I can't even name it with certainty. Feels like a riddle I was meant to solve, but I'm not usually attracted to opaque feelings. I've had enough uncertainty in my life to cure me of any urge to play games off the ice. 
Not that she's playing games with me.
But I'm not sure I'd mind if she did. And that is definitely concerning.
"Did you want to go put on some clothes?" She gestures to my bare chest.
I step back and tip my head, indicating that she can enter the apartment. "You're not on my calendar."
"I know," she says as she steps through, stops short, and then does a full circle. "It's so weird being here when it's not Nathaniel's."
"Nathaniel?"
"My older brother. This was his apartment until he moved into his house with Hollyn and Kinsley."
I go to the mantel above the fireplace, which had seemed comical to me yesterday. Why would anyone need a fireplace here? My driver told me the old buildings can get a chill during the rainy season—whenever that is. 
I'd sit on one of the couches, but I'm already dripping water everywhere, and I don't want to wreck any of the furniture that came with the apartment. Fully furnished had felt like a bonus—no need to clear out my place in California—but now I'm wondering if I'll always be conscious of every piece in the apartment belonging to someone else.
She sinks into one of the armchairs across from where I'm standing and runs her hands along her thighs. There's a weird energy coming off her—less sure than she appeared last night. 
"And you're here because..." I prompt.
Her gaze skitters over me, and I consider getting a shirt and then discard the notion. I didn't know she was coming, and it's a bare chest. It's not like I answered the door with no pants on.
"I thought maybe we got off on the wrong foot last night."
"So, you are a sports trainer?"
"No, and I'm sorry that my father and Alex misled you. I didn't know they'd done that."
"Alex," I say, unable to hide my surprise. "The king?"
"He's just Alex to me, mostly." She lets out a little laugh. "I should probably be more careful, but I've known him forever. Once a pompous ass and now somewhat tolerable. He's not going to behead me or anything for calling him Alex." 
"Good to know," I say, running a hand through my damp hair. "My manager's on it."
"On what?"
"Telling them they need to fulfill the contract."
She sinks a little deeper into the couch, and I try to push down my annoyance that she appears to be getting more comfortable here, not less. Her suggestion that I get dressed seems more like a warning around the length of this conversation than a suggestion.
"I know I'm not who you asked for—what you're entitled to—but I know I can do what you need, if you're willing to give me a chance." 
When our gazes connect, something in her blue depths causes a pang across my chest that's too similar to how I feel when I've been off the ice too long. Restlessness. Like I'm missing out on something I know is great. Which is fucking weird. I shake my head and raise my eyebrows, wondering how I can keep whatever's happening inside me from getting its hooks too deep in me. I've got one passion, one love, and that's hockey. 
"My career is extremely important to me—the most important thing to me. Staying healthy is the only way I get the longevity I want."
"That's true for most professional athletes, isn't it?"