“Not a chance.”
This time, it’s Fox who speaks, and it stuns me so much I don’t even have time to react to Lawson barging into my apartment. He lets out a low whistle as the rest of the guys pile in behind him.
“Holy fuck, this is swanky!” he says as he takes in the expansive space.
“It’s basically identical to Locke’s. Stop acting surprised.”
“I’ve never been in Locke’s apartment,” he tosses back, his nose now pressed up against the photos lining the bookshelf I have up against the wall. He points at a picture. “Is this her?”
I don’t answer. I’m too busy throwing daggers Locke’s way.
“You brought himherebefore letting him into your apartment?”
He at least has the decency to look apologetic about it as he says, “We need to talk about last night.”
“What about last night?” I pretend not to know what he’s talking about as I make my way to the kitchen to fix my coffee the way I like it.
My eyes drift over all the junk I have on the front of the fridge, including the invitation to Hutch and Auden’s wedding next month. They land on a business card that’s been up there for three years now.
It was late at night at Top Shelf after I’d just moved to Seattle by myself, and I was drinking far more than I should have been. Some schmoozy lawyer guy got me talking, and by the end of the night, I was walking home alone, his card advertising that he’s the best divorce attorney in the city gripped tight in my hand. I should have thrown it away, but I tacked it to the fridge. At the time, I wasn’t sure Chloe would ever come back to me. And truthfully, after last night, I’m still not.
I snatch the card down, tossing it into the junk drawer to deal with later, and pull open the fridge.
“Holy shit.” Lawson’s voice makes me jump, especially since it’s so close. I didn’t even notice he came into the kitchen, and I definitely didn’t notice him standing right behind me. “You’re a creamer guy? And a lot of it too, I see.” He tsks. “I don’t think our nutritionist would approve of that.”
I replace the carton of butter pecan goodness, then turn around and shove him—hard—before taking a drink.
“Hey, rude. I brought you coffee.” He pouts, rubbing at his chest as if he doesn’t take bigger hits on the ice.
“Fuck off, Lawsy.”
“Nah.” He grins, then practically skips through the open-concept apartment to the living room, where he plops down on the sofa. He grabs the TV remote before kicking his feet up on the coffee table and turning the big flat screen on.
Hayes rolls his eyes and pushes off the wall he’s been leaning against, snatches the remote from his hands, and shoves his feet off the table. He mutters something that sounds a hell of a lot like, “Quit being a fucking idiot, you idiot,” but I can’t be certain.
I’m distracted by three sets of eyes watching me closely. I fucking hate it. It makes my hands feel all tingly, and not in a good way.
“What?” I finally snap at Locke, Hutch, and Fox.
They all exchange glances, probably silently wondering who is going to be the one to ask the question they’re all dying to know the answer to. After several quiet moments, it’s Hutch who steps forward, which I guess makes sense with him being the captain and all.
Thumbs hooked into the belt loops of his jeans, he asks, “Why the hell didn’t you tell us you’re married?”
I shrug. “Didn’t seem important.”
I lift my coffee cup to my lips, taking a sip and ignoring the heated stares I’m receiving from each one of my teammates. Predictably, Lawson is the first one to say something.
“Not important?!” He explodes off my couch, his arms rising in the air. “How the hell is you beingmarriednot important, Keller?”
I shrug again. “It’s just not.”
“Bullshit.”
Fox says the single word so sharply it almost scares me.Almost.
I narrow my eyes at the usually overly nice goalie. “Excuse me?”
He shrugs, unbothered by my deathly stare. “You heard me. That’s bullshit, and you know it. We know it too.”
