CHAPTER FIVE

F inn

The new guy has the same wide-eyed, sparkling-eyed look as most rookies. In fact, his bright green eyes are even more wide-eyed, and I find myself smiling up at him. He has short, dark hair, and I wonder if they would feel spiky beneath my fingers. He flashes a wide smile, but I don't miss how he fiddles with his hoodie. The guy is nervous, and I want to reassure him.

I hope this will go well.

Only some guys can handle joining the NHL. Mindset is huge, and Noah wouldn't be the first to fumble his time here. The only thing worse than not being known by one's heroes is to be known by them...and disliked. Though Coach is super cool, no one wants the force of his disappointment.

"It's good you're here now," I tell him. "Sometimes people get called up on game day. Our next game isn't until tomorrow."

His face pales.

Shit.

I didn't mean to make him nervous.

"And we're playing in Boston," I say. "Against Buffalo. No biggie."

A frown shoots over his face, and the distance between his brows narrow. "I'm not scared."

"Of course not." My heart skitters anyway, because I like making people comfortable, not uncomfortable. I flash my most reassuring smile. "Then we're going to play some Western Conference games. Vegas, LA and San Jose."

"Cool."

"You, um, probably read the schedule already."

He nods, then fiddles more with his hoodie. It's gray and oversized, and something about it looks wrong.

I realize the issue. "You need some Blizzards gear. Come!"

I drag him from the locker room. We peek into the various exercise rooms, some facing the Charles. The air fills with the whirr of treadmills and murmurs of men.

"Wow."

"Cool, huh. But then that's what happens when one of the richest guys in the world buys your team."

"Have you met Tanaka?" Noah asks.

"Oh, God, no. He doesn't meet with us plebs. I see him sometimes. And I guess technically I met him, but we've never had a conversation or something."

Noah nods.

I get him set up with Blizzards jerseys, Blizzards sweatpants, Blizzards everything.

"Get dressed," I say.

"Now?"

I raise an eyebrow, and pink invades his cheeks. He slides off his no-name gray sweatpants and slides on his new blue Blizzards one. Then he exchanges his black t-shirt for a white t-shirt with the Blizzards logo. His nipples form stiff peaks. Guess it's colder here than I thought, or maybe the Blizzards need to start making their gear with thicker fabric.

He frowns at his sweatshirt .

"You don't need to worry about that now," I say. "Not necessary when we work out."

He gives a relieved nod, and I stifle a smile. Newbies are adorable.

I drag him to the mirror so he can see how awesome he looks. I pull him in front of me, since the mirror isn't wide, and I want to see his expression. "See you're an NHL player."

"I am," he says, his voice soft and filled with wonder.

I grin at his reflection. "You are."

His t-shirt has a wrinkle, and I pull it down, sliding the ends toward his hips. My fingers zing, and his face pales.

Maybe he doesn't like to be touched.

"Sorry," I murmur, stepping away. "Sometimes I'm a bit much."

"I don't think you're too much," he says.

"No?"

He nods, and his green eyes dilate. They're super green, and I wish I knew plants better so I could ask him what shade they most resemble, but then decide that he might think that question is weird.

I mean, I think that question is weird.

But maybe I'll browse my mother's gardening books next time I'm home.

The door slams open, and Noah lurches forward.

Dmitri enters, giving us a strange look.

"Ah. This is Dmitri Volkov," I say.

Dmitri glowers, and Noah shrinks.

"He's, um, not as scary as he looks," I assure him.

"Ha." Dmitri shakes his head. "Of course, I am as scary as I look. I am Russian defenseman."

"Um, yes." I gesture to Noah. "This is Noah."

"The rookie." Dmitri smirks, then heads for the weights.

Noah shadows me for the rest of the day, listening as I explain everything about the arena, expounding upon the cafeteria and best foods in potentially excessive detail. When he's been thoroughly briefed, a task that technically one of the admin people could do, we go to one of the exercise rooms. A few rebounders sit against the wall, though most of the room is filled with weights and machines.

I like this. I like helping new people. Something about Noah's shyness which he's trying to hide and wide-eyed enthusiasm draws me in. He's not cool—not like Dmitri or Axel, but I find myself grinning at him.

I set him up on the treadmill next to me. Weights clank, grunts grow more frequent, and chatter diminishes, as everyone gets further into their workouts.

Coach H announces he's moving Axel up a line to replace Isaiah, sliding Jason into his place. Noah will be on the third line.

"You know what we need?" I announce. "Party at my place!"

"You threw a party yesterday," Troy reminds me.

"Yeah, but that was a general party. This is a welcome-Noah-to-Boston party. Totally different."

"You want another shot at banging Madison," Troy says, and Noah gives me a curious look.

"Hey. That's no way to talk about a lady. Besides, it's all about the tension." I fluff my hair, satisfied smirk in place. "Now, are you in? "

"Course I am," Troy says, and I soon have a chorus of yesses , awesomes and can't waits.

I jump onto the rebounder. "This is going to be the best."

After all, what could possibly go wrong at a party?