Chapter 2
CHAPTER
TWO
brUCE
The D.C. Eagles #1 Fan Page On Hockeyisbetterthanfootball.com
Craig Nottingham : Bruce McBride sucked during last night’s game. The man is losing his touch!
Todd Ferguson : Oh, shut up! The people on this page are a bunch of fair-weather fans. Really pisses me off.
Craig Nottingham : *GIF of penguin slipping and falling on ice*
Harry Johnson : Bruce McBride has a ninety-eight-percent save rate this season, number two in the NHL. I think we’re lucky to have him! And he’s easy on the eyes, so he brings in more female fans. And we love women in hockey. #feminism #badassgoalie
Snickering, I log off my secret Hockeyisbetterthanfootball.com account—Harry Johnson—for the evening. Sometimes the trollers need to be trolled. I set my phone down and look up to see West Kershaw, my teammate and assistant captain, staring at me. His cute little wife, Mel, is also staring at me. We’re all seated in their living room since they invited me over for dinner. My teammates and their wives take turns inviting me over probably to make sure I actually eat some vegetables once in a while. All of my teammates and their wives, they all live in the same gated community, half of them even in the same cul-de-sac, even. I’m the only one who still lives in downtown D.C.
“What’s so funny?” West asks, arching a blond eyebrow.
I clear my throat. “Oh, nothing. Just a weird text from my mom,” I lie.
My team captains and team management do not condone horseplay of any kind, especially not trolling grumpy fans online. This is my little outlet for stress relief, I’m not about to get myself suspended over it.
His eyebrow arches even higher. “You’re lying.”
Mel laughs and shoves his shoulder playfully. That’s what I want. Someone to sit next to me and be mean to me…but in a hot way.
His wife—who’s more than a foot shorter than me—gets up and walks into the kitchen, presumably to check on dinner, and I wonder if it’s weird for her to be that close to the ground or if she’s just used to it.
My teammates are big guys, tall and broad, but I’m the tallest one at six feet six inches, and the bulkiest—likely because I’m single and have more time to work out than they do. But I’ve always been big. Maybe it’s genetic. I wouldn’t know since I’ve never met my birth father. My birth mother is an average-sized woman, though.
“It’s ready!” Mel hollers from the kitchen.
West and I race each other into the large dining room, the layout of their house is similar to the other guys’ but also vastly different since Mel organizes and cleans all the time. It’s like a cozy hospital in here. Not like Remy and Amber’s house that’s littered with baby toys, or Mitch and Andie’s house that’s covered in youth hockey equipment from her little brother, Noah…or even Colby and Noel’s house where there are always books and papers laying around.
There’s not a single item out of place at West and Mel’s house.
Mel narrows her eyes at us as we bound into the dining room and come to a screeching halt in front of her. “Would you two sit down before you make a mess?”
West elbows me in the ribs as he pushes past me, and I lift my arm to grab him around the shoulders but stop when Mel gives me a stern look.
“Yes, ma’am,” I mutter, taking my seat beside West.
She serves us some delicious-looking chicken pot pies and takes a seat on the opposite side of her husband.
“Mel, this looks incredible.” West leans in and kisses his wife, and she swats him away.
“Thank you,” she says, giving her husband an adoring look.
I’m going to puke all over the table if these two don’t knock it off.
“What’s the matter with you?” West asks.
I hadn’t realized I was making my disgusted face out loud. I tend to do that. Oops.
I look between the two of them. “You two need to get a room, that’s what.”
Mel rolls her eyes. “Be nice or I won’t give you any dessert.”
“There’s dessert?” I perk up in my seat.
West grimaces. “Sweetie, I love you. But your desserts tend to be a little interesting.” Mel likes to make everything healthy…with very little sugar.
Mel waves him off. “Don’t worry, Farrah made the dessert.”
My whole body comes to life at the mere mention of Farrah Remington’s name. I can almost taste her lips on mine, even though it’s been a year and a half. “Farrah, huh?” I feign nonchalance. “How is Remy’s baby sister these days?”
