Leandre Archambault had the audacity to clap him on the back.
“Tough shot, Murphy.” He almost kept a straight face when he said it.
Bastard.
“Ignore him.” Axel was in his face before Kyle could fire back something he’d regret.
The Finn dropped a heavy arm around Kyle’s shoulders and steered him away from their teammates as they headed toward the tunnel to the locker rooms and workout facility.
A foul mood had dogged him ever since he and Marissa had exchanged a terse good-night when he’d dropped her off at her car yesterday. He’d hoped that a good hard practice this morning would take the edge off, but if anything, he felt fiercer than ever.
“I don’t miss that shot,” he told Ax, even though his foster brother knew it as well as he did. “Leandre isn’t taking the starting position from me because of one missed goal. I’m not worried about him. But I don’t know what the hell went wrong just now, and that …”
Scares the crap out of me.
He didn’t finish the sentence because he didn’t need to. Ax would understand because hockey was a language they spoke fluently. Hell, some sports writers had suggested they had a telepathic connection on the ice. Their shots to each other were as fluid as any in the game, since they had a sixth sense for where each other would be.
“What’s wrong today?” Ax let go of him and pulled his helmet off. A dark red U-shaped scar on his cheek added to the intimidation factor of an already big guy.
The coaches were heading in now, the ice clear of everyone but them. Outside the glass boards, Kyle could see the rink was about half full of fans who’d come to see a Phantoms’ practice. Too bad he’d put on such a crappy show.
Ax wanted to know what was wrong?
“Marissa Collins.” His problem had a name. “The woman from the fundraiser.”
“You’re kidding me, right?” Circling Kyle on his skates, Axel gave his shoulder a light punch. “It’s you who always said women complicate the game. I didn’t buy into it until the last one cheated on me and I started to play like crap. Now?” He made a decisive sweep with his hand. “No women while we’re in the play-offs. End of sentence.”
“Yeah. That’s the principle I’m working under, too.” Although if Marissa had shown any inclination to take things further last night, he had the feeling his resolution would burn to ash in the face of the heat they generated.
“What do you mean?” Axel stopped, glowering. “You said she was married.”
“She wears a wedding ring as a decoy because she’s a professional matchmaker and she doesn’t want to attract attention.”
“Doesn’t she know some guys hit on married women just for the hell of it?”
Unfortunately, they had a guy like that on the team.
“I’m not sure. Either way, nothing happened between us.” Other than Marissa giving him a matchmaking questionnaire to fill out. The memory still ticked him off. “But I can’t stop thinking about her.”
“Interesting.” Axel nodded toward the tunnel, where the fans were now clustered by the players’ exit, hoping for autographs or the chance to say hello. “You played it safe with her, yet you’re still paying the price for it today.”
More like she’d played it safe with him. But the end result remained the same. His game sucked eggs and he needed to get on track before the next series in Pittsburgh. The Phantoms franchise hadn’t brought him here to play the way he had this morning.
They halted their conversation as they reached the mouth of the tunnel, where fans could stand above them and reach down with programs to autograph. Mostly, on a practice day, they came to just shake hands or exchange a word. These were the hard-core fans, local die-hards or faraway supporters who’d made a trip to catch a couple of games and a practice. A few hockey groupies showed up every day, a handful of women who’d had a hard go of it in life and enjoyed the sense of family that a sports team offered.
Ax took as much time as Kyle did, shooting the breeze with some, signing pucks and flyers for others. When they finished, they trudged over the carpet on their skates toward the locker room.
“Maybe the rules don’t apply to this woman,” Axel observed, picking up where they’d left off their conversation.
“Marissa?” Axel had managed to get her in his head again just when he’d avoided thinking about her for at least five minutes.
“The matchmaker,” he clarified, his round vowels still carrying the sound of Helsinki. “We know it kills your game to be with the wrong females. But maybe there are other women—the ones you’re meant to be with—who mess with your head when you avoid the inevitable.”
“You think I should break the No Women in Play-off Season rule?” Pausing outside the locker room with a big Phantoms logo on the double doors, Kyle wasn’t entirely sure he could win over Marissa even if he caved.
“Well,” Axel said, grinning, his new front tooth blending seamlessly with the rest after being knocked out in a game the week before. “You see how you play when you’re not with her. I would take a chance and see if being with her straightens you out. So to speak.”
The Finn was surprisingly gifted in the double entendre for a foreign dude, but then, he’d been around a lot of smack-talking, innuendo-loving, crude conversationalists in U.S. hockey clubs.
Then again, he probably learned everything he knew from living with five brothers in the Murphy household.
“What if that doesn’t help? What if being with her makes it worse?”
Tm no expert, Murph. I’m doing my best here.” He punched open the locker room door. “But I think it’s worth a try. You don’t want to shoot like that tomorrow night.”
No kidding. But how the hell was he supposed to call her again after the way she’d shut him down last night, saying they’d made a mistake? He couldn’t exactly fill out the damn dating survey. That would make it look like he wanted to date anyone but her. She wouldn’t even buy it.
As they entered the locker room, all eyes turned his way. At first, he figured the guys were gauging his mood after the missed shot attempt. But then Alexandre, the backup goalie, stepped forward.
“Murph, you know the ladies, they wait for you.” The kid’s Russian accent was thick and his syntax a little sketchy, but Kyle could usually figure out what he meant.
Now he wasn’t so sure. Twenty teammates wouldn’t be standing around gawking over a couple of women waiting for a player.
“What ladies?” He looked around, hoping someone else would clue him in with more details.
Leave it to his smirky position rival, Archambault, to clarify.
“Professional matchmakers.” Leandre was already finished with his shower and reeking of cheap cologne in his street clothes. “Apparently Marissa was just the first in a long line. I went out to the lobby a minute ago and you have your own private fan club of matchmakers waiting. One of them has a video camera. I thought she was a reporter.”
The last freaking thing he needed before a game when his play was already off.
“You can walk out behind me,” Axel joked, flexing enough muscle to provide a human shield for anyone on the team.
Kyle wasn’t sure how he’d get out of the arena without speaking to them. But he was damn sure where he’d go when he left the rink. Marissa Collins had somehow gotten him into this mess. So she, in all her infinite matchmaking wisdom, would tell him how to get out of it.
After that, he was going to kiss her until the team flight left for Pittsburgh. With any luck, a thorough taste of Marissa would take the edge off. Because this