Chapter 2
CHAPTER
TWO
MILES
“Chug! Chug! Chug!” the people in the room chant as cold beer passes through my mouth so fast I don’t even taste it. My head feels heavy, and I cling to the metal sides of the keg. Whoever’s holding my ankles is unsteady, and I feel my grip start to slip.
One minute I’m upside down, rapidly consuming weak beer, and the next I’m on the ground, holding my throbbing face.
The room spins, and after a second, I find the culprit. “What the hell, Logan!” I bark.
“I’m sorry, man. Becky needed to tell me something.” A tan, bikini-clad woman with dark hair stands beside Logan, her hands on his chest.
“You fucking dropped me. I think I busted my face,” I grumble.
Finn chuckles. “You totally did. And you only made it like six seconds. You’re not even in contention for the record.”
“I hate you all,” I groan as I work to my feet. The room wobbles, and I steady myself, arms outstretched.
“Next!” Logan shouts.
“Don’t trust him!” I yell out to no one in particular. “He’s a dropper.”
I stumble away and try to remember where the kitchen is. It’s probably for the best that Logan dropped me. I’m normally a pro at keg stands. Even in my tipsy state, I realize I probably should be cut off—another twenty seconds of chugging would not have had a happy ending.
“Oh no! What happened, Miles?” Miranda’s concerned face appears, and she cups my cheek. “Your cheek is purple.”
I lean my hip against the kitchen island for balance. “Stupid Logan.”
“He hit you?” Beckett asks from the other side of the island.
“No—he dropped me, and my face hit the keg.”
“I’m missing the keg-stand competition?” Beckett’s voice rises an octave as he struts around the island and away from the kitchen.
“Hey,” Ari calls after him, “didn’t you tell Ma you’d be up in a couple of minutes a few hours ago?”
Beckett spins to face Ari, his daughter-in-law, who is engaged to marry our center, Bash.
“The relationships on this team are weird, huh?” I say to Miranda.
“What?” Her brows furrow.
I don’t reply. The thoughts in my head are too muddled to explain in my current state.
But seriously…I’ve never seen a hockey team so relationship-focused.
When I was scouting teams in college, something about the Crane organization drew me in.
The fact that it is Michigan-based and close to home was a definite draw, but there was more to it than that.
The team's energy and the rapport between the guys were unique—something I wanted to be part of. At the time, none of the teammates were married, and now, just a couple of short years later, over half of them are either married or on their way to the altar. Additionally, it seems as if most of the love matches are intertwined in some way. It’s not incestuous, per se, … just odd.
Then again, I’m lusting after one of my best friend’s fiancé’s best friends, so who am I to judge?
Wait. No. I take that back. Miranda is just a close friend.
There’s no lusting involved. Fine—but only a tiny bit.
Miranda sits safely in my friend zone just as I sit in hers.
The alcohol has me feeling warm and fuzzy feelings that don’t really exist. Or maybe it is the oysters?
Beckett plasters a huge grin on his face. “Oh, don’t you worry, Ari. Nolan is sleeping through the night. They don’t even know I’m not there. And tomorrow I’ll be as chipper as a bird.”
“How is that?” Ari asks, crossing her arms.
“Loads and loads of coffee,” Beckett calls over his shoulder as he hurries away.
Miranda pulls my attention back. “What is going on in your head? You look deep in thought. What relationships are weird?”
“Nothing. I don’t know what I’m saying.”
“Want a cookie?” Bash holds out a cookie from the annual cookie bake-off.
Another thing about the Crane hockey team is that not only do they love their ridiculous nicknames, but they also love their traditions.
Out of sheer boredom, someone suggested a cookie-baking competition a couple of years ago during bye week in Barbados, and now it’s something we will forever have during bye week.
As the story goes, Bash even earned his nickname, Cookie, on that Barbados trip after securing the win.
He lost to Ari, who is now his fiancée, last year in Texas, but reclaimed his title this year with his brown-butter chocolate-chip recipe.
His cookies are delicious. I voted for them, but the sight of the rich, sugary treat makes my stomach sour.
I shake my head adamantly and immediately regret it. “Ow,” I mutter, pressing my palms to my temples.
