“I was admiring a painting that she was also looking at.”
More like admiring her body.
“And despite my inability to touch the artwork, it was nice to see it from a distance.”
And feel it against my body when all I wanted to do was palm her soft curves.
“It was bizarre, really, because she didn’t seem into me at first.”
Or at all, considering my buddy had paid for the dance and she looked like she would have rather been anywhere else.
“But damn, could she move.”
On stage, like she was born for it and on my lap, grinding against my cock.I should have known she’d professionally danced in the past.
Lochlan’s brows lift. “Move? What was she doing moving around in the museum?”
And just like that, I realize I’ve veered way off script.
“Yeah,” I backtrack. “Well, afterward, we went dancing, and I pretty much proposed that night.”
Fuck, I hate lying to my friend.
“Oh, damn, man. That’s super sweet.”
“It was love at first sight.”
I think it might have been.
He nods, eyes soft with nostalgia. “I felt the same way about Jill. When you know, you know. You know? What’s the point in waiting?” He tugs off a glove to flash his wedding band with a proud grin. “Four years this year and I never take this thing off.”
A pang of jealousy hits me square in the chest. I’m happy for him, but damn if I didn’t think I’d be four years deep into a marriage of my own by now with Anastasia at one point.
Trust me, I have no regrets over ending things with her but it's still a harsh reminder of the way everyone else's lives have moved forward. And for a long time after I ended the engagement, I didn’t care about that. I was happily single. But marrying Rosie seems to have poked on old wounds I didn’t know I had.
“Love you and Jill, man,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder.
Before he can respond, Kensington, one of our youngest recruits, skates up beside us, grinning like he’s just scored a game-winning goal. “Man, I can’t believe the Mayhem’s most eligible bachelor got married.”
“Guess you’ll have to keep all the puck bunnies for yourself now,” I quip.
He smirks, his ego inflating as he skates off. “I think that’s how it’s always been, Tremblay.”
I shake my head with a chuckle, turning back to Lochlan because I haven't messed with the puck bunnies in years and they all know that.
“Awe looks like the new wifey showed up for practice today,” he says, nodding toward the stands.
I glance up and to my surprise spot Rosie in seat sixteen, head bowed, fingers flying over her phone like she's telling someone off.
She’s the only one here—none of the other wives made an appearance and I wonder how long she’s been sitting there watching. I can’t tell if this is part of the script or if she’s here todrop some bad news. But like a magnet, she must feel my gaze, because her eyes slowly lift to meet mine.
She stands, slipping her phone into her pocket before offering a wave and a smile that looks like she’s genuinely happy to see me.
“Boys!” Coach’s voice booms from across the rink. “Interviews. Now. Tremblay, you’re up first.”
“Dammit,” I mutter, skating off the ice. Post-game interviews usually come after showers and a change of clothes, but today they want us in full practice gear to sell the whole we’recommitted-to-the-winnarrative.
I don’t need to sell anything. I’m always committed to winning.
