Elly blushes. “Thanks, but I’m only six weeks along. I don’t want to tell Mimi until I’m out of the first trimester. Just in case, you know?”
“Smart,” Charlotte agrees. “My friends always said…” She trails off as she spots me over Makena, a smile bursting across her face that banishes any lingering worry that their night wasn’t a complete success. “Hey you! Incredible game!”
She bounds toward me for a hug.
I tell myself it’s just for the benefit of the people watching, but when her arms wrap around me, nothing about it feels fake. And when she whispers for my ears only—“She had so much fun. We both did, and you were stupidly hot out there. Why is watching you slap a puck around with a stick so hot?”—I feel like the luckiest man in New Orleans.
I pull back, grinning down at her. “Mastery, baby. Mastery is hot, even when it’s a silly game.”
She laughs. “I never said it was a silly game.” I arch a brow, and she amends, “Fine, I never said italoud. I can’t help it. I was raised in a family that thought sports were a waste of time, they could spend reading.” She shrugs as she moves out of my arms, a hungry look in her eyes that makes me hope we can steal a second alone later. “But you might be changing my mind.”
“I also read,” I remind her, extending an arm to Beatrice as she joins us.
“So good, Bay. You were on fire,” Beatrice says, giving me a tight squeeze. She’s still too skinny, but her hug is already stronger, and her eyes are bright as she beams up at me. “Seriously, you’ve gotten even better since last year. Like, way better.” She chucks me on the bicep before adding in a teasing voice, “Maybe you aren’t over the hockey player hill, after all.”
“I’ll show you over the hill,” I grumble, feigning irritation as I wrap an arm lightly around her neck and rub my knuckles into her hair, just like when we were kids.
She protests, “Stop, you’ll give me split ends, jerk,” but she’s giggling as she squirms free.
“Speaking of over the hill, are we too old and tired to go out for karaoke at The Brass Monkey?” I ask, glancing between Bea and Charlotte. “Parker and Grammercy asked us all to come.”
“Of course, they’re coming,” Makena says, waving a breezy hand my way. “We decided that a long time ago. Charlotte and I are going to sing ‘Edge of Seventeen’ together.” She bats her lashes my way. “Which I know you’ll be very excited about.” To the others, she explains, “Nix was there the last time I sang karaoke at The Brass Monkey. He’s well acquainted with my skill and talent.”
“My ears start bleeding a little just thinking about it,” I joke, earning a peal of laughter from Elly.
“So bad,” she gasps once she can breathe again. “Oh my God, it’s so bad. We should pick up earplugs on the way.”
Makena sticks her nose in the air, pretending to be offended. “It is not! What I lack in musical ability, I make up for in star quality.” She loops an arm around Char’s waist. “And Charlotte has a gorgeous voice. She sounds just like Stevie Nicks. I’ll let her take point and stick to the hooting dove part. And interpretive dance. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” Charlotte agrees dryly.
Before I can suggest we get moving so we can beat the rest of the crew to the sign-up sheet—I would be lying if I said I wasn’t dying to see Charlotte up on stage singing like Stevie Nicks—a squeaky voice pipes up from my right.
“Um, would it be okay if I come, too? Like, if I promise not to be awful?
I glance over to see Sierra, Torrance’s girl, one of the women who directly contributed to the Beer Tits fiasco by being a bratty pain in the ass at the first home game. I turn to Charlotte, fully prepared to let her call the shots on this one, then back her up in any way necessary. Torrance is a decent kid, but if his girlfriend is trouble, I’m fine with asking him to sit this one out and explaining why. This is a night for grown-ups who like and care about each other, not people still trapped in high-school era “mean girl” shit, looking for a reason to cause trouble.
“I’m really sorry, Charlotte,” Sierra continues, plucking nervously at the bottom of her pink crop-top sweater. “I feel terrible about that message I sent. It was just…mean. And I’m sorry.”
Charlotte detaches from Makena, crossing her arms as she faces Sierra. “Thank you, I appreciate that. But to be fair, it was also true. I really do need to watch my posture in that shirt.”
Sierra shakes her head hard enough to send her blond pigtails flying. “No way, it looked fine. Any fit can look weird if you photograph it from the wrong angle.” She darts a glance over her shoulder before continuing in a softer voice, “Luce and I aren’t friends anymore, FYI. She’s totally vicious online and off, and it just…” She shrugs, tugging at her shirt again. “It made me realize that I don’t want to surround myself with people like that. And I really don’t want tobea person like that. I’d much rather be with cool, fun people like you. If, you know… If I haven’t already messed that up.”
“Of course, you haven’t,” Charlotte says, her smile small but genuine. “We all make mistakes. I’ve certainly made my share, and it takes strength to admit you were wrong. Especially in public.”
Sierra looks up, wary, but hopeful. “Yeah?”
Char nods. “Yeah. That was some serious grown-up shit.”
Sierra exhales a surprised laugh. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. And as long as everyone else is in, I’d love for you to join us,” Charlotte says, summoning murmurs of agreement from the rest of the women. Even Makena, who appears ready to let bygones be bygones as long as Charlotte is.
And, of course, she is.
Because she’s a fucking class act.
And gorgeous and sexy and funny, and she can apparently sing like Stevie Nicks, and before the end of the night, I’m sure I’ll be even further under her spell.