“Oh my gosh. You probably have a concussion,” Miranda chastises. “Let me get you some ice. You’re going to have quite the bruise on your cheek tomorrow. Coach isn’t going to be happy.”
“He won’t care,” I say.
“Yeah, as long as Hollywood can play, Coach won’t give a damn about the bruise,” Bash says. “We’re hockey players. Bruises are normal.”
“I guess that’s true.” Miranda shrugs, wrapping a handful of ice in a dish towel.
“Yeah, it will make me look tough, Sunshine.”
She presses her lips together, silencing a laugh. “Okay, then.” She grabs my hand and leads me to the sectional in the great room.
I flop onto the soft cushions. She settles beside me and presses the towel-wrapped ice to my cheek.
“Feel better?” she asks. The ice is cold, but where her fingers curl is a quiet warmth that hums against my skin, a small electric ache that heats my entire body. The current finds its way to my chest, pressing against my ribs. My heart scrambles into an uneven rhythm.
For a moment, I’m lost in her stare. The steady pull from her deep green irises draws me in. The connection has me feeling all sorts of things I can’t quite name. “Not really.” The admission is true on more than one level.
“Maybe a keg stand wasn’t the smartest move?”
I force a lighthearted grin. “I beg to differ, but I’m glad you’re here to take care of me. If we were roomies, you could be there to help me out of the consequences of my stupid decisions.”
She laughs. “Or you could just not make stupid decisions.”
Her beautiful laughter intensifies the ache in my head. Maybe I do have a concussion. “I can’t.” I point at my head. “Unformed brain.”
Miranda smiles. “True.”
“But that’s why you should move in, bestie. I need you.” Emphasis is placed on the last statement. My alcohol-induced words flow more freely than they should.
Now that the idea of Miranda and me being roommates is in my head, I can’t think about anything else.
From the moment I met her, I’ve been captivated and drawn to her like a force.
She’s gorgeous, sure, with her stunningly vibrant green eyes and long, wavy auburn hair.
But more than her beauty, I’m mesmerized by her energy.
She’s special. I picked up early on that she wasn’t interested in dating, so I quickly slid into the friendship role.
And it’s great. Being around Miranda makes me happy.
She’s one of those people who makes the lives of those around her better. I crave her company and her light.
“Moving in?” Anna takes a seat beside Miranda, followed by Jaden.
“Nice, Hollywood. Got yourself a roommate?” Jaden asks.
“No,” Miranda replies quickly. “I simply mentioned that I wanted to start looking for a place of my own, and he threw out the idea of me moving into his home, but it’s not happening.”
“Why?” Jaden asks. “He has a sick house, and he’s pretty clean for a dude. Right, Hollywood? You put down the toilet seat and all that shit?”
“Yes,” I sigh. “I wasn’t raised in a barn. Of course, I put the toilet seat down. Not that it would matter because she’d have her own bathroom.”
“Aw, see. Your own bathroom and everything. You should do it.” Jaden gives Miranda a smile.
“I’m sure Miles picks up after himself. That’s not the issue,” she says.
Anna furrows her brows. “You’re not happy with the suite at the hotel? I told you that you’re more than welcome to stay with Jaden and me. We have the space. Right, babe?” She looks at Jaden.
Jaden nods. “Of course. You’re always welcome.”
Miranda gives them a tight smile. “I appreciate the offer, I do. But I think it’s time for me to get my own place. I’m almost twenty-seven. Anna is settling down. So maybe I should, too.”
Anna squeezes Miranda’s leg. “You do whatever makes you happy.”
“Yeah, that’s my vote, too,” Jaden says. “The happiness thing.”
“That’s not my vote,” I whisper. I close my eyes and lay my head in Miranda’s lap. She keeps the makeshift ice pack pressed to my bruised cheek. “You know my vote.”
She brushes a stray hair off my forehead, and the touch sends a trail of goose bumps down my arms.
“Aw, come on. You can help me house hunt. It’ll be fun,” she offers.
“Living together would be fun—and economical. It’s the smart decision.”
“If we’re talking smart decisions, we should revisit your brilliant keg stand.”
I tap her knee. “Shh… none of that right now.”
She giggles. “That’s what I thought.”