Chapter 4
ADRIAN
The fact that I’ve stopped sleeping with other people freaks me out. So for months, there’s been a massive effort on my part to push past this pesky Sonya problem I’ve developed.
To that end, I book dinners with other women. Something about it being a numbers game. Problem is that by the time I’ve paid the bill, I’m already offering to call my dates a cab so they can get home safely.
Most of them are confused.
I thought we would go back to your place, I’m told multiple times. Isn’t that what you want?
Is that what I want to want? Yes.
But is that what’s happening? Fuck no, it’s not.
After another failed hookup, I’m on Quinn’s porch with a six-pack of beer hanging from my arm. I ring the doorbell.
When he opens the door and sees me, he runs an abrupt hand through his brown curls. “Cap? Did we have plans?”
“Nope.” I weasel my way inside, lifting the beer above my head. “But please drink with me while I mope!”
“Um,” he says.
That’s when I look down and notice black boots.
“You have company,” I guess. “Shit.” I’m already backing away. “I did…not expect that.”
Since playing for the Vancouver Wings, I’ve never known Quinn to date. Which is why I’m retreating as quickly as I can. “Sorry, man. I’ll get out of your hair.”
“Not on a date,” he says, waving me back inside. “Sonya’s here.”
Sonya. Is. Here.
The bane of my sex-deprived existence is in the building.
“Come in,” insists Quinn.
Like a blockhead who never learns, I follow him to the living room.
Sonya’s sitting cross-legged on his couch, snuggled in her all-black sweatsuit.
Dark makeup lines her lashes in a way that draws attention to her intense, hooded, transfixing eyes.
Her hair is pulled into a tight ponytail, and her mouth is straight with that usual unimpressed flat line.
“You,” grumbles Sonya.
I grin. “You.”
“Please be civil,” pleads Quinn. “You know my birthday is coming up.”
“That’s the only reason I’m here,” says Sonya. Looking at me, she explains, “He guilted me into coming over for game night so we can spend quality time together.”
I drop down onto the seat next to her.
“My condition was not to invite anyone else,” she emphasizes pointedly.
“But it’s for my birthday,” reasons Quinn, standing in front of us. “And it means a lot to have two people I care about with me tonight here. I can’t believe it, and it feels like I’m dreaming…”
I look at my goalie. He’s really laying it on thick and giving her puppy-dog eyes, but it apparently works, considering Sonya groans, “Stop.” She lifts her pointer finger up. “One more game. That’s all I can tolerate.”
Quinn leaps to action. He brings an armload of boxes out, adding them to the pile he’s already amassed on the floor. With focused concentration, he’s parsing through each game, trying to pick the best one to play.
Taking a beer out of the pack I brought, I offer it to Sonya.
“Why not,” she breathes out.
The can opens with a hiss. Her throat moves as she takes a sip. The way my cock twitches over a simple throat flex, I’m so fucking screwed.
My own can of cold beer should help, but it does nothing to cool me down.
“A-ha!” Quinn pulls out a deck of multi-colored cards. “I found the perfect game.”
He explains the rules.
“It’s designed for friends to get to know each other better.
We take turns pulling out a question from the deck to ask each other.
” He lifts out a card and reads it. “This one says, What’s your favorite childhood memory?
” He reads another one. “What do you most like about the other person?” He glances at Sonya’s pinched mouth and chuckles nervously.
“The questions aren’t all intense like that!
” Shuffling the deck, he randomly tries another one.
“This one says…Are you lying to yourself about anything right now?”
“Not happening,” says Sonya at the same time I say, “I love invasive vulnerability. Let’s go!”
I stride over to Quinn and help him set up, which really only involves bringing his living room table closer to the couch where Sonya sits. Two dining room chairs are placed around it. Then the deck of soul-piercing questions is dropped down like an armed bomb.
I whistle. “Is the ballerina scared?”
Sonya thuds her beer can on the table. “Screw you.”
She snatches a random card. Looking at Quinn, she asks him, “Describe what it feels like to be loved in one word.”
“Acceptance,” he says after pondering it for a few beats.
We both look at him. One-armed, I hug my goalie. Sonya walks up to him and pats him on the shoulder. “Yeah… We obviously accept you.”
“…enough to play this game properly with me without rushing through it?” Quinn wonders, rubbing at his eyes, which are peeking through his fingers and…twinkling?
“That is manipulation,” Sonya growls.
“I’m going to take that as a yes!” he says with obvious glee.
He deals out cards to each of us, starting with five apiece.
