Page 58 of Faking the Goal

His expression stays serious as he continues. "Especially when it comes down to the last few minutes. A breakaway. A penalty shot. Overtime. Everyone's watching you because they know one save can keep the whole team in the game."

He adjusts his grip on my hand when I wobble but otherwise keeps moving.

"Some goalies hate that kind of pressure. I don't. I like knowing they're depending on me. If everything comes down to one shot, I want to be the one standing between the puck and the net." His gaze shifts toward me. "If we lose, I'll deal with it. But if there's still a chance to win, I want that chance in my hands."

For someone who practically had to be dragged into this feature, that's probably the most he's voluntarily told me about himself since we started.

And it's actually a damn good answer.

Because it tells me more about Kentaro than his save percentage ever could.

He doesn't just perform well under pressure. He wants it. He wants to be the person everyone can depend on when everything is about to go to shit.

Which, now that I'm starting to know him a little better, makes perfect fucking sense.

Kentaro likes control. I've noticed it in almost everything he does. The strict schedule he keeps, the way he trains, the way he approaches school, even these ridiculous skating lessons. He doesn't half-ass anything. If he's going to do something, he wants to do it right, and apparently that includes teaching a woman with the balance of a newborn giraffe how to skate.

And for someone who acts like he'd rather be left alone ninety percent of the time, he takes responsibility seriously. He could've kept making this feature impossible for me. Instead, once he finally gave me his word that he'd cooperate, he rearranged his schedule, set aside his lunch hour every day, and actually showed up.

Maybe that's what I've been getting wrong about him.

I always assumed his seriousness came from being uptight and controlling because, well... look at him. The man probably schedules his bowel movements.

But maybe he just doesn't like letting people down once they're counting on him.

I glance at him as he skates beside me, looking completely unaffected by the fact that he just gave me something considerably more useful than another rehearsed answer about teamwork and giving a hundred percent.

Huh.

There's more to Grumpy Goalie than permanent resting asshole face after all.

I tuck that away for later and move on before I accidentally burn one of my precious questions on a follow-up.

"One left," he reminds me.

"I know. I'm thinking."

"Think while moving."

"I'm multitasking."

"You stopped skating."

I look down.

Goddammit.

I take my time with the last one because I don't want another hockey question. I already have weeks to ask him about games, training, stats, the Frozen Four, his NHL plans. If I'm going to get one answer he normally wouldn't give me, I want something that tells me who he is when he's not wearing thirty pounds of goalie equipment.

"What makes you happy?"

Kentaro looks at me.

I grin. "That's the question."

"You're serious?"

"Very."