I glare at him, though quickly shift my focus back to Tyler.
The rookie winces. “She kept mixing past and present tense, so I can’t say for sure if she meant a relationshipnowor…”
“Definitely not now,” Jake declares, his voice flat.
Tyler freezes, his expression stark.
Jake’s an easy-going guy, but if someone fucks with him or one of his friends? They better hope they have a safe room in their house.
“What the fuck is her game?” I mumble, mostly to myself.
“Her relationship with Linden crashed and burned after he got traded to Kansas,” Logan says. “So if she wants to lock in her lifestyle before Sanders sells the team…” He pauses, meeting my eyes. “You’re her way back in.”
All around the table, bodies go rigid.
“Don’t act surprised about my insider information,” he says with an exaggerated eye roll. “I do monthly follow-ups with everyone in your lives. Jake, your dad’s in the Bahamas right now; Cole, Darby’s dating someone new, but I haven’t formed an opinion on him yet. And Tyler, I follow your future brother-in-law just because he’s impressive… and nice to look at. His British accent is really something.”
“You stalk my sister?” Cole asks, the color draining from his face.
“And my dad?” Jake adds, voice dropping an octave.
I glance at Tyler, waiting for him to protest, but he shrugs. “I’m just honored to be included.”
Logan blows him a kiss.
I shake my head. “We’ll circle back to the intrusive stalking later. What do you mean Sanders is—I lower my voice, ducking—“selling the team?”
He leans forward, grinning. Clearly reveling in the satisfaction that, for once, wewantto hear his intel. “Notofficially, but c’mon. You’ve all heard the rumors that he’s been shopping the team.”
The speculations have been floating around for years. So long, in fact, that none of us give them real consideration anymore.
“Why now?” Cole asks.
“He’s older than the Quaker Oats dude, and my sources say that our Cup win increased the team’s sale price significantly, so now’s as good a time as any.”
Cole lowers his voice. “Who are your sources?”
“That’s not how journalism works, Captain.”
“You’re not a journalist,” Jake counters. “You’re a hockey player with a hard-on for gossip.”
“My hard-on just gave you potential insight into why Gigi’s back and has her sights set on Cameron.”
Jake drains his beer and sets his glass down. Logan’s got him there. If Sanders sells the team, Gigi loses her access, status, and rinkside Instagram posts. She’d need a new angle.
And apparently, I’m it.
“Doesn’t matter either way,” I admit with an honest shrug. “She made her choice.”
“Damn right,” Jake agrees. “And you made yours. Kennedy’s good for you, man. Like, actually good for you.”
Coming from Jake, who runs from commitment like it’s chasing him with a knife, that’s a glowing endorsement.
Logan picks up the wine bottle and refills his glass. “Let’s toast to a great game. And to Cam pulling his head out of his ass long enough to pull a woman way out of his league.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Cole says with a laugh.
“Traitor,” I mutter, but I lift my glass any way.
