Chapter 46
WHAT PRETTY TOES YOU HAVE
LAKE
We’re down by one, but there’s still time. That just means we have to make every second count.
Coach knows it too. In the locker room during the second intermission, as I change into a new undershirt since mine is sweat-soaked, and Riggs ices his shoulder since he always ices his shoulder, Coach Ahmed prowls up and down the stalls.
“We’ve been on a tear lately, boys. It’s easy to get caught up in that feeling.
But that’s when you need to dig in and play harder.
Don’t get complacent. Don’t expect a win,” he says, spinning around at the ears at the top of the Foxes logo on the carpeted floor, then pacing back the other way, locking eyes with Corbin, who’s retaping his stick.
“You’ve got to get out there and earn it.
Every single second on the ice. I know you can do it.
Get out there and fight for the two goals we need. ”
Corbin lifts his stick toward the rest of us. “You heard him, boys. Let’s get it done.”
“Let’s get it done,” the rest of us say, echoing him.
After I tug the rest of my gear back on, then snap on my helmet, I hit the ice with my team, ready to dig in.
Because that’s what I do.
That’s what I’ve always done. After Heather died, I channeled all my focus, all my emotions into the game, and I leveled up.
I can do it tonight. And then I’ll see Remy, and soon, I’ll ask her out on that real date.
But as I take a lap around the ice, a traitorous thought lands in my skull.
What if she says she’s not ready? Will you be able to handle that too, you cocky ass?
Something hard and brittle wedges into my heart. A reminder not to get too close.
But even if it hurts when Remy moves on, I’ll just follow my playbook again. I’ll pour everything I’ve got into the game. I’ll keep myself locked into the sport that never lets me down. The game that deserves all my emotions.
I glide behind the net, when my attention snags on the first row behind the glass.
And the beautiful brunette who’s standing, cheering, making a scene of rooting us on as she wears my number. And not just my number but my jersey. The one I gave her.
Fuck, she looks so damn right there that the brittle edge in me softens.
She came to my game. She’s cheering for me. And as my vision narrows to her for a quick second, I spot a glimpse of silver on her wrist.
She’s wearing the watch too.
Maybe just maybe, I don’t suck at romance after all.
I line up for the face-off, flanking Corbin, ready for anything, taking nothing for granted.
We pounce, and Corbin gets the puck so fast he’s like a goddamn cheetah on blades. He cruises toward the net, and I’m right there with him, open for a pass if he needs me.
When their defenders swarm him, he feeds the puck to me, and I race around the back of the net, flipping it to Riggs, who slams it right past their goalie.
Bam.
Just like that, the score is tied.
“That’s the way we do it,” I shout to Riggs.
“It fucking is,” he says back, and as we make our way to the boards, I can’t help it. My focus turns to her again, and when I see her hugging the person next to her, as if she’s losing her ever-loving mind over the goal, another piece of the ice surrounding my heart breaks off.
She came to the game for me.
I’ve only ever been playing for my dad, and that’s been enough for a long, long time. Making him happy. Boosting him up. Connecting with him.
But I didn’t realize how much I wanted someone in the stands for me till she showed up.
“Uh-oh. It’s happening,” Ivan says, his voice an ominous warning on my left.
“And I want to get in on the bet,” Riggs puts in from my right as they talk across me.
I furrow my brow, tearing my gaze away from Remy. “What are you two clowns talking about?”
Ivan flashes a grin my way, his eyes flickering with satisfaction. “I’m winning the bet. You’re falling in love.”
What the fuck?
Riggs points his stick at Remy’s row. “Yup. You’ve been making lover-boy eyes at Remy. God, it is going to be so fucking fun when Ivan collects.”
I roll my eyes, to get them off my back. Don’t need anyone in my business, even my friends. “Fuck off.”
“And you didn’t deny it,” Riggs says. “I bet you loved going to the spa day.”
How does he know about that? I shoot him a what the hell look? “That was today. So no, I didn’t go. Also, how do you know all this shit? Are you stalking me?”
He scoffs. “I watch her sister’s show. It’s pretty inspiring, if you must know. And we’re all going to be watching the live stream tomorrow at Corbin’s home.”
The wedding’s being streamed now? “Are you kidding me?”
Corbin laughs, tossing his head back. “We’ve even got snacks ready.”
“We’ll probably place bets on when your wedding will be,” Riggs adds.
Maybe someday, I won’t mind telling these guys what Remy means to me. But first I need to figure out how to tell her. I turn away from them, putting my glower on, zeroing on the game like Coach told us to do. When it’s time for another shift, I hop over the boards, so fast, ready to attack the ice.
I push all thoughts of Remy, the wedding, and my teammates out of my head.
And I do what I do best. Put my heart and soul into the one thing that never lets me down.
The game.
By the time the last second ticks off the scoreboard, we’ve got a W.
As we skate toward the tunnel, I try, I swear I try—not to look at Remy. Don’t want to give my teammates any more ammunition.
But she came to my game.
On her own.
Fuck it.
I spin around, peel away from the pack, and fly the other way across the ice, right to her.
She’s on the other side of the glass, of course. But when I reach her, I yank off my helmet.
“Hey!” I shout over the noise.
“Hi,” she says right back.
“I’ll drive you home,” I say.
She nods. “See you soon.”
