Now, when I say I don’t have a permanent woman in my life, that’s not entirely true. Beatrice runs this house. She just happens to be a cat.
“You didn’t catch her name on the way out, did you?” I ask.
Beatrice pauses mid-tuna inhale to give me a full-blown side-eye, the kind that could win awards for judgment. Her whiskers twitch, and then she dives right back into her food like I’ve wasted her time.
“I didn’t think so,” I say, laughing under my breath.
She’s never been a fan of other humans, especially women. Maybe it’s something buried from those early days when she was abandoned and half feral, or maybe she’s just overly protective of me. Either way, when I bring someone home, she immediately vanishes into whatever hiding place she deems acceptable and refuses to come out until the threat has left the building. Her displeasure is unmistakable.
“Well, don’t worry,” I tell her, leaning against the counter. “I don’t think she’ll be back.”
Beatrice doesn’t even look up, but I’m pretty sure she approves.
“But we did win the Stanley Cup last night, in case you were wondering.”
She doesn’t bother lifting her head. Not even a flick of her ear. Typical.
“You know, sometimes I feel like this is a very one-sided relationship,” I tell her. “It wouldn’t kill you to give a little more.”
Still nothing. No acknowledgment that her human just achieved one of the highest honors in his professional career.
Leaving my grumpy old lady to her tuna, I retrieve my phone. I send replies to the people who matter first—my teammates, who are probably all half dead from celebration, and my parents, who’ll be landing in Florida soon.
My phone buzzes again, this time with an incoming text from Penny.
Please confirm you’re awake, hydrated, and will be on time.
I laugh to myself, grab an iced coffee from the fridge, and send back a reply letting her know I’m alive, conscious, and not planning to be late for the event.
Her response pings almost instantly.
Good. See you there.
I suppose the celebration is over. We’re back at it. But first, I need a shower.
CHAPTER
TWO
LOGAN
“Who had the brilliant idea to plan this the day after our game?” Finn mutters, setting his black permanent marker on the table and stretching his arms until his knuckles crack.
I laugh under my breath. “I’ll give you one guess.”
We both glance at Penny. She’s in her signature pencil skirt and fitted blazer, hair twisted up tight as she directs the snaking line of fans waiting to meet us. Efficient as ever.
“I mean, some downtime would be nice, no?” Finn says around a yawn. “I don’t think I got more than two hours of sleep last night.”
“Yeah, it was a pretty epic celebration,” I say.
“Did you end up taking Macy home?” he asks.
“Who’s Macy?”
Finn’s eyebrows shoot up. “The girl you were making out with all night. Long blond hair, legs for days.”
“Her name was Macy?” I try to conjure even a flicker of recognition. Nothing. Not one spark.
