“Move the puck, move the puck!” our special teams coach yells. “We want surprise. We don’t want to be predictable.”
I slide it against the ice toward Rhodes, who barely touches it before shooting it to Wright, who then feeds it to Miller. He looks for an opening, but when he doesn’t find anything, he sends it my way. It’s not even on my stick for a second before it’s back to Miller, then in the back of the net.
“Yes!” Miller shouts, like this is a real game and not just practice.
“You got lucky,” Greer grumbles, tugging his goalie mask off and setting it on top of his head as he reaches for his water bottle. He drenches himself with water, then shakes his head. “Let’s go again.”
We run the play again and score again. Then we switch it up, me taking Miller’s spot. The same thing happens—the puck goes right into the back of the net.
Greer is obviously unhappy, but the rest of the team is feeling damn good about it.
“That’s the winner,” the goalie says on our way to the locker room. “If you guys can move it like that out on the ice, get someone in front of the net to screen the goalie and tip the puck in, you’re fucking golden.”
“Good thing too, because we’ve been shit on the PP lately. Don’t get me wrong, our five-on-five is awesome and we’re obviously winning games, but we need a PP as dangerous as our PK.”
Miller snickers. “You said PP.”
Everyone rolls their eyes, but there’s no missing the way several guys smirk. We might all be adults and professional athletes, but we’re also guys. We’re going to laugh every time someone abbreviates power play to PP. It’s inevitable.
“Fitzy Baby, are you and Ro coming over for Thanksgiving dinner?” Rhodes asks.
“At your house?” I don’t even bother trying to mask the surprise in my voice. There’s a reason his nickname is Beast, and it’s not just his scar. He lives in a house up on a hill that’s dark and spooky-looking and he never invites anyone over. I’ve been dying to ask Ryan if the dishes talk, but I’m sure she’d deny it even if it was true.
“Yeah. It’s my turn to host. Ryan’s excited about it, so I guess I am too.”
I try not to laugh because based on the frown gracing his face, that’s not even remotely true.
“We’ll be there. Need us to bring anything?”
“Maybe a pie or some other dessert? I mean, I’m sure we’ll have plenty, but then again…”
I understand what he’s getting at. There’s going to be an assload of hockey players in his house, so there’s no such thing as too much food. I smile to myself thinking of last weekend when Macie was over for her playdate with Carl and she yelled at me for eating a whole box of mac and cheese myself.
“We can do that,” I tell him, then I grab my phone from my cubby.
Me: I kind of just agreed to go to Rhodes’ house for Thanksgiving. Is that okay?
Dots pop up on the screen almost immediately.
Rosie: Of course! Besides, Ryan stopped by earlier this morning and already asked. I told her yes.
Rosie: Now I’m realizing I should have checked with you first.
Rosie: We’re bringing pie. And probably cookies.
Rosie: I have to run by the store and grab some ingredients after my shift at the truck. Want to come?
Me: Sure. Want me to pick you up?
Rosie: I’d love that. : )
I feel my own smile tug at my lips.
“What are you looking at? Porn?” Hayes drops down into the stall next to me, even though it’s not his. He tries to peek over my shoulder. “Is it that hot lady you were watching on the plane that one night?”
I snap my head up to him.
How the hell…
He shrugs. “I saw you watching before I decided to catch some shut-eye. I have no idea what was going on, but that little red number she was wearing was nice.” He bites his bottom lip and closes his eyes like he’s conjuring up the image right here and now.
My phone creaks in my hand and I glance down, surprised to find my knuckles turning white around the device. I’m not bothered by strangers watching Rosie on her streams, but I really don’t like the idea of Hayes watching her. It one hundred percent has to do with who he is—a womanizing little shit.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “I don’t know what channel it was or anything, so I’m not whacking off to the stuff you are.”
I blink at him, trying to decide if I want to kill him or not. I think I’d do okay in jail, but I’d miss hockey a whole hell of a lot.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I mutter. “Go away.”
He sighs, then shoves up to stand. “You’re no fun anymore. None of you guys are. You’re all paired off, all falling in love and shit. I’m lonely over here, man.”
“I’m not fall—”
His laughter cuts me off. “Don’t even fucking try it, Fitz.”
“Try what?”
“Denying you’re falling in love with that thick woman from the donut truck.”
“Rosie,” I say through clenched teeth, my patience with him growing thin. “Her name is Rosie.”
“Whatever. I’m just calling it like I see it. You’re clearly into her.”
“Well, yeah. We’re dating.”
“No, man.” He shakes his head. “You’re more than dating. You’re in love with her.”
I smash my brows together. “No.”
“Yes,” he insists. He dips his head toward Greer. “I saw that idiot fall in love with my own two eyes earlier this year, and you’re acting just like he did: all smiley and always attached to your phone, always ditching me to hang with your girl. You’re in love.”
Do I smile a lot since I started dating Rosie? Yeah. She makes me happy. Am I attached to my phone? Sure, but that’s because I always want to talk to her. And do I ditch Hayes? Yes, but to be fair, I’ve been trying to shake the kid for a while now. I like him just fine, but his idea of a good time and mine are two totally different things.
