CHAPTER ONE
HARRISON
“Someone forgot to tell me adulthood includes dodging snot rockets and tantrums on ice.” August yanks his practice jersey over his head like it personally insulted him.
“Pretty sure we dodge snot rockets on the ice more often than we think,” Griffin chuckles. “Remember Rigovich from Ontario? That man snots like nobody’s business. What’s a few ten-year-olds compared to that boogery beast?”
August frowns. “Ugh, you’re right. So fucking gross. Someone remind me why I agreed to this?”
“Because Ella told you to,” Griffin fires back, grinning as he tapes his stick. “And we all know you’ll do whatever she says because you’re her smitten kitten.” The room cracks up and August scowls, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth.
Oliver leans against the wall like he’s posing for a photoshoot. “Honestly, I’m just glad I don’t have to spend my day flirting with all the drooling moms. So glad I’m past all that now.”
“Drooling moms, huh?” Bodhi smirks. “You mean like you’re some kind of hunky hockey God or something?”
Oliver nods. “Yeah. Exactly like that. Come on, you’ve seen them. They walk in like they own the ice even though they’ve never been on it lest they change out of their expensive shoes. They’re armed with Gatorade and an arsenal of unsolicited advice about everything from stick technique to snack choices. They’re helicopter parents and they think they know everything about the sport or they think their son’s do and that their son’s shit doesn’t stink even though we all know it does. I used to spend my summers flirting with them just to shut them up so we could do our jobs.”
“Corrigan did tell me I’m on a short leash today,” Bodhi adds with mock seriousness. “Maybe that’s why she told me that.”
Ledger shakes his head as he tightens his laces. “I don’t know why Marlee’s okay with this when we have three children at home. She didn’t even give me a choice.”
“That’s marriage, bud,” Griffin says with a wink. “Welcome to the club.”
“Yeah, speaking of,” Barrett pipes up from his corner, half in his pads already, “is Blakely covering this clinic for the team broadcast? Because if she is, I call dibs on not being the one she roasts in her segment tonight.”
“She’ll roast you anyway,” I say, smirking. “It’s her love language.”
“Sadly, you’re right.” He sighs dramatically but the man’s got puppy love written all over his face.
“Don’t pretend you don’t love it, Teddy Bear,” Griffin tells him, grinning. “So, I guess that leaves us with just one guy who doesn’t have a built-in babysitter, boss, or PR handler at home.”
I look up to find six pairs of eyes on me.
“What?”
“You,” Oliver says, pointing his stick at me like he’s naming a suspect. “The last single man standing.”
“Poor bastard,” Bodhi adds, shaking his head in mock sympathy.
“Dead man walking,” Barrett mutters, grinning behind his blocker.
“Or just smart,” I shoot back. “While you guys are being bossed around by wives and girlfriends, I’m over here living the dream.”
“Dream’s a strong word for going home alone to DoorDash and your fist, brother,” August jabs. The room erupts in laughter. I flip him off and finish lacing my skates.
“He’s right though,” Oliver pats my shoulder. “Guess you’ll be the one flirting with the moms this year.”
What else is new.
Same shit, different day.
But I’ll do it for the kids.
I roll my eyes and shove my gear bag into the corner. “You know what? I’m going to be that guy. I’m going to charm the leggings off those moms, and then I’ll have them running errands for me all season long. They’ll be my personal assistants.”
Griffin snorts. “Sure, buddy. Just make sure you don’t accidentally flirt with someone’s wife. We don’t want any broken hearts…or broken bones.”
“Good point,” I admit. “I’m not trying to get benched for accidental infidelity.” I glance at August, who’s still sulking like a toddler denied dessert. “But hey, at least you’ll be here for backup, August, if the moms start throwing themselves at me. You’ve got my back, right?”
