So, talking. Not sex. Only talking.
It took too long to realize the sound in the car was me laughing.
Okay. Talkingandsex.
Holky was already grinning when I walked into the locker room. “Hey, Packy. Did you catch theSportsCentersegment called ‘Packo: Love or Cross-Check?’” He held up his phone. “I’ve got it queued.”
“You should definitely watch,” Mason called from across the room. “Beautiful work. Great clips of you and your man. Bud, the way he looks at you, all those slow blinks? It’s like a cat in love.”
Harpy held out his fist for a bump. “Luca calls them kitty kisses. Our cat Puck does it all the time.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “Do I give Nico kitty kisses too?”
Riley slung an arm around my shoulders. “No. You just bite your lip and eye-fuck him for the cameras.”
Brody snorted. “Made me hard seeing it the other night.”
“Same,” Gabe said. “Thanks for that, Packy. We went at it until one in the morning.”
I covered my ears. “TMI, boys. Keep your fucking to yourselves.”
“No problem,” Dog said. “As long as you tell us about yours.”
“Get real. I’ve never fucked Nico.”
It was true.
After I changed into workout clothes, Holky was still scrolling through his phone. “Holy shit, boys. There’s a new TikTok. Caption’s ‘Packo, a love story in three periods’ with tons of hashtags and eggplants.”
My heart took off. “The fuck?”
Harpy pointed his phone at the TV on the wall. “Up there, guys.”
I groaned as soon as it started. Someone had found pictures and videos from when Nix and I were in college. The ones they used showed us touching or sharing looks, along with lots of cellys where we found each other before we did our linemates. In one of them, we were hugging, and it looked like Nix kissedmy throat. Adding insult to injury, there was narration, and the voice was none other than fucking Marissa.
Packy and Nico’s story started when they were in college. They roomed together, played on the same line, and, according to people who knew them, they were together all the time. “It was sickeningly sweet,” one of their college teammates says. “I thought something was going on back then.”
The video switched to clips of us after we went pro, glaring at each other across faceoffs, delivering checks that could drop a bull, and fighting every time. She’d even used footage of us hitting each other with our sticks.
But something went wrong. They say the line between love and hate is razor-thin, and Nico and Packy’s college fun turned into fights every time they met on the ice. But check out their faces. Instead of being mad, they look sad. They’d lost the magic, and deep inside, they wanted it back.
The fighting scenes faded into scenes of us together over the last few weeks, complete with smiles, whispers, and chirps. Of course she’d included that shirtless interview, and the video ended with the pic of Nix squeezing my ass.
But there’s good news for romance lovers everywhere. The magic is back, better than ever. They’re older, they’re hotter, and they’re wiser. This time, let’s hope it lasts. Hashtag Packo. Hashtag BroLove.
“Who posted that?” I asked.
“PackoLoverInNY,” Logan said. “You guys have a dedicated channel.”
“Jesus Christ.”
Harpy clapped my shoulder. “Relax. At least you’re trending for romance instead of game misconducts. That’s progress.”
The boys cackled like a pack of hyenas until Holky called out, “Okay, guys. It’s shirt time!”
Like synchronized strippers, they pulled off their Warriors tanks and pulled on matching white T-shirts. I froze. The front of the shirts featured my ass, being squeezed by Nico’s hand. Under the picture, in bubblegum pink, was a caption: #PackoLove.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding,” I yelled.
