I’m going to murder him later.
Slowly.
The locker room reeks of sweat, soap, and too much cologne. Everyone’s half-naked and yelling—Shane’s already shirtless, screaming about shots, Cole’s arguing with Mats over who’s buying first round, and Tyler’s blinking like he missed the entire plan.
Elias yanks his shirt off like he’s doing a damn strip tease, then looks at me.
I sit on the bench with my elbows on my knees, laces undone, and sigh loud enough that Cole laughs from across the room. “I’m too old for this,” I mutter.
“No, you’re not!” Elias purrs immediately, hopping up from his spot and bounding over like I didn’t just skate him into the boards for two hours straight. “Cap, please! Just come out! It’s my birthday.”
“Pup—”
“Twenty-one,” he reminds me, puffing his chest out proudly. “Which means I can finally drink without your permission.”
“Like that’s ever stopped you.”
He grins. “Exactly! So now I get to do it legally.”
I run a hand over my face, resisting the urge to groan again as Elias sits beside me, still shirtless, still flushed, still glowing. His knee bumps mine, then his fingers graze my thigh subtlety, teasing. He’s trying to make this impossible.
“You gonna wear that smug look all night?” I ask.
He smirks. “Depends. You gonna behave or give me something to smirk about?”
Cole howls from the other side of the room. “HE’S GONNA GIVE YOU A RING, BIRTHDAY BITCH!”
“Shut up, Cole!” Elias shrieks, turning red from the base of his neck up.
I’m already up and moving before anyone else can pile on. Elias scrambles after me, still tugging on clothes, still laughing.
I was never going to say no.
The entire team rolls out of the arena, howling and slapping each other’s backs, still high off adrenaline and sweat and the promise of alcohol. Helmets tucked under arms, hair still damp, jerseys half-stuffed into duffel bags, none of them are moving like they came out of a brutal, bloody playoff practice. No. They’re moving like wolves that caught the scent of prey and know it ends in drinks.
I follow slower, gear bag slung over my shoulder, jaw tight.
The team bus is already waiting by the curb, engine humming, the same driver we’ve had for years sitting behind the wheel with a grin that’s already halfway to mocking. He takes one look at me and presses his lips together, trying not to laugh.
“Don’t even think about it,” I warn, voice low.
“Sure thing, captain,” he smirks, tipping an imaginary hat.
And then Elias barrels past me, nearly knocking over Shane and Cole in the process, a blur of reckless birthday energy. He launches himself up the bus steps like the damn thing will start faster if he runs hard enough.
I watch him go. He's still shirtless. “Mercer!” I snap, sharp enough to cut through the chaos. He’s halfway up the bus steps when he freezes as if I yanked his leash, stops so fast he nearly eats shit, stumbling forward, grabbing the railing to keep from face-planting in front of the whole damn team.
He whips his head around, eyes wide and pout already forming. “What? What did I do now, sir?” he whines.
I raise a brow. Take a long, slow look down his chest. “Forgot something maybe?”
He stares at me. Then blinks. Then follows my gaze down the length of his bare torso, and the realization hits him like a puck to the face. “Oh. Oh shit!”
Cole snorts behind me. “Puppy went feral and forgot his damn shirt.”
Elias bolts back down the steps, nearly crashing into Shane, muttering something about how he swore he put it in his bag. I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose.
“He’s gonna be the death of me,” I groan.
