Page 10

Bruce keeps his eyes on the road, and his shoulders tense slightly. “Oh, I forgot to ask how coaching went last night!” He huffs out a laugh that sounds fake. “Were those kids cute as hell with their tiny little skates?”

“Well, first off, they’re like twelve, not three. And it was horrible,” I answer honestly. “Why’d you avoid my question?”

“I didn’t.” He turns on his blinker and changes lanes on the highway. “Oh hey, you wanna stop and get some coffee?”

Leaning forward, I tap the old dash clock on his pickup. “At eight pm?”

“Aw, is it going to upset your tummy this late?” He teases, bringing one arm up and shoving me.

I’m about to ask him again where the party is, when he reaches up and taps a knob on the dash. The radio blares to life with some peppy song that sounds like it was recorded in the 80s.

“Dude! This is my jam!” He starts singing along at the top of his lungs. Something about a woman needing a hero, and holding out for that hero.

I roll my eyes, giving up on prying any answers out of him. He’s either avoiding my question, or has some serious ADHD. Maybe both.

He turns onto a brick street lined with luxurious, historic townhouses, then parks on the street in front of one. Our commute here was maybe fifteen minutes from my place, so it must be one of our teammate’s houses, but I’ve never been here before. Actually, I’ve only been to two teammates' homes. Remy, our captain, and the jolly blond giant sitting beside me.

The old metal door squeaks as I step out of the truck and close it, as if begging for a dose of WD-40. I give Bruce a knowing look and take a few steps toward the brick path leading to the house.

“Whose place is this?” I ask.

Bruce mumbles something around a cough.

“What?”

“West’s,” he mutters under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear.

“Nope.” I retrace my steps and grab the handle of Bruce’s pickup, only to tug and find out he already locked it.

I turn to glare at him, but he’s just grinning and jiggling the keys obnoxiously. “West isn’t that bad. You guys just need to get to know each other.”

“You purposely withheld information from me.” I cross my arms and lean back against the door of the pickup.

“I’m no dummy,” he says, crossing his arms too. “I knew you wouldn’t come if you knew, and you needed to get out of that penthouse.”

“Yeah, poor me in my fancy, spacious penthouse. Surrounded by pizza and endless John Wayne films.”

Remy’s voice draws our attention to the front door. “What are you two doing? It’s freezing.” He holds the door open a little wider. “Get your butts inside.”

With a groan, I push off the pickup and follow Bruce to the door and inside Weston Kerhsaw’s house. His very pretty, and equally sweet fiancee greets us as Remy closes the door behind us.

“Bruce! You’re here!” She squeals and he opens his arms and gives her a big, friendly hug, like they’ve hung out a million times.

“Hey pip-squeak!” He lifts her off the ground in a bear hug.

“Put my woman down!” West appears in the entryway, playfully glowering at Bruce, but everyone just laughs.

Except me. My body tenses at the sight of the golden boy himself. With his perfect family home and perfect fiancee and… I bet he has a perfect labradoodle hidden around here somewhere. All the perfect people have them.

But, unfortunately, since I’m in West’s house, I have to be cordial to him. I smile, at least, I try to. It must appear like I’m bearing my teeth, because West’s blond eyebrows knit together.

“I’m Melanie, by the way.”

My head swivels to look in the direction of the sweet, princess-sounding voice.

West’s petite fiancee is smiling and extending her delicate hand in my direction. “I’m not sure we’ve officially met.”

We’ve met once, back when I made a lewd comment about her just to piss off our assistant captain. Which worked like a charm, by the way. I’m distracted for a moment by her large, blue eyes. Eyes that seem to glow with friendliness and hospitality, and I wish I could take back the comment I made over a year ago.