That static-electricity shock of oh-shit-he-was-not-going-to-like-this sizzled up the back of his neck. “So what’s the new one?”

The smile on Lucy’s face in response to his question would have scared the meanest goon in the league; it sure as hell had him prepping for a body blow.

“You two are going to room together on the road and you’ll go to dinner together.” Lucy turned her gaze on Shelby. “And our own intrepid correspondent from The Biscuit will be with you every step of the way to document and share with fans on the Ice Knights’ social media hub.”

It was an illegal hit to the head, and it stunned him into silence so solid that he would have sworn all his automatic bodily functions—his heartbeat, the ability to breathe, the little zaps of information from his brain that told his body how to work—stopped doing what they were supposed to and said, To hell with it.

“Fuck no,” he and Christensen said at the same time.

“Oh look, you two are agreeing with each other already.” Lucy clapped in sarcastic glee. “I’m overwhelmed by the power of this moment.”

Everyone in the SUV fell silent after that. Ian’s gaze met Christensen’s in the rearview mirror and held for a moment before the other man looked away. Yeah, this was not going to work. Ever.

“How much coverage are you wanting?” Shelby asked, her quiet voice sounding resigned.

“Three to five posts a day,” Lucy said. “This is going to be the bromance that takes the hockey world by storm, and we will control every moment of it.”

Christensen scoffed. “People are going to see right through it.”

“Then you two had better make it realer than real,” Lucy responded.

“Oh, come on,” Ian said, unable to stop the bitter words from coming out. “You’ve been faking it for years; you should be a pro at it, Christensen.”

The other man’s grip on the steering wheel went white-knuckled. “I wasn’t lying about a damn thing, Petrov.”

Yeah, like he would ever believe that. “Whatever lies you have to tell yourself so you can sleep at night.”

“Boys,” Lucy cut in. “Stop glaring at me, Ian. I’m impervious, and it’s just going to give you a headache. Don’t smirk, Alex. You get in a wreck because of your speeding, and my husband will be the first firefighter here with the jaws of life to get you out just so he can beat you to a pulp. Understood?”

The SUV slowed perceptibly.