“If it’s really a problem for you, I’ll just sleep on the floor.” He huffs, tugging his sweatshirt off. “Seriously? You’re an NHL superstar who’s a week out from the start of a new season. We’re not messing up your joints or your alignment by making you sleep on a wooden fucking floor. You take the bed. I’ll just take a blanket and go sleep in the chair out on the dock.”
