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He squeezed my ass, kissing me back. “I think I’ll manage,” he murmured.

I patted his chest and gave him a slight shove as we rounded the corner and our destination came into view.

The loud hum of many conversations happening all at once hit us as we pushed through the heavy wooden door, stopping to stomp our shoes on the thick rubber mat just inside. I scanned the surprisingly crowded room until I spotted the four guys I’d known since elementary school sitting at a long wooden table under a flickering neon sign. My fifth friend was busy behind the bar pouring pints.

“This way.” I threw a glance at Cally over my shoulder and began weaving my way toward my friends, maneuvering past a group crowded around the dartboard and dodging a waitress balancing a tray of empty glasses high above her head.

The second Pauly spotted me, he leaped to his feet, roaring, “There he is!”

I was immediately swarmed—Soren slapped my back, Axel pulled me into an aggressive hug, Big Sal shoved a bottle of Miller Lite into my hand, and Dave shook me so hard I almost dropped it. In that moment, I wasn’t a professional hockey player who’d just scored his first NHL goal—I was just a kid finally back home visiting his lifelong friends.

As the excitement began to settle, I turned to introduce them to Cally, only to see he’d moved off to the side to watch the chaos unfold.

“Get over here,” I told him, beckoning him forward.

Pauly clapped his hand to Cally’s shoulder in welcome. Cally froze for a split second, his eyes widening at the breach of personal space, but he wiped the shock off his face with his practiced, PR-ready smile and went with the flow.

“Is this handsome bastard the famous Hunter Callahan you won’t ever fucking shut up about?” Pauly demanded, grinning ear to ear as his gaze bounced between Cally and me.

I grinned back, so goddamn happy at finally being able to bring these two important parts of my life together.

“Everyone, this is Cally,” I said over the noise. “Cally, these are my boys—Pauly, Soren, Dave, Axel, and Big Sal.”

I pointed to each of them in turn, leaving Sal—whose real name was Mark Salnikov—for last. He was five-foot-five on a good day, but he’d earned the nickname back in junior high when he took on a football player who’d been teasing Axel’s little sister, Astrid. To the surprise of absolutely everyone, it had only taken one punch for Sal to floor the guy, blood spurting from his nose. No one had ever messed with Astrid or Sal again.

“He might be the smallest of us all, but he’s got the biggest heart of anyone you’ll ever meet.” I tossed him a wink and a smile.

Sal rolled his eyes and flipped me the bird. “Fuck off.”

“And that’s Ricky behind the bar,” I shouted, gesturing toward the dark-haired lumberjack on the other side of the room.

Ricky lifted his chin in silent greeting and popped the top off a bottle, sliding it toward a waiting customer.

“Remind me how you all know each other?”

“Been friends since we were seven years old and this dipshit got his tongue stuck to a frozen flagpole,” Pauly boomed, dragging two chairs out from under the table so Cally and I could sit.

Twin divots formed between Cally’s brows as he dropped into one of them. That was not the version I’d shared with him.

“Isn’t that a scene from that old Christmas movie?”

I chuckled, taking my own seat. “Where do you think I got the idea?”

“Fucking hilarious,” Pauly declared, clapping his hands on the back of my shoulders and shaking me roughly.

“We stood there laughing at him for a good ten minutes before we realized we should actually call for help,” Axel added, flipping his chair around to sit backwards.

“Fire department came out with warm water and everything,” Pauly supplied.

“Been friends ever since.” Dave grinned, plucking a fried pickle out of a basket from the middle of the table and popping it into his mouth.

“Stupid mistake on our part,” Sal muttered with a smile, scooting how own chair closer. “Should’ve left him stuck there and saved ourselves fifteen years of bragging about how he outworks everyone on the ice.”

“You brag about his work ethic,” Soren pointed out with a raised eyebrow.

Sal blushed. “Fuck you, I do not.”

Cally chuckled, resting his arm on the back of his chair, his eyes zeroing in on me. The guarded expression he’d been wearing since we walked in had melted away, leaving his eyes soft and so full of affection it was a miracle the guys didn’t immediately guess what we were to each other.