His expression didn't change.
Instead, he casually nudged the puck with the blade of his stick and pushed off, his skates gliding effortlessly across the ice.
He circled lazily, weaving the puck from one side of his stick to the other with absurd precision. It looked effortless, as if the puck belonged there, obeying every flick of his wrist.
He didn't even glance down. His eyes remained on me.
"So..." he drawled. "Looking for that asshole ex of yours?"
I frowned.
The puck continued dancing across the ice as he skated another slow circle, never once sending it toward the net.
"What makes you think I'm here for him?" I called back, my voice echoing through the nearly empty arena.
He let out a quiet scoff. "The fact that you got so pathetically worried about him."
Another effortles
