“Less than perfect tits?” I asked, choking on my water.

“I mean, yeah.” She pointed at her own. “Like these small little B-cup babies. They’re not even tits. They're like tit-lets.”

“Tit-lets?” Paige asked, and I was trying so hard not to laugh and completely failing.

“Yes. Like the Chiclets gum? Those small little things? That’s what these itty-bitties are, and I’m pretty sure Braxton was attracted to me, and everything I didn’t have… so why can’t Kane be attracted to you and everything you do have?”

She made it sound like a valid question. But Sophie was crazy.

“Enough tits talk,” Paige said. “Ilsa’s waking up.” She grabbed the monitor she’d set next to the edge of the pool and climbed to her feet. “I’m going to go get her and be back in five.” She pointed at Sophie. “And you’ll leave this poor girl alone. Let them figure out their own relationship drama. You and your tits need to let them work it out for themselves.”

She grinned and her face was full of mischief and fake innocence. “Why? No one else on the team lets the guys do that.”

Awesome.

I pictured Kane getting his own brand of personal relationship therapy and cringed.

Not sure that’d go over well at all.

Twenty-Two

Kane

My ass plopped down on the bench and I grabbed a green Gatorade bottle filled with water in front of me. “Your ass is done for the game,” Coach Vik said as he paced behind the team, sweat drenching down the sides of his face and onto the collar of his dress shirt.

Pretty sure our coach was the only man who could sweat in an arena built for ice, but whatever. “Got it.”

We were up by three, with only ten minutes left. Sure, we could still lose, but I’d had my time on the ice. The other lines needed some work, so no harm, no foul.

Bromann slid down next to me and tapped his stick between his skates. “Good game. Really good game.”

“You’re better than I thought you’d be.”

“Fuck you.” He shoved into my shoulder. “Don’t be a dick.”

I laughed and squirted him in the face with the water bottle. “You know I’m shitting you. But you played a good game. Smooth and focused. Just what we need to make it.”

“Damn straight.” He slapped the water bottle out of my hands and we both leaned forward.

Braxton stole the puck from San Jose’s winger and took off, passing it to Seth McCabe right before he got tripped by their defense.

“Come on. Come on.” I wanted Braxton to do well. There’d been some quiet chatter in the off-season about him being traded for Sven Klemmons from New York. So far, it hadn’t happened, but he wasn’t as sharp this season as he had been previously. I didn’t know if our team could survive losing him and Max all in one season.

McCabe passed it back to Braxton, but San Jose got there first, slapped at the puck and our third line defenders, Calix Weekes and Ryan Easton, charged after it. Easton grabbed it first, and I was surprised with how strong he’d been. As a new recruit, the kid was only twenty, but every time he got on the ice, he didn’t show a single ounce of hesitation.