The night goes on, though not without resistance and more beer drinking. Sonya and I don’t follow the rules, even as Quinn tries to keep order.
“How are you really?” I ask the group after our third round, reading from my card. “That’s the question.”
“Delighted,” says Quinn who is smiling pleasantly to himself.
“Being punished,” grumbles Sonya.
Quinn picks another. “Who has had their heart broken?”
“All the time,” I brag. “Makes me feel alive.”
“There has to be a heart for it to be broken,” Sonya says under her breath.
Fighting back a grin, I start unbuttoning my shirt. “Want to have a listen and check if it’s in there?”
“No nudity,” exclaims Quinn. “Or I won’t order us food!”
“And I’ll gouge my eyes out,” Sonya adds.
Quinn pulls out his phone and starts looking something up. “Actually, I’m starving. Let’s order now.”
“Don’t spend the next twenty minutes looking up reviews of restaurants,” warns Sonya. “Just pick a place. Pizza preferably.”
“No way.” Quinn stands quickly. “I’m treating you two to the best meal for being here. Give me five to ten minutes, and I’ll go look on my laptop. Be right back.”
He’s gone.
It’s me and Sonya left.
My hand inches, reaching for another card on the table.
“You don’t have to,” she offers. “We could sit on our phones and not talk to each other until my brother comes back.”
I ignore her suggestion and grab three cards at once. “What is your weirdest thing you like? And what’s the kind of music you listen to when you need to relax? And what’s the perfect gift someone can give you?”
Quinn’s voice echoes through the house. “Don’t play without me! I want this game to last all night!”
Sonya ticks a finger up. “The smell of gasoline.” Then another finger. “Heavy metal.” A third one. “Superpowers, specifically the ability to fast-forward through time so I no longer have to experience this moment.”
I clear my throat, stifling my laughter—because I’m loving this. Even if some of her answers aren’t serious, we’re having more of a real conversation together. Finally. “My turn to answer—”
Sonya reaches over and knocks the cards out from my hand. “Pick new ones.”
I smirk. “Say pretty please, darling.”
“Are your survival instincts nonexistent?” she hisses. “Because I will make you pay if you extend this game any longer than it needs to be.”
I inch closer.
So does she.
Our heads are lowered.
More heat curls inside me. Fuck. I’ll have to adjust my pants at this rate. It gets worse because I think I see her gaze linger on my mouth. A rustle of her head follows. She’s breathing deeply, too.
We both reach for more cards. Our hands bump. One moment of contact. Accidental. The most casual brush of skin.
How it feels like I’m about to jump off a plane makes no sense.
I wonder if she feels the same?
Her fingers freeze over the cards, then retreat like she’s been burned.
Oh. Out of nowhere, sweat collects in my curling hands. I uncurl them and press them on my pants.
Sonya scrambles to her feet. “I—I forgot. I’ve got somewhere to be. I’m leaving. Tell Quinn I’ll make it up to him another time.”
Without another word, she sprints away.
It takes me about ten seconds to register that she’s left her purse behind. It’s half-buried under pillows. I grab it and rush to the front door. It’s left ajar. Outside, she’s already hurrying down Quinn’s front steps.
I’m out the door like a bullet, not stopping to put shoes on. “Hey!”
“What?” she calls out without turning around, both hands working the fenced gate.
“Your purse.”
My answer makes her spin around. She stabs her hand out. “Toss it to me.”
When I don’t, she rolls her eyes, trying to look exasperated, but it’s not coming across like it usually does. She’s too flushed.
“Are you really leaving like this?” I ask, stepping a bit closer. “Quinn’s excited…”
I don’t want you to leave.
Her eyes flick to the house, then back to me. Her jaw ticks. “Yeah, well, I’m not used to…”
She trails off.
“Used to what?”
“I don’t do this kind of thing.”
“What kind of thing?”
She waves a hand, like she’s trying to shove this whole conversation away. “Getting too…casual with too many people.”
I whistle low. Fuck. Ouch.
So I’m the ‘too many people.’
Something twists in my chest. “Dar—” I shake my head, smiling and stopping myself from overdoing it. “Sonya, if you’re leaving because of me, I’ll tone it down.”
“No…It’s fine. I meant…” Her eyes are going anywhere but on me. “Ballet. That’s what I need to focus on right now. And…” Sonya squares her shoulders. “For the record, Quinn won’t be too upset that I’m leaving.”
“You’re here,” she adds quickly, “and he likes you. And the whole team. I don’t personally get it, but it makes me glad. He’s found his family with the Wings.”
