“Uh…what’s going on?”

They both jerked around at the sound of Duncan’s voice behind them, bumping into each other. Marc steadied her smaller body with his hands on her hips, slender but soft, curvy hips…Jesus. He released her and backed away, bashing into the counter and smacking his head on an open cabinet door. Ow.

“Nothing.” He slammed the door shut. “Just showing Lovey how to make coffee.”

“I like that thing.” She smiled at her brother. “Morning, Dunc.”

She moved again, retrieving her mug of coffee, then brushed past Marc to get back to her laptop to resume her Facebook perusal. “Hopefully Jillian can come with me to the game tonight.”

“Game starts at seven.” Marc choked out the words.

“Oh, we’ll come before that,” she said. “I like to watch the warm-up. Thanks, Marc.”

“We gotta get going.” Duncan set something on the counter. “Here’s an extra key for you, Lovey, if you want to go out.”

“Perfect! Thanks. Gonna take a shower now.”

“Okay. What are you doing today? Maybe we’ll see you after our skate.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure. I might be here. So maybe I’ll see you later.”

“If not, I’ll text you after the game. We’ll probably go out for something to eat, if you want to come with us.”

“Okay. Sounds good.”

It was impossible not to watch her walk down the hallway, two cheeks to the wind in those cheeky panties. Those firm, round globes just begged to be grabbed and squeezed and…

“Get your fucking eyes off my sister’s ass,” Army growled. Then his fist drilled Marc’s shoulder.

“Ow! What the fuck, man!” Marc glared at Army, rubbing his shoulder.

“Don’t look at her. Don’t even think about looking at her. Stay the fuck away from her.”

Marc scowled. “Jesus.” Pressure rose up inside him. He didn’t know whether to be pissed the hell off that Army would order him around like that, or protest that he wasn’t looking at her, which would be a total lie, or tell Army he had no intention of getting anywhere near Lovey. Which he didn’t. So why did he have to even say it? “Fuck,” he muttered. “I’m not gonna touch your sister.”

Army gave him a narrow-eyed look. “Damn right you’re not.”

“Maybe you should tell her to put some clothes on.”

Army gave a heavy sigh. “I knew this was a bad idea, letting her stay here.”

Marc slid off the stool. “Gonna get my stuff, then let’s go.”

Army wanted to take his new vehicle so he drove to the Moens Center. They talked about the team they were playing that night, who was going to be back in the lineup, and who was out, carefully avoiding any mention of Lovey.

At the arena, Marc changed into shorts and a T-shirt. Some guys were of the opinion that game day skates weren’t really necessary. Probably, the practice had started years ago to stop guys from staying out all night carousing before a game, giving them a reason to drag their asses out of bed, get their bodies moving and blood flowing before a game. Marc approved of that. Yeah, he knew his reputation as a killjoy—like last night when he’d kicked everyone out—but this was his career and he wanted to win. It was important to be ready for every single game. It was early in the season, but you didn’t know which game was going to be the one that made the difference between making the playoffs or not, or having home ice advantage, so every game was important. The way things had been going lately, they desperately needed a win.

He thought the game day skate was good for getting everyone together, having a look at stats, going over plans for the game, checking out injuries and how everyone was feeling. They needed to get their stuff together, make sure new sticks were right and skates didn’t need a blade replaced or something.

This morning, he headed first to the stick room. He had a few new sticks he wanted to make sure were just right. Then he climbed on a bike and pedaled to Imagine Dragons’ “Radioactive,” the music pumping through the dressing room. His teammates arrived, some of them working out like him, others getting checked by the trainers, some with nagging small injuries, strains, and pulled muscles from the game the other night, or longer-term things they were still working on. Then they all changed and hit the ice for the skate.

He was always the first one on the ice and the last one off. He set an example for the rest of the team. He worked hard and expected the rest of his teammates to work hard too. Right now on this losing streak, he was working extra hard, trying to motivate everyone.

This wasn’t an intense practice like other days, just a good way to get the blood flowing and work on a few things. Today, Coach had them working on their power play, then Assistant Coach Al Bosco worked with him on face-offs, dropping pucks in front of him in rapid succession, over and over again.

The stands were mostly empty. A group of media people had congregated in a bunch of seats near center ice. Some of the Aces staff were wandering in and out, working on various things in preparation for game night. The scratch of skate blades and the crack of the puck on sticks echoed among the calls between players and coaching staff on the ice. The team skated around now, taking shots at both goalies, one at either end. Marc lined up a shot and drilled the puck at Stoykers in the net, and grinned when it sailed past his glove hand top shelf. Beauty.

Brent shook his head, but the truth was, he liked it when Marc challenged him. With Marc having one of the best shots in the NHL, Brent liked getting tested like that. It made him better.

Marc skated until everyone else had left the ice, then followed them to the dressing room and stripped off his jersey and helmet, replacing it with an Aces ball cap. Still wearing the Aces performance shirt he wore beneath his jersey, he met with the media in the dressing room to talk about the game that night and their crappy start to the season and what they were expecting from the Boston Bruins. He was pretty sick of talking about why they were losing games but had to hold in his annoyance and be patient with the media.

“Yeah, they’re a good team,” he said into the numerous microphones and phones in front of his face. “They’re well coached and they defend well. It’s gonna be a good game.” He listened to another question, thought about it, and responded. “Sure, they’re a good skating team. We have to be ready to skate and take our game to them, and not get caught in their style. We just have to be patient and confident in our system. We know that when it works, we win games.”

The only question was, why wasn’t it working?

Then the team met to look at some videos and go over a few things in preparation for the game that night. They focused again on power play videos, since they’d been struggling on the power play lately. By the time they were done, it was noon and lunch had been set up in the players’ lounge for them.

Marc loaded his plate with a huge pile of pasta with tomato sauce, a couple of grilled chicken breasts, and some salad. He’d always had trouble keeping his weight up where he liked it, and tried to eat five or six thousand calories a day during the season. When he’d been drafted by the Aces eight years ago, he’d worked with a nutritionist who’d given him advice about things he should and shouldn’t eat, and he followed that to this day.

“Is your sister just here for the weekend?” Rupper asked Army as they ate.

“She says she’s moving here.” Army gave a heavy sigh. “I gotta talk to her about that.”

“Oh yeah?” Rupper’s eyes lit up and Marc noticed several of the other guys perk up.

“Your sister?” Hughie Land, a big defenseman, asked. “Cute little redhead, right?”

Marc frowned. So did Army.

“Forget it,” Army growled at Hughie. “All of you.” He looked around the room. “My sister is off-limits. You know the rule.”