Hot Shot (Hot as Puck Book 2)

15. Blake

Parry Sound is like a lot of towns—big or small—in Canada.

Hockey mad.

Especially so seeing how one of the greatest players of all time was born here.

We didn’t even get out of the boat of a car Gannon Byrd owns before the first person approached for an autograph. I’m pretty sure they thought Bran was Gannon at first. Especially after one of the locals mentioned the car once belonged to his late grandmother.

The true hockey fans get a bit flustered and inquisitive when they work out who we are, that we both play—played—professionally. They want to know if we’ll play again.

And when the fanatics realize I’m one of the owners of the new expansion team, the questions about Bran and me together get more specific. Is Bran going to play for my team? Who else are we looking to sign? Have we chosen our team colors? Our mascot?

Bran deflects well, in spite of not having been in the spotlight for years. Like riding a bike, the media training he was put through in the past, not to mention the times Dad gave us advice on navigating our celebrity, click into place and I couldn’t be more proud of him.

I can see his discomfort, but I’m sure it isn’t obvious to anyone else. And for the most part, once we dodge a question or two, people give up digging and offer advice on where to eat, what to see in town.

That’s how we find ourselves eating at Mama Jo’s. Stepping through the door is like stepping through time. Booths that seat up to six line one wall, square tables surrounded by four chairs fill the center of the room, round stools with shiny legs run the length of the counter on the opposite wall to the booths… the furnishings aren’t the only thing pointing to the time-warp crossing the threshold sucks you into.

It’s the uniforms the waitresses wear, their hairdos, the soda machine and pie display on the far end of the counter.

If some Hollywood director is looking for authentic sixties diner style they need to go no further, just have to step through the door of Mama Jo’s.

Oh, and they need to be sure to order the daily special.

I have it on good authority that everything Mama Jo cooks is worth the price but she puts a unique twist on the daily special that makes it impossible to pass up.

How do I know this? Harold told me. He said it in a whisper, his hand covering his mouth as though someone might read his lips, when he imparted the ‘town secret’.

Apparently, they don’t give this information to just any old tourist, but seeing how I brought home more than one gold medal for the country, even though I insist on playing my team out of the south, I earned the insider knowledge.

I had to hold in my laughter. The smirk on Bran’s face didn’t help, but I managed to keep a straight face and thank Harold. Promise I would indeed order the daily special.

A special that turns out to be a classic cheeseburger with special sauce and fries, followed by butter tarts with homemade vanilla ice cream. Marg, our waitress, flushes pink when she looks at Bran and the shy smile she sends his way once she’s written down our order doesn’t go unnoticed either.

When she leaves our booth to put in our order, I lean forward and whisper, “I think you have an admirer.”

“Marg? Yeah, she’s one of the people I’ve seen more than once since I’ve been here. She delivers for the grocery store on Mondays.”

“Only Mondays?”

“Yes.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Whenever I call in an order, I get a tut-tut if it’s not Monday. Arthur, the grocery store owner, seems to think Marg and I would make a good pair and isn’t afraid to let me know.”

“And how does he come to that conclusion?”

“I’m told Marg and Arthur’s daughter are best friends and Marg has mentioned on more than one occasion how nice she thinks I am.”

“You tip well.”

“What?”

“I bet you tip the delivery person well, that would make anyone smitten.”

Chuckling, Bran mutters, “I’m sure it’s a little more than that.”

“She’s got to be twice your age.”

“I like older women.” He winks, the smirk on his lips making me want to lean further over and kiss him.

I ignore the urge and say, “You do.”

“Yeah, your mom is the best woman I know.”

His words have me laughing and nostalgia rolls through me.

This used to be us.

Banter and jokes and having a good time.

I hope it’s a good sign.

I hope Bran can forgive himself for all that’s happened because the more time I spend with him, the more he opens up, the more I realize I don’t need to. If I ever did.

My feelings for Bran have always been complicated. For a while he was like another younger brother, annoying as hell and one I had to compete with on the ice. Then somewhere around the time he hit his senior year of high school, something changed.

Maybe nothing really changed, maybe I just opened my eyes and saw him as more than a competitor. Saw him outside of being my brothers’ friend. Somewhere in there, he became my friend.

His second year of college cemented our relationship. His struggle to cope with his mom’s death sent him into a spiral and I was the closest in our family to his location.

Since I’d left home, it was the only time we had lived in the same city.

We spent more time together that year than we had the rest of our lives put together.

“Hey.” Bran’s hand lands on mine. “You okay?”

“Yes. Sorry. Just thinking.”

“About what a great date you’re on, I hope.”

“Oh, this is a date? I thought—” His hand squeezing mine cuts me off.

“I said I wouldn’t push and I won’t. That was a joke. A bad one I guess.”

“Not a bad one. And we can call it a date.”

“You’re going to be my boss. How does that work? Dating the boss?

“No clue. We don’t have any rules about dating within the org. It would be pretty hypocritical of us with Oakley and Walker.”

“True. How—” He’s interrupted by Marg delivering our drinks.

“Your food will be out in a minute. Can I get you anything else?”

“No. I’m good. Blake?”

“I’m good too. Thanks, Marg.”

“You’re welcome. Just holler if you think of something I can get you.” Her words are accompanied by a look of yearning sent in Bran’s direction.

“You really do have an admirer,” I say when we’re alone again.

“I don’t know what to do about that. It’s easy when she delivers the groceries. I pay her and shut the door.”

“You do not shut the door in her face!”

“Not in her face…” He visibly cringes. “Okay, maybe in her face. Shit.”

Laughing, I reach for my iced tea and take a sip. “I’m sure she doesn’t see it that way. Not with the way she’s still looking at you.”

“I’ve discovered I can’t influence other people’s minds.”

“To a degree…”

“I know, my behavior toward them can affect what they think but really, is that in my control?”

“No. I guess not.”

“And this conversation took a somber turn. Enough of that. Tell me about Oakley and Walker.”

“Well, their story is one for the books, that’s for sure.”

“So tell me.”

“We sent her to get his signature on a contract to coach the Rogues and instead she got his signature on a marriage certificate.”

“Wait. They met and got married straight away?”

“No. Yes. Let me think… Two weeks? I think it was two weeks but that’s not what the public believes.”

“Oh?”

“We signed him to be the face of Rogue’s new elite athlete line almost a year ago. Before his injuries. As far as the world knows they met then, and the friendship developed over time, culminating in their wedding last week.”

“I don’t know either of them very well, then or now, but what I do know makes me think they would be a good match.”

“They are. You’ll see for yourself when we head to Baton Rouge.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“First you’ll get to see Mom and Dad.”

“I’m looking forward to that too. Even if I’ve got some apologizing and explaining to do and I’m terrified they’ll throw me off their property the second they lay eyes on me.”

“They won’t. And once you tell them, they’ll understand.”

“I don’t need them to understand. I just need their forgiveness.”

“I’m sure you’ll get it.”

“I guess we’ll see.”

“We will. And when I’m right, I’ll be thrilled to say I told you so.”

“You always were happy to shout from the rooftops when you won.”

“Still am.”

“Which roof did you shout from when you signed the contract for the Rogues?”

“Mine.”

“Yours?”

“Yes. My house. In Baton Rouge. Then we all shouted from the top of the still under construction arena building.”

“Fitting.”

“We thought so.”

“I think so too.”

“Well, there will be more to shout about soon enough.”

“Oh, like what?”

“Each time we sign a player.”

“All of them?”

“Yes. Starting with you.”

“I’m the first?”

“You will be.”