“What you’re wearing. What do you call it?”

He looked down. “A shirt.” He’d gotten the Henley because it was soft and comfortable. Because he hated shopping, he’d gotten twelve of them in three shades. Between these shirts, his collection of sports-related T-shirts, and a healthy collection of workout stuff, he was pretty much set when he wasn’t in uniform on the ice or in one of the stupid suits Coach insisted they wear before and after games. She thought it showed off his guns, huh? He crossed his arms again, being sure to tuck his hands under his biceps to really set them off. And bingo, he saw it. A rusty chuckle escaped. “Never noticed that before.”

“Believe me,” she said, her cheeks a little pink. “Other people did.”

Other people, huh? Or maybe just Shelby? Did his chest puff? Did he flex a bit? Did he start getting thoughts he didn’t need to have? Yeah, he did. Sue him. “Why does it make you so mad?”

She rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t.”

“It sure seems to bother you.” Yeah. He wasn’t convinced, especially since she wasn’t looking at his face. Nope. Her gaze had traveled lower. “Or maybe it’s more that it gets you hot and bothered?”

Did he sound like his grandpa saying that phrase? Sure shooting (another PopPop special), but he leaned into it, enjoying feeling something other than seriously pissed off for the first time in weeks.

Her cheeks flamed. “You’re obnoxious.”

“And hungry.” He waited a few seconds to see if her blush could darken any more. “Which is why I am about to make us dinner.”

“I think I liked you grunty better.” But that twitchy trying-to-fight-off-a-smile of hers was back.

“Steak,” he said, figuring it was time to get back to the matter at hand. “Yes or no?”

She sighed, sending the puff of her short wavy hair up from her forehead. “Yes.”

“Perfect.” He walked over to the fireplace and set the metal screen down on the two bricks that had already been in the fireplace. “Maybe if you’re eating, you can’t spread all the secrets you’ve ever heard about me.”

You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?

This time she grunted, and it didn’t take much skill to translate it as a snarly little fuck you, especially since when he looked over his shoulder, he caught her flipping him off. Oh God, this was almost as good as busting his teammates’ chops in the locker room. It was just the sort of thing he’d been missing since all hell had broken loose—well, one of them. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to enjoy a little trash-talking fun. He wasn’t about to ruin his mood by thinking about his now-dead friendship with Christensen.