Then I lean closer, like I could kiss her through the glass. No doubt someone’s taking pictures. No doubt the cameras are on us. But I don’t care.
She blows me a kiss.
I give her one right back, wishing the glass weren’t between us.
Soon, it won’t be.
* * *
I get showered and dressed at Mach speed, texting Remy that I’ll meet her at the players’ entrance to spend the night with her.
Can’t wait is her reply.
Same here is mine.
I fight off a grin, but it’s hard not to smile at her reply, and at the pic she sent me while I was playing. It’s perfect, the shot of her at the spa with cucumbers on her eyes—perfect because she took it. Perfect because she sent it to me.
I shove my arms into my suit jacket, raring to go see the woman who sends me quirky photos that let me into her world.
“See you kids in a couple of days,” I say, grabbing my tie and tossing it over my shoulder, then tucking my phone into my pants pocket.
“Have fun at the wedding, lover boy,” Corbin calls from his stall. “And have fun paying Ivan.”
I don’t even know where Ivan is, but I crane my neck around to flip them all the bird as I head to the door and walk straight into a hockey stick.
“Oof,” I blurt out, as it lands across my stomach.
Which joker did this? My vision goes dark when the joker tosses a jersey over my head.
“You’re not missing the spa day now.”
It’s Miller, his voice laced with amusement as my world flips upside down. One of them hoists up my arms, the other my legs, and someone ties my hands with my own goddamn necktie.
I’ve been kidnapped.
Again.
* * *
They don’t tell me where we’re going as they toss me into the back seat of someone’s car. They keep the jersey over my head, using it like a pillowcase.
But unlike the first time they did this earlier in the season and dragged me to play lawn games, I’m antsy. A little worried. And frankly, annoyed I have to say this.
But I do. I fucking do.
“Guys, I need to text Remy. I was supposed to meet her.”
“Aww, so cute. I texted my hubby too, and told him I’d be home late,” Ivan teases from the front seat.
“Seriously. Untie me.”
“Only if you let me into the bet,” Riggs says from next to me.
“You need a grand that badly? Why don’t I just give you the name of my money guy so you can manage yours better,” I counter. Because I can’t just give in.
“Sure, if it means I can bet on you falling for the woman you’ve been obsessed with for more than a year.”
I growl. “Why are we fucking friends?”
“Are we?” Riggs asks dryly.
“Whatever,” I say, then tug hard on the tie, but these assholes probably took a knot-tying class just to do this.
“I’ll text her for you,” Riggs offers.
“The fuck you will,” I say.
But it’s too late. He’s dictating into his phone. “Hey, Remy. It’s Riggs. We kidnapped your boyfriend since he needs to get his balls waxed before the wedding tomorrow. Says he wants to be beautiful all over for you. He’ll see you later with his good luck nuts all nice and shiny.”
I’m going to kill him.
* * *
They free me at the spa, some place called Haven on Fillmore Street that Ivan goes to for massages. He knows the owner and asked her to keep it open late for a private party.
I wouldn’t exactly call it a party, but I also know better than to try to escape a team prank. That’ll only make them prank me harder next time.
The second the tie falls off my wrists, I’m grabbing my phone and texting her.
Lake: I’ll come over as soon as this spa torture is done.
Remy: Good luck with your nuts
I roll my eyes and pocket the phone. I’ve got to find a way to turn the tables on them. And if it involves me doing something I hate, so be it.
Once we’re in the locker room, I clear my throat. “Listen up, boys,” I say, and the guys turn toward my voice. Ivan, Riggs, Miller, and Corbin. “You can all get in on the bet under one condition.”
“Name it,” Riggs says.
Twenty minutes later, they’re all in bathrobes, parked in lounge chairs, and having their toenails painted purple—our team color.
It’s so goddamn satisfying.
On many levels, because even though these guys are a bunch of clowns, they’re my clowns. My family. My brothers on the ice, and, I suppose, off it.
The spa kidnapping doesn’t end in the chair. Before I know it, I’m flat on my stomach, getting my sore muscles worked over.
At least this part isn’t so bad, except it’s getting late. I’m growing antsier. It’s probably past midnight. Even if I can see Remy, it’ll be too late to talk. To figure us out.
She’ll probably be asleep when I arrive at her home. I’ll just slide into bed with her and hold her.
That would be enough. You shouldn’t have important conversations late into the night anyway.
As the masseuse digs her thumbs into my lower back, I map out a plan. After the wedding. Yep, that’s when I’ll ask Remy out for real. As I’m twirling her on the dance floor in that mouth-wateringly sexy stunner of a dress she’ll have on.
And…why the hell am I still on this massage table?
I pop up, grabbing the sheets around my waist so I’m not indecent but still startling the massage therapist. “Sorry, I have to go.”
“Oh, okay,” she says, then scurries out of the room. I wrap a towel around my waist, and march back toward the locker room, passing a room on the way where my teammates are gathered around a chalkboard, picking options for facials.
“Gotta go,” I announce.
They spin around. Words like what the fuck and no you don’t fall from their mouths. I hold up a hand.
“Love you guys,” I say, speaking louder, cutting through the noise, saying that to them for the first time—these assholes I’d go to war with and for, and I do in every single game. “But I’d rather be someplace else.”
And with that admission, they stop protesting.
They wave me out of there.