“Yep,” Coach says. “And you’re looking good out there, keep it up.”
Practice ends about fifteen minutes later, and I’m relieved when AJ announces the captain positions for this season and I skate forward to stand next to McCabe and Walsh to the cheers of my teammates. We stand there together so photos can be taken, and then our teammates pile in behind us for one big group photo.
I take my time after that, as we file off the ice, just absorbing the feel of the place. A few weeks ago, this rink felt different—unfamiliar, though not unwelcoming. Now, it’s starting to feel like home again.
“Good choice today, man,” McCabe says, knocking his shoulder with mine before he hands me a beer. Thankfully, tonight we’ve picked a proper bar to celebrate the end of our second week of training camp, so I’m not stuck drinking a fucking margarita.
Though if I’m being honest, the level of discretion at The Neon Cactus was nice. Whether they realize we’re professional hockey players or not, no one bothers us there. But at this place, people keep coming up and asking for pictures.
After a year without this kind of notoriety, I’m torn between annoyance at the constant interruptions while I’m trying to hang out with my teammates, and being grateful people remember I exist. With the announcement the Rebels put out this afternoon, naming me as the new alternate captain alongside Walsh, and renaming McCabe as our captain, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that I’m at the forefront of Boston sports fans’ minds.
“Fucking finally,” Colt says.
“What do you mean, finally?” I ask. For at least the last decade, Colt’s been the unofficial captain on this team, since he’s a goalie and can’t wear theCon the ice.
“It’s about time you stepped up. You could be a leader out there and instead you spend half your time in the penalty box.”
“Pfft. You sound like AJ,” I say.
“Because I’m always right?” Colt smirks. “This is a good move for you,” he says, more sincerely. “I feel good about this.”
I wait for him to say something sarcastic, but it doesn’t come. “Are you getting sentimental in your old age, Colt?” I ask, tipping my beer back as my gaze catches behind him where Morgan has walked in with Jules, Audrey, and AJ. McCabe and Colt hadsaid “the girls went over to visit Eva” while Hartmann came out with us, but I hadn’t realized that his departure half an hour ago meant they’d be showing up here.
I see what she means about how intertwined she is with my teammates.
I can think of at least five reasons I shouldn’t be thinking about her. But no matter what I tell myself, she’s always running through my mind. I look for her every time I’m at the Rebels practice rink. I picture her every time my hand is around my cock. I haven’t thought of or looked at another woman since I met her.
It’s been so long since I’ve felt this way about anyone that I almost don’t recognize the feeling. But when I do, I also remember all the heartache that came with the one and only time I let myself fall for someone. I don’t want to be infatuated with my stepsister, but I think I’m quickly heading in that direction.
“Dude,” McCabe says as his elbow digs into my side, “you’re staring. And I’m going to guess you’re not eying my girlfriend or Colt’s fiancée, so why can’t you take your eyes off Morgan?”
Fuck. Fuckety fuck.I forgot that under that scowl and his hardened exterior, McCabe is incredibly observant. It’s a skill I’d like him to lose at the moment, especially since I’m not thinking as quickly as I should after these last few beers.
“Just... thinking that I never thanked her for the write up she did on me coming back this year.”
On either side of me, my friends snort out laughs that let me know they’re not buying that story. Luckily, there isn’t time for them to comment on my lie before the women are right in front of us.
Her friends cozy up to my friends, and when she glances at me, she looks a bit uncomfortable. She takes in the drinks in ourhands and says, “I’m going to go get us some drinks. AJ, Jules, what do you guys want?”
She heads to the bar with her friends’ drink orders, and I give myself a moment to watch the sway of her hips as her short skirt highlights her thick, toned thighs. Then I snap my gaze back to my friends before I let myself remember what those thighs felt like wrapped around my waist in that cave and around my head in that hotel room. But as I chat with them, listening to all the updates on Luke and Eva’s baby, my eyes are already scanning the crowd because I’ve lost sight of Morgan.
When I find her, she’s down toward the end of the bar ordering her drinks, and beyond her, on the other side of the bar, sits some random finance bro who can’t take his eyes off her. The lecherous look on his face as his gaze travels over her has a tight coil winding around inside me. He says something to the guy sitting next to him, then slides off his barstool and heads around the corner of the bar.
I know the second Morgan spots him, because her spine stiffens and she angles her body the opposite direction like she hopes he won’t see her there. Obviously she knows him.
“Be right back,” I say, handing Colt my beer as I push through our small circle and weave my way through the crowd. I hear murmurings around me as I jostle people out of my way to get to her. He gets there first.
She turns slightly toward him, says something, and then tries to turn away but his hand snakes around her waist. “I have nothing to say to you, Carter,” she says as I come up behind her, settling myself up against the bar on her other side.
“This guy bothering you?” I have to raise my voice to be heard over the loud music from the speakers directly above the bar, and a few people near us turn their attention in our direction.
She turns toward me, looking immensely relieved at my presence. “He was just leaving.”
“Babe,” this asshole, Carter, draws out the word like he’s trying to coax her to give him a chance. “Come on, I miss you.”
The fuck?I need someone to tell me she didn’t have a thing with this guy. He sounds like a used car salesman who knows he’s fucking you over and has the slightly disheveled look of someone who just lost an important business deal. A few locks of greasy hair hang down his forehead, and his cheeks are pink in the way that happens to some people when they’ve drunk too much.
“You are, quite literally, the last person on the planet that I want to talk to right now,” she says, her voice so full of disdain that I actually chuckle.