All that said, am I in love with Rosie? No. There’s no way. We’ve only been dating a little over a month now. That’s too soon, right?
When I don’t say anything, he sighs and claps me on the shoulder. “You just go ahead and figure that one out for yourself. I’m going to go find someone else to hang with.” He starts to cross the room. “Hey, Ford. I—”
“No,” the new guy says, not even looking up at him. “I’m not hanging out with you.”
Hayes drops his shoulders and hangs his head, mumbling and walking out looking completely dejected. I feel a little bad for him and promise to make time for him after Thanksgiving.
I work on stripping off my gear as the space starts to clear out, everyone either heading home or to the gym a few rooms over.
“You know he’s right,” Ford says quietly, startling me.
I turn around to find him staring right at me with sharp eyes. “Huh?”
“The kid—he’s right. You’re clearly in love with this Rosie girl.”
“How would you know?”
He lifts a shoulder. “Because a man in love knows another man in love.”
“You’re in love?”
A faraway look crosses his features, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Oh yeah. Tessa came out of nowhere at the start of the season, and now I can’t get enough of her. I hate going on the road, hate leaving her. Hell, I think I’d even give up hockey if she asked me to.”
I swallow roughly because fuck me. I’ve had those exact thoughts.
I used to be okay with the travel that comes with the game—it’s fun seeing different cities and exploring—but now? Now it grates on me every time I have to say goodbye. I just want to be close to Rosie.
And hockey? I still love it, but I love being with her even more.
Ford laughs lowly, bringing my attention back to him. “You have that same look on your face I see in my own reflection, and I definitely love my woman.” He shoves out of his stall, then tosses his bag over his shoulder. “See you at Thanksgiving,” he calls out as he makes his way from the room, leaving me standing there all alone with nothing but my thoughts and the reality that…
He may be right.
I think I’m in love with Rosie.
“Remind me again why we’re going to the grocery store on Thanksgiving?”
“Because we need flowers.”
“For?”
“Um, our hosts.” Rosie sends me an incredulous look. “Duh.”
I smother a laugh. “Right. Flowers. Duh.”
She narrows her eyes at me, then points to the door. “Hush up and open that for me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, stepping in front of her so the automatic doors can swing open.
She brushes past me. “Thank you.”
Wiping the grin off my face is impossible. She’s ridiculous, and I fucking love it. I’ve had more fun with Rosie than I’ve ever had in my entire life. She’s full of fire and wit, and hanging out with her is my new favorite pastime.
Ford was right—I can’t get enough of her, and I’m not sure I ever will.
She leads us through the corner market to the back of the store where there’s a small cooler full of several different kinds of flowers. I try not to watch her ass the entire time, but it’s hard. She’s wearing that orange dress again, and all I can think of is the last time she had it on, her sitting up on my counter pouring water all over her chest, then fingering herself. And of course, that leads me to remembering what it’s like between her legs.
Pure fucking bliss.
I usually love Thanksgiving and the endless supply of turkey and carbs, but right now, I’d be perfectly fine with going back to my apartment and having Rosie for dinner.
She taps her manicured finger against her chin. “I love daisies personally, but should we stick with something traditional like roses? They are fancier.”
When I don’t answer her, she peeks over at me.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I tell her.
“It’s something. You’re smiling at me. What?”
I can’t stop myself from gripping the faux fur jacket she’s wearing and dragging her to me, and I really can’t stop myself from slanting my mouth over hers, kissing her in a manner that’s entirely inappropriate for the grocery store. I slip my hands around her waist, unabashedly trailing them lower until I’m cupping her ass and tugging her as close as possible.
She wraps her arms around my neck, holding me just as tightly as we make out like fools in front of the flowers.
“Um, pardon us.” Someone clears their throat.
I pull away, but not before placing one last kiss on the tip of her nose, loving the look on her face as she stares up at me.
“We just need to… Holy shit. Roly-Poly Rosie?”
Her entire body stiffens as she slowly turns in my arms, facing the couple standing before us.
The guy is blond, his hair perfectly coifed with too much product. The woman hanging on his arm is tall—taller than him even—and lean with blonde hair that matches the shade of his. They’re both dressed up, I’m assuming on their way somewhere for dinner, and she’s looking back and forth between him and Rosie.
“Levi?” she says softly. I hate the way the name rolls off her tongue. It’s…familiar, and it makes my stomach hurt.
“Roly-Poly, wow! I almost didn’t recognize you.” Before I realize what the guy is doing, he wraps his arms around my girlfriend and says, “You look great with that extra weight.”
He pats her stomach, and I see red because What in the actual fuck?
I take a step toward him, ready to pummel this fucking guy, but before I can, the woman he’s with steps between us. My momma would kick my ass if I laid a hand on a woman, so I step back, squeezing my fists so I don’t forget my manners and deck the fucker anyway.
“Hi,” she says, holding her hand out. “I’m Kitty. It’s great to meet you.”
