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“No.” I leaned forward. “He’s a food snob. If he weren’t playing pro, I bet he’d be a food critic.”

“No shit.” Carson chuckled. “Okay. That’s good.”

I gave him a few more specific tips about some of the guys, and then I said, “The good news is, you guys have so much potential.” I ran through some of the Hawks’ stats for the season, as well as what Holden Hansley could bring to the team.

When I finished talking, I realized that Carson was staring at me, mouth agape.

“What?” I asked, lifting a shoulder. “What?” I asked again, fighting a smile this time.

“Have you been sent here to torture me?”

I tilted my head. “Torture you?”

He gestured toward me with his beer. “A hot girl who loves hockey, maybe even more than I do, and has dimples? You’re like my own personal kryptonite.”

Now it was my turn to laugh. “Is that so?”

“Mm.” He sipped his beer, watching me over the rim of the bottle.

His gray eyes locked on mine, and I didn’t back down. Didn’t glance away.

What am I doing?

There were a number of hot guys at the party, and I was flirting with this one? The only one who was truly off-limits.

Before I could respond, he asked, “Can I have your number?”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” Even so, I found myself wanting to say yes.

If he was interested in a hookup, he wouldn’t be asking for my number. He’d be edging closer, suggesting we find a room. So I didn’t think this was about sex.

“Because of your brother?” he asked.

“That’s part of it,” I admitted.

“And the other part?”

“I don’t want to give you the wrong impression, but I’m not interested in dating. And if I were, I definitely wouldn’t be interested in dating a hockey player.” Been there. Done that.

“Ouch.” He sucked in air, planting his palm over his heart as if he’d been wounded.

I laughed. “Oh, come on.”

A guy like Carson was probably swimming in puck bunnies. The only reason he was interested in me was because I was off-limits, forbidden fruit. My brother couldn’t stand Carson, and guys like him enjoyed a challenge.

“I’m not interested in dating either. And if I were—” He grinned, and I tried not to smile at the fact that he was parroting my words. “If I were,” he continued, “I wouldn’t be interested in a long-distance relationship.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “I wasn’t under the impression that you do relationships.”

I wasn’t judging him. I didn’t do relationships either, not since my last one had failed so spectacularly.

He chuckled. “You’re not wrong about that. Hockey is my priority, and not many women can understand that, despite what they might say.”

I nodded, understanding perhaps better than he realized. It was a big reason why I hadn’t been in a serious relationship in years. There’d been no point even trying.

Because typically, when I attempted to date, one of three things happened. One, most guys were intimidated when they found out what I did for a living. Two, they assumed I was attracted to women, solely because I was athletic. If that had been the case, that would’ve made my life a lot easier. I was surrounded by strong, gorgeous, talented women in my line of work. Unfortunately, I was attracted to men. Or three, guys said they loved hockey but then whined about my travel and the long hours. It was exhausting.

“So now that we’ve established that I’m not trying to date you…” His grin was cheeky.