I give her a blank look. “Mom, that crazy child of yours was watching crime docs and saying she could kill me with spells. She’s insane. Get her help.”
She snorts, not the least bit worried about my crazy sister. “It’s a phase. She’ll grow it out of it, just as you did with that Bieber kid.”
I gasp. “Mom, I still love the Biebs.”
“For the love of God,” she murmurs, but then something catches her eyes. Her face fills with blissful happiness, and when I follow her gaze, I see my dad is coming toward us. He’s wearing golf shorts and a collared shirt since he spends most of his time at the course now. He has on a dark cap, hiding the graying in his hair, but his beard has the same graying. I swear his eyes are brighter now that he’s gotten more gray hair. He wraps his arms around my mom, kissing her loudly on the cheek. As she laughs, leaning into him, I notice Shea and Elli Adler are right there with him.
I assume Shea was at the course with my dad since he’s wearing the same type of thing, just with bright blue eyes behind some thick black glasses. I’ve always found Shea super hot, but I would never admit that. Posey and Shelli would kill me. Elli Adler is a walking angel. She’s got on a maroon power suit, her hair up in a high bun, and high, high heels. Best part, her new grandson is strapped to her chest.
“Aw, Zac!”
Elli grins as I come over and kiss on the new baby. Everyone thinks he looks like Posey, but all I see is Boon. Even with him so little, he looks like a little lumberjack ready to smash trees in half. “So cute!”
Elli kisses my cheek, and we share a smile. “Hey, Stella. How are you?”
“Great!”
“How’s school?”
I exhale and nod. “Great.”
I hate that question. It makes me feel as if I can’t quit college to pursue cupcakes. Someone would ask how school is, and when I would tell them I’m making cupcakes instead, they’d be disappointed. Especially my parents. I go behind the bar to get everyone waters as they sit and get down to business.
Aiden and Shelli’s gender reveal.
“So, Shelli doesn’t want a balloon. She wants Aiden and her to shoot a puck—”
“Of course not,” my dad says, interrupting Elli. “Because when has Shelli ever wanted anything simple?”
They all laugh at that. “As I was saying, they want the color to explode when they hit the puck.”
“I love it,” my mom gushes, clapping her hands. “We’ll cater, of course.”
Elli grimaces. “Actually, they want a taco truck.”
Between them, Shea clutches his wallet. “I thought we were done after the wedding? Why are we paying for this?”
My dad laughs as Elli smacks Shea. “Because it’s a gift. Plus, we didn’t do this for Posey. She just got knocked up and didn’t tell anyone.”
“And she’s normal and doesn’t like a bunch of hoopla,” I supply, and everyone nods but Elli.
Shelli and Elli are the best of friends. “Maybe, but we aren’t giving that comment life.”
I grin as I turn to serve a new guest, doing my job, even though I can hear them talking and planning. They’ve all been friends so long, through bad times and good, but most of all, you can see the love between them. Not only as couples but as friends. It’s beautiful to witness, especially when their love brought along all us kids.
It’s crazy how not too long ago, they were planning birthday parties. Now they’re planning gender reveals.
Funny how that happens.
But also, would it be totally inappropriate to make out with Wes at that event?
I feel since we did at the wedding, we have to keep the tradition going…
Don’t we?
No…? Yeah…? No.
Chapter Four
Wes
I’m not a fan of losing.
I don’t think anyone is, but I’m sure there are people who handle it better than I do. Unlike my teammates, I get really petty. I talk entirely too much shit to the other team, and I get chirpy. I’ll run into people because it makes me feel better. I’ll slash, I’ll cross-check, I’ll do whatever I want, just to feel like I still have ownership over this game. It results in fights and penalty minutes. I’m a jackass—I know this—which isn’t really good for the team, but I am a sore loser. I own it. Hell, I’m pretty sure my therapist is tired of trying to fix it out of me, but it’s just how I do things.
It’s how I cope.
Not healthy, but at least I’m not doing crack.
We’re down by four, and it’s easy to say no one is handling the coaching change or our goalie loss well. It has not been a good month for the Assassins. When the whistle blows for offside, I glance over to Roocie, who plays for the Wild, and glare. “Hey, how’s your sister?”
“Fuck off, Mac,” he sneers, and I grin, sinfully and with all kinds of malice.
“Hey, she said something quite different. She wanted me to fuck her, and I did. A lot.”
“Dude, go fuck yourself.”
“Or should I call your sister tonight? If I remember correctly, she is wild as fuc—”
I should have seen it coming. I grew up with Roocie, which is how I slept with his sister a few times, and I know his temper. It’s exactly what I wanted. Pain. When he swings around, full rage in his eyes, I can’t even prepare myself before his gloves are on the ice and his fist is in my jaw.
Fuck, that hurts.
Man, I love it.
Soon, we’re throwing blows, and it’s a blast. While I love to score, I love to fight too. It gives me such a rush. I’m surprised I haven’t gotten the label of goon yet, probably because I do more than just fight. I’m the second-leading scorer for the team after Aiden Brooks. My assist points are insane, and my plus/minus is the highest in the league. I’m a fucking badass, but this part, the fighting, gets my engines revving. Lately, it’s all I have since I’m not having sex with anyone.
When he busts my nose, I’m thankful for the refs who break it up quickly.
As I head to the side of the rink, my teammates tapping the ice for me, I grab a towel from the trainer for my bloody nose before entering the box. When I sit down, I check my jersey to make sure I have no blood on it, and then I feel like an idiot. I realize that I’ve been doing shit like this for a while now. It’s gotten worse since Coach quit, and then we lost Peca, which is absolute bullshit. I feel for the kid. He was going to be one of the greats, and then, bam! A heart defect pops up. How in the hell? Such shit. I hate that bad things happen to good people. He’s a good kid, and I miss him.
As I hold the towel to my nose, Roocie yells over to me. “I’m not done with you.”
I scoff. “Funny, that’s what your sister told me last time.”
He doesn’t say anything to that, and I don’t have to look at him to know he is shaking with anger. I lean my head back to stop the bleeding because I refuse to get off the ice. We may be down, but I am hell-bent on trying to win. But when I hear the goal song for the Wild, I groan loudly.
Well, that’s my fault.
I need to get laid. That’s the real problem. I haven’t been in the mood, which isn’t too surprising. I’ve been lusting over Stella Brooks, and I don’t feel like I’ll get what I’m craving from anyone else. I want her, and I know that’s not going to happen.