“We’ve all got superstitions, right?” Dean says, his dark eyes serious. “Most athletes do. Yours is to have a roommate and make sure you stay the hell away from relationships.”
Murph adds, “So how do you manage? Same way I do—you fuck on the regular. You’re doing that part just fine. But the first one? Clearly, you need a new roommate.” He turns to Liam. “You left him high and dry.”
Liam shakes his head. “Wasn’t meant that way. He swore he had a new housemate lined up. How was I to know he’d lied?”
“I didn’t want you changing your plans for me,” I say stubbornly. “I did have someone lined up. But he bailed at the last minute.”
“Well, I’ve got a kid at home—and a wife,” Liam says. “And you, Dean, and Murph have got what? Another weekend picking up the flavor of the month?”
I look into my older brother’s narrowed green eyes. Sometimes, it’s like looking in the mirror. But I’d never tell him that.
“You were just like us until Cathy got pregnant and you two decided to make a go of it,” I say, giving it right back to him.
Liam’s jaw turns to stone, and he runs his hand through the same dark wavy hair we can both thank our late father for.
“Watch it, little brother,” he growls.
I tug at my own hair that’s plastered to my head from sweat. “I’m happy for you; don’t misunderstand me.” I raise my hands in a surrender gesture. “I’m just saying—don’t judge me because a part of you still wants to be free and easy.”
And…I’ve touched a nerve.
“I love my kid, okay?” Liam’s face is suddenly inches from mine. “And I love my wife. Just because the only girl you ever loved left town…”
I push him into the lockers. He may be older than me, but I’ve got three inches and twenty pounds on him. Being the tallest in the family comes in handy when you’re the youngest of four boys.
“Jesus, Hunt,” Liam says as I hold him hostage. “I’m sorry, okay? Winter just pushes all your buttons. She always did.”
I press Liam harder against the lockers and pin his arm behind his back. “You better quit talking, big brother.”
As usual, he doesn’t listen. “Why don’t you move on and find a nice girl to settle down with?” he says. “Then you’d have a permanent roommate and wouldn’t be screwing up our playoff hopes.”
At his last words, I still. “You’re clearly not listening. I don’t do relationships.” Relationships are inherently messy, and I need to put all my focus on my career.
“Hey!” Coach Jones steps into our space and separates me from Liam. “Ease up, Storms. There’s media around. You two brothers want to go somewhere private so you can beat the shit out of each other like you’re kids again? No problem. But not here. Not when you’re with the team.”
Coach Jones may not have played in the pros, but he was a star college player, and he’s still in excellent shape. He has no problem shoving Liam and me apart, nor any hesitation in giving us both a lethal staredown.
I back off, apologize to Coach, and grab my towel. I peel off the rest of my padding and uniform, wrap the towel around my waist, and head for the showers.
Murph and Dean catch up to me.
“Let’s get drinks after this,” Murph suggests. “Blow off some steam.”
“Can’t,” I say. “I’ve got to remedy my living situation, remember?”
“You have a plan?” He raises one dark, bushy eyebrow in surprise.
“Sure I do. I have a pet sitter moving in to care for my cat. I’m gone so much I was paying through the nose for last-minute care by strangers I don’t trust to do a good job, and I hate leaving her at a kennel. So, this will take care of two of my problems. Plus, I’ve got a late night planned with Deb.”
“So, you’ll get yourself a housemate in the form of a pet sitter, which also resolves your cat care problem.” Murph holds up a finger. “And you’ve got plans with your on and off fuck buddy.” He holds up a second finger. “Those two things should kill the slump, right?”
“Right.” They better, or I could lose my place on the first line. And worse, we could miss the playoffs altogether. I’ve worked too damn hard for that to happen.
“Who’s the pet sitter?” Dean asks.
I shrug. “Someone who knows the French Quarter. She used to live in New Orleans years ago. I asked for an older lady who won’t be impressed by my profession, preferably someone who doesn’t follow hockey at all. The agent told me she had it handled, and she’s making sure the woman signs an NDA.”
“Huh. A chick. Well, as long as you don’t fuck her, right?” Dean says. “That will just complicate things.”
