”

I scratch my head. I’ve been feeling it, too. A calmness on the ice that’s buying me nanoseconds, important time, to make decisions and execute moves. Hockey is a fast game; most of what we do during a game is based on instincts, good training habits, and power in the act. But I feel as if something is clicking for me that hasn’t before. That illusive stillness.

“Me? Mature? I highly doubt it,” I tell him, making him laugh.

“Could it be anything to do with your life off the ice?” he asks, and I look quickly to Sienna, who immediately flushes red – she’s eavesdropping.

I smile at her. “I’ve got someone telling me to grow up at home these days, for sure.” I speak to him but I’m watching her, folding her arms across her chest, one eyebrow raised. “But I don’t think putting my plate in the dishwasher and leaving the toilet seat down are the things impacting my ice time.”

I don’t realize until I’m finished speaking that I’m absent-mindedly playing with my new piece of jewelry. I untaped it as soon as I came off the ice and I’m developing a subconscious habit of rolling the band around my finger with my thumb.

I think maybe something is changing.

* * *

My trapezius is stiff and sore as hell by the time Sienna and I get back to our hotel room. “I’m going to take a bath,” I tell her. Then follow-up with, “Sorry, I know it’s late, I’ll be quiet.”

Weird, having to consider another person when I’m on the road. Sienna has worked all day. If I was rooming with TJ, we’d both need to wind down from the game before sleeping. Some of the guys have gone out with Carolina players but to their horror, I turned down the invitation.

“That hit did me,” I told them, leaving out that I don’t want to deal with Sienna huffing and puffing when I wake her up by coming back to our room late. And boy would she let me know she’s pissed.

“It’s fine,” she says gently now, probably thinking that this much more sedate option works well for her. But then she asks, “What can I do? Do you need anything?”

Internally, I scoff. TJ would have told me to toughen the fuck up and get out for a drink with the boys.

“Some help taking off my shirt would be good,” I tell her, wondering if this is somehow breaking her many rules.

“’Course, sit down for me?” I sit on the edge of the queen bed in our room. The thought of sleeping on the sofa with this neck tonight doesn’t thrill me. Maybe I’ll fall asleep in the tub.

She’s still wearing her tailored dress as she steps between my legs, chest beautifully placed at my head height. I swear it takes all my willpower not to reach for her hips and feel them in my hold.

Come on, we might be a pretend couple but I’m still a guy who hasn’t been laid for weeks, in a hotel room with a hot as hell woman, no matter if she’s forever on at me about all the things, all the time.