“Vas was pretty excited you were going to come. Texted me that I should be nice to you because you guys are good friends.” The careful emphasis he places on the word makes me clench my jaw. I’m staring so hard at the ice, my eyes ache. “I’m happy to hear he’s got such a good friend outside of hockey. Vas is just the best, isn’t he? Nice guy. Tall. And don’t even get me started on those thighs. Hockey thighs—am I right?” “Hey,” I snap, turning toward him and already forgetting my vow of silence. “How about you keep your eyes on Max Kuemper’s thighs and off Henri’s, got it? Unless you want
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