Page 57 of Faking the Goal

"That's what you're using one on?"

"Don't judge my questions. Answer them."

He looks ahead as we continue across the ice. "When I was six."

"Six?"

"That counts as a follow-up."

My mouth drops open. "Oh, fuck off. It absolutely does not."

"You asked another question."

"It was an expression of surprise."

"It had a question mark."

"Are you seriously rationing my punctuation now?"

He glances at me. "Do you want your other two?"

I press my lips together.

This man is evil.

Kentaro gives my hand a slight tug when I start drifting sideways, bringing me back toward him without interrupting his stride.

"My grandfather took me skating when I was little," he says after a moment. "He played goalie when he was younger. Nothing professional, just local leagues. He taught me how to skate, then eventually put me in front of a net."

I wasn't expecting him to give me that much, and for once, there's something personal behind the hockey player everyone already knows about. Something I wouldn't find buried in his stats or an old article online.

I make a mental note to remember every word before moving on to my next question.

"What do you love most about being a goalie?"

He takes a moment to think about it. "The pressure."

I wasn't expecting that.

"Most people don't love pressure."

"You do."

My head turns toward him. "Excuse me?"

"You chase stories people don't want to give you. You keep coming back after being told no." His gaze flicks briefly toward me. "You obviously like pressure."

Well.

Apparently I'm getting analyzed during my own interview now.

"This isn't about me, Sunshine."

"You asked."

I glare at him before concentrating on my skating again.

He continues after a moment. "As a goalie, you don't get to disappear when things go wrong. You can play well for fifty-nine minutes, stop everything they throw at you, but if you let one through when the game is tied, that's the one everyone remembers."