Aiden laughs. “I’d trust Lena with my kid. She looks… motherly.”
“Motherly? I’m not sure she’d see that as a compliment,” I say.
Aiden bends down to tie his laces. “You know what I mean. Like a multitasker. Responsible. The fact that she keeps you in line half the time is a good sign.”
I think about the trouble I’ve given Lena and wonder why she grates on my nerves. But I know the answer, don’t I? I feel like an asshole when I’m a jerk, but I hate how she’s at my father’s beck and call.
“I guess so, but it still makes me nervous.” I don’t really see the motherly side. Unless motherly means you hide what I’m pretty sure is a bangin’ body under those pants and blouses. I’d love to see Lena in high heels and lingerie. Fuck. I shake my head to get rid of that image.
“Relax. You need your focus on the game,” Aiden says.
“I’m gonna take a piss.” Maksim walks by, fully dressed now, to go do his stupid superstition.
I finish lacing up my skates and stand to put my phone in the locker. I’ve kept it on me in case Lena had any questions she needed answered before the game started. I catch a text message from my mom.
Mom: Good luck on the game. Thank you as always for taking one for your dad. The press will be good. You’ll see. Love you.
Always the peacemaker.
Me: Thanks Mom. It’s done and you’re welcome.
Mom: <3 Score me one tonight.
I give her the thumbs-up and tuck my phone in the locker, allowing the music beating in the room to wind its way into my veins, to get me excited. Because if anything, I want to mop the floor with Langley tonight.
Aiden comes over and pounds his fists on my shoulders. “Let’s go!”
“Let’s go!” I pound back and we grab our sticks, filing out to the hallway.
By the middle of the first period, I’ve had my eyes on Annabelle more than the puck.
“Get your head in the game or your ass is on the bench!” Coach screams when I come to the bench during a line change.
I’m not sure why I’m worried. Annabelle has her headphones on and she’s fast asleep in the carrier I gave Lena. Gavin won’t stop stealing Lena’s attention away from the ice and my daughter, and I’m growing irritated.
“That her boyfriend?” Maksim asks.
“No, just a friend, I think. He’s the writer for Sports Illustrated.”
Maksim’s eyes light up. “Why didn’t you say so? I gotta up my game. Maybe get ‘Play of the Week.’”
“That’s ESPN, dipshit.” I use a towel to wipe the sweat on my face.
“Still, if I impress, maybe I’ll get an article for my actual talent. Not a PR piece because I have money.”
I turn to Maksim, and he’s smiling and laughing. If he wasn’t my best friend, my fist would be in his face right now. But he and Aiden razz me all the time about my money. As if the two of them aren’t making bank themselves. I get it though. My trust fund is probably more than the team’s lifetime salary.
“Seriously, he hasn’t stopped talking to her the entire game.” Maksim nudges me with his elbow.
“I saw. They’re both boring as fuck, so I guess it’s a match.”
Maksim raises his eyebrows but says nothing.
I point at him. “Get your head in the game. Langley still has two legs to skate on.”
“I think I’ve lost my edge with Paisley. She’s made me soft. The other day she asked me to paint her toenails.”
“And?”
“I did it,” Maksim says.
“You didn’t.”
“Hey, I got the best kind of thanks for doing it.”
I shake my head.
He points at me. “One day.”
“Mark my words, I’ll never paint a woman’s toenails.” I concentrate back on the game.
“I’d make that bet, but the chance of you ever really falling for a woman is slim.”
I tilt my head at him momentarily before concentrating on the game. “What does that mean?”
“You have daddy issues.” I see him shrug in my peripheral vision.
“That’s a term for a woman, not a man.”
“You have daddy issues. Shit, if your dad told you to have sex with a hundred different women, you’d probably go celibate.”
“Richie? Celibate? Yeah, right,” Tweetie chimes in from the other side of me.
Maksim is still staring at me, waiting for me to negate what he’s saying. But damn him, he’s right. Whatever my dad wants me to do, I do the opposite. And I know for a fact he wants an heir. I’m the last of the Jacobs name right now, and since Annabelle is a girl, I’m pretty sure he’ll pressure me at some point to have a boy.
“I could totally be celibate. I didn’t have sex at all this week,” I say.
“Because you’re taking care of Annabelle, but you won’t last a month.” Tweetie chuckles just as the referee on the ice blows his whistle.
“Bullshit. My hand does a fine job.”
Tweetie laughs, climbing over the boards to get on the ice.
“Jacobs!” Coach yells.
I scramble to get over the boards, tripping and losing my footing for a second before I recover and hope no one saw.
“Nice fall,” Langley says, skating past me. That fucking prick.
“Shamrock, you think Richie can go a month without getting laid?” Tweetie asks.
“Find the puck and score for once instead of always slapping those gums together,” I say.
And Tweetie wonders how he got his damn nickname. He’s constantly talking on the ice. Chirping at the other team is one thing, but he’ll have a full-on conversation out here with his teammates.
“I give him six weeks,” Aiden answers, and my jaw falls open that my best friend doesn’t have faith in me. “And that’s being really generous.”
The puck drops, and Aiden wins the draw and skates down the ice with it. Maksim is back in now, and Langley is flying down to catch up. Langley’s definitely a beat off tonight.
“Six weeks?” I yell.
“I’m done with this topic of conversation.” Just then Aiden scores.
While he’s doing his celly, I tap my stick on the glass at Gavin. He looks up and I point at him. “Leave her the fuck alone. She’s watching my baby.”
Lena gives me her classic expression when it comes to me—exhaustion and annoyance. She shifts in her seat so I can see Annabelle’s face, and I see that she’s asleep in her carrier still. Then Lena shoos me off with her hand and the audience laughs. I turn around to find us on the Jumbotron.
Coach has his hands on his hips, staring down the ice at me, so I skate away from the boards. I skate ahead and Tweetie slaps me on the back.
“Let’s make a wager. I bet you fall for that one.” He turns to skate backward, pointing down the ice toward Lena.
“That’s never going to happen.”
“You seem awfully concerned about that guy talking to her,” he says before skating away from me.
“Just score a fucking goal,” I yell after him.