West pins me with a knowing glance. He doesn’t know about the kiss Farrah and I shared, but he knows about my interest in the dark-haired beauty. I confided in all my teammates about my crush after meeting her, except for Remy. I wasn’t about to tell him how hot his sister is.
“She’s doing great!” Mel says with a smile. “She’s busy with Nella during the day, then she does all the baking for Melarrah Events. We only have a few events a month so far, but with Farrah’s delicious cakes, I think word will spread quickly.”
Farrah’s delicious cakes . Those three words have me thinking about a cake I’d like to bite into. And it’s not made with flour and sugar.
West notices my glazed expression and elbows the side of my arm while Mel isn’t looking.
“Stop that,” he whispers through gritted teeth.
“Sorry,” I whisper back. “I just really love cake.”
West glares at me, understanding my double meaning.
I dig into my pot pie, ignoring him. The pie tastes decent, but Mel definitely made the crust with almond flour.
“Oh! I almost forgot.” Mel sticks her index finger in the air. “Could you help us set up tables Saturday for the General’s retirement party?”
West frowns. “Sorry, babe. I can’t. Remy and I have the groundbreaking ceremony Saturday for the park that the Eagles built at the children’s hospital.”
“Drat.” She sighs. “I forgot about that.”
“You?” He smiles. “Forgot?”
She shakes her head. “My head has been so fuzzy lately; I think I need more sleep.”
West looks at his wife in concern.
“I can help set up tables,” I offer, always looking for an excuse to be around Farrah.
“Really?” Mel’s eyes widen with relief and excitement. “That would be amazing if you don’t mind.”
“Just text me the time and address and I’ll be there.”
She nods her thanks, and we finish our meal. I eat mine quickly even though it’s a bit dry and difficult to swallow. But I’m excited about dessert so I muddle through. It sounds stupid, but knowing the dessert was made with Farrah’s own hands has my heart beating a little faster.
Once West and Mel finish their dinner, Mel strides into the modern kitchen and pulls something out of the fridge. It looks like a layered, creamy dessert.
“All right, here’s the tiramisu Farrah made for us.” She sets it gently on the table and heads back into the kitchen—likely to grab a spatula and small plates.
I get up and follow her. “Go sit down, you already made us dinner. I’ll get the dessert stuff.”
She smiles and hands me the plates. Knowing my way around their house pretty well by now, I grab three forks, the plates, a serving spoon, and some napkins, then head back to the table.
“Thanks for making me look bad,” West mutters.
I shoot him a winning smile. “Every guy looks bad when I’m around. It’s the sheer space my masculinity takes up.”
West snorts. “Okay, whatever.”
Mel sighs. “You two are ridiculous.”
West smirks at me; we both know our teasing is good-natured. That’s the weird thing about teammates, especially me, West, Remy, Mitch and Colby. We act more like brothers than anything, which is nice since I didn’t grow up with brothers. My older sister is cool, though.
Mel relaxes in her seat as I dish out a scoop of tiramisu for each of us. The ladyfingers layered into the dessert are shaped funny, telling me Farrah made them herself, she didn’t just go out and buy premade lady fingers. I smile, feeling like I know her a little better now despite the fact she’ll barely look at me…or talk to me. I must be a glutton for punishment though, because I keep texting her every few months even though those texts always go unanswered.
Sitting back down, I scoop a large bite of the creamy dessert into my mouth and nearly moan out loud. “Is this what heaven is like?” I say around my mouthful.
“I’m fairly certain no one talks with food in their mouth in heaven,” West says, taking a bite. His eyes widen comically. “Oh, wow,” he mumbles.
“No talking with your mouth full,” I mimic him.
He rolls his eyes.
“Farrah can bake anything, I swear,” Mel says, taking a small bite and closing her eyes to savor it. “You should try her sticky buns.”
I swallow, my throat suddenly feeling dry as I think of Farrah’s sticky buns.
West elbows me in the side for the third time tonight. “Dude!”
“Sorry.”
I return to eating my dessert, but my thoughts remain faraway wondering if I’ll ever get the chance to kiss Farrah again—or try her sticky buns.