Her smile is genuine, as if she’s completely unbothered by what the twat she’s with just said.
“Hi,” Rosie says, shaking the outstretched hand. “We’ve actually met before.”
“Oh?” Kitty shrugs. “I don’t remember. Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Rosie waves her off, but I know her, and it’s anything but fine. She’s hurt by the words, but she’s trying not to show it. “So, Levi, how’s England treating you?”
“England? That’s so last year,” the douchebag says. “We’re back in the States. We live here, actually.”
“Here?” The word comes out a squeak. Rosie clears her throat. “Since when?”
“A few months now. Kitty got a job at some law firm.”
“Partner, babe. I’m a partner at the firm.”
“Yeah, partner, whatever.” Levi shrugs. “How are you? I haven’t seen you since… Gosh, how long has it been now?”
“Two and a half years,” Rosie answers, and I hate that she knows exactly how long it’s been. “Since you left.”
“Really? Time flies. Are you still doing that baking thing?” The asshole looks over at me for the first time. “Hey, man. I’m Levi Kane. Rosie and I go way back.”
He holds his hand out, and I want nothing fucking more than to smack it away, but I have a feeling that won’t go over so well with anyone. So, I do the mature thing, and I grip his hand…tight. Like so fucking tight his hand turns white under mine.
“Ivan Fitzgerald.”
His eyes narrow on me, and I don’t miss the way he stretches his fingers out when I finally release my grip. “Fitzgerald, huh? Why does that sound familiar?”
“He plays for the Carolina Comets,” Rosie explains, and I love the pride in her voice.
“No shit? Think you could hook us up with some tickets to a game?”
Is this guy fucking serious?
“I don’t really care for hockey,” Kitty says, turning her nose up. “It’s entirely too violent.”
She has no clue how violent I want to be right now, and I’m not even on the ice.
“That’s fine. I can go with Brady.” He turns to Rosie. “You remember him, right? From high school? You guys dated for a while.”
That rigidness is back in her shoulders, and I hate it just as much as before.
“I remember him sleeping with everyone else after taking my virginity, yes.”
Holy fuck. I remember her telling me about that guy. Well, not me me, but ShootsAndScores me.
This guy is hanging out with him? What a fucking tool.
Levi laughs at Rosie’s response, clearly not giving a shit about the hurt in her voice, and says, “Yeah, but that was so long ago. No hard feelings anymore. You’re over it.”
I grit my teeth. There are definitely hard feelings there, and I hate that he’s telling her to feel otherwise.
In fact, I just straight-up hate this guy. I don’t know him, but I don’t want to.
“Babe…” Kitty tugs on his arm. “We should really get going.”
“Can’t you see I’m talking with an old friend?” He rolls his eyes at her, then sends me a lopsided smile. “Women, right?”
My hands tingle with the urge to acquaint this fucker with my fist.
“Actually, we need to get going too,” Rosie says. “Our dinner starts soon, and we don’t want to be late.”
“Yeah, I bet you’re excited to get there and eat.”
He pointedly looks at her stomach, and it’s the last fucking straw. I step toward him, fists ready to fly, but I’m stopped once more.
This time, it’s Rosie. She tugs on my jacket, and I glance down at her. She gives me a subtle headshake, and it takes everything in me to step back.
“We should get together sometime,” Levi says, not at all picking up on the tension. “Maybe a double date or something.”
“Yeah, sure,” Rosie agrees, and I pray she’s just saying it to pacify him. There is no way in hell I’ll go anywhere with this guy—except maybe out to the alley so I can kill him and leave his body there all beaten and mangled.
I should be concerned with how satisfying that image is, but I’m not. This guy deserves it and so much more.
“It was great to meet you,” the girlfriend says.
“Again, we’ve met before,” Rosie tells her.
Kitty pouts. “I still don’t remember.” She shrugs, then reaches into the cooler and grabs a bouquet of roses. “These will do.”
“Let me know about those tickets, Ivan. See ya later, Roly-Poly.” Levi winks at her, and I want to grab a rusty spoon and scoop his eyes out. “Call me sometime.”
Over my dead fucking body.
I watch the fucker until he disappears around the corner, then turn back to Rosie.
She’s not looking at me. Her focus is solely on the cooler of flowers, but she doesn’t have to be looking my way for me to know she’s upset. That fucker got to her. I can see it in her body language, in the set of her shoulders and the tightness in her jaw.
She’s hurt, and it makes me hurt, and makes me want to hurt Levi. I move to go find him, because there’s no way I can possibly let him just walk away after that shit.
“I think daisies,” Rosie says quietly, stopping me in my tracks. “What do you think?”
I hate the way she’s looking up at me, with trepidation in her gaze, like she needs my approval. It’s not her, not the woman I know—not the woman I love.
I can’t answer her. I don’t have it in me to tell her what to do. It’s not my style. All I can do is reach around her and pick up the bouquet of daisies.
“Come on.” I press a kiss to her cheek. “We don’t want to be late.”
We don’t speak for the entire drive.