“You’re part of that family, too.”
Her mouth parts, and I swear she doesn’t know what to do with her face. She’s stiff, and looking at me like I just said something no one’s ever said to her before. Which is insane. Of course she’s family. It’s obvious.
But she’s not looking at me like it’s obvious.
I run a hand through my hair. “When you show up at our games, even if you’re just reading a book, Quinn always brings you up in the locker room. Every time.”
Sonya frowns. “What does he say?”
“He announces who you are to all the guys, even though all of us already know. He says, that’s my sister and she’s here.”
“Stop.” Her legs shift, she steps back a half-pace, and her chest rises and falls a little faster.
Yeah.
She’s uncomfortable with how this conversation is going.
I hate that. I really fucking hate that.
How do I fix it? I don’t know. I reach for what I know, what I’m good at. Jokes. Humor. The swagger. “You know what else Quinn wants?” I blurt out, flashing her a smirk. “He tells us not to bother you.” I shrug, making the move as lazy as I can. “I suck at following instructions.”
That gets her.
Her mouth twitches. Just the tiniest hint. “You don’t say.”
Her words drip with sarcasm.
I clock them. Memorize them.
Whatever happened inside tonight made her want to run. But me acting like she expects me to—the flirting, pushing, teasing—is resetting things back to normal.
I twirl her purse between my fingers. “You should watch me play, darling. I’m basically hockey’s hottest mixtape. Nothing but hits!”
That was corny, I know. But Sonya’s hand flies up, covering her mouth.
I narrow my eyes, stunned. Was that a laugh?
It almost was, I think.
She realizes it, too. Her expression shutters in real time like a switch got flipped.
Shit.
Sonya stiffens. “Toss my purse to me.”
I do. Because I don’t want to hold it hostage as a way of coercing her to stay. I want it to be her decision.
She catches it. Then almost rips the gate open and leaves, not looking back.
If she did, she’d see me still standing there, clutching nothing and feeling weirdly like I lost something anyway.
A few weeks later, I’m hosting a barbecue. My house is stuffed with hockey players and their loved ones. Everyone’s invited. Friends and family.
Lokhov carries around my cat. Somehow he and Diana have become friends. The defenseman comes up to me and sniffs the air. “You smell.”
“Meow.”
“Diana, don’t agree with him.” I lift my shirt up and inhale. “But also what do I smell like?”
“Oil. Grease. Gasoline. Like a mechanic.”
“I was tuning my truck earlier,” I brag.
“What’s with this metal music playing outside?” Matt asks, wandering into the kitchen to pour himself a drink.
“We’re appreciating new sounds,” I tell him.
“It’s hard to hear anyone talk.”
“Yell.”
He looks at me seriously. “You’re so odd sometimes, Cap.”
My doorbell rings. The food’s here.
As if we’ve timed it, three bodies cram by the door with their credit cards out.
“On me,” growls Lokhov.
“On me,” insists Quinn.
Elbowing them aside, I squeeze ahead to open the door. “Not a chance. It’s on me.”
Delivery drivers crowd my porch, each holding their own stack of boxes.
“You ordered…from five different spots,” says Lokhov, raising a dark eyebrow.
I shrug. “The people appreciate variety.”
“But no other cuisine?” asks Quinn.
“It’s pizza,” I say as if that explains everything.
Lokhov steps forward. “Pile them together into my hands.”
He’s intimidating enough that no one questions the logic. Somehow he’s balancing all the boxes, bravely delivering them to the starving players hanging out in my backyard.
I pay for the food. Quinn adds more on top of the multi-figure tip I’ve already given everyone.
The delivery drivers leave very happy.
Soon it’s just me and Quinn left.
“Should we close the door?” he asks.
“Sure.”
“Cap?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re not closing the door.”
Casually, I step outside into the fresh air.
“I’m just wondering if anyone else is coming by.
Emmad said he’s going to show up late. And Ryan said he’s not coming, but you know him.
He gets FOMO and crashes.” I nod towards Quinn as I settle in to lean against my stuccoed wall. “…Oh. And Sonya. Is she coming?”
Quinn’s expression shifts. A flicker of amusement. “I don’t know about the rest, but Sonya can’t make it. She’s got an important recital coming up.”
Disappointment swamps me.
Slowly, I nod again.
Quinn claps me on the shoulder. “Come on, before those savages eat all the pizza.”
Reluctantly, I follow him and close the door behind us.
Wishing she was here.