Chapter One
“Don’t you dare think of stepping one foot inside this house in gray sweatpants, Ryan Donnelly.” I point an aggressive finger toward the glass sliders leading to the back deck, all while not looking up from the computer screen in front of me.
“Don’t be like that, Madz.” Ryan pouts when I finally look. It’s not a look a twenty-seven-year-old man should be able to pull off, but with his Chris Evans good looks, he totally does.
Not for the first time—perhaps for the millionth, for that matter—I curse my stupid heart for not being able to get its shit together and accept his proposal. Nooo, it had to stubbornly, stupidly insist on not being able to figure out how to love.
Well, that’s not true. I love my family, my friends—Ryan included—and my dog, but I haven’t figured out what it actually means to be in love.
Sure, the voices in my head can tell me how they feel. My characters pretty much craft all sorts of shouty-capitals-worthy happily-ever-afters in my books themselves.
I’m constantly having to tell them to stay in their lane when it comes to whose story it is, but when I try to phone a friend with them, they’re all, New phone, who dis?
“Don’t even try it, mister.” I wave my finger side to side, still not fully looking up. “You do and I’ll sic my attack dog on you.”
Warmth leaves my lap as Trident, my yellow lab, lifts his head, knowing I’m talking about him. He may be able to teach a master class on being a well-behaved canine and can scare off any would-be attackers (aka the mailman and such) with his bark, but he’s a big ball of mush for Ryan and my other friends.
He lazily lumbers to his feet and heads straight for Ryan, only further proving the point.
The NHL golden boy bends down to love up on my fur child while actually following my orders and staying in the open doorway, the breeze from the ocean bringing in the comforting scent of salt and sea.
“Who’s a good boy?” Ryan wraps both hands around Trident’s ears, scratching behind them. “You are, aren’t you, Tri? Yup, I know you are. You’re keeping your mommy company while she ignores her real friends for the ones in her head, huh?”
My “attack dog” has a hind leg scratching in the air and is melting into an almost-hundred-pound puddle right there on the floor. Granted, I’m not super far behind as I watch the display. Why did I have to look up?
No, Madz. The question you should be asking yourself is why aren’t you with this sweet, sweet man?
Jiminy can be a real son of a bitch.
Really…is it my fault I can’t get my heart to fall in line?
“Can you please stop telling my dog lies? I’m not ignoring you guys. It’s only six in the morning—almost everyone is still sleeping.”
Over the head of my blissed-out dog, blue eyes a few shades darker than my own find me. “Yes, but if you’re up at six AM, it means you’ve been up all night and will end up ignoring us to sleep.”
Is it wrong that I kinda wanna hit him for being right?
“Semantics.”
The sound of joints popping as Ryan rises to stand fills the silence before he finally braves going against my orders and walks into the house. He lifts my feet from the chair they’re resting on, settling into the seat with them in his lap.
“What are you doing up this early anyway?” I ask, reaching down to pet Trident as he retakes his spot at my side.
“I came to pick up my running partner before I set off.”
My gaze automatically falls to watch the way the muscles in his arm pop and flex as he stretches to run a hand down Trident’s back. My dog lets out a sigh, and I can’t blame him. I have firsthand knowledge of how good it feels to have that particular body part do the same to me.
Stop that right now, Madz. You do not get to think those things anymore. You and Ryan are only friends now.
God, I need sleep. It’s only when I’m overtired like this that I beat myself up over what at times I think are my bad life decisions. I really am fucked in the head.
“You do realize it’s the offseason, right?”
There are days I question if the word offseason is even in his vocabulary with the way he trains year-round. His work ethic rivals that of my brothers, and their lives depend on their physical fitness.
Hmm…
I saw Justin just last week and he’ll be down the shore again this weekend, but when was the last time I spoke to Tyler or Connor?
Tyler is stateside right now, but it’s been a few days since he responded to the family group chat. I’ll bug him later.
Connor’s team is currently deployed, so his additions to the chat are few and far between. I shoot off a quick email—since that is sometimes more reliable—asking when we can video-chat again. Hopefully the conversation will end on a better note than the last one.
A girl gets herself an overzealous fan and everyone is all up in arms about it.
I swear I’m too old to still be dealing with big brother overprotectiveness.
They have a point, Madz.
Oh, leave her alone, Jiminy.
Yeah—the Die Hard Trilogy needs to take a chill pill.
The metal of Trident’s collar tags jingles when he tilts his head at my growl.
Bed.
I need bed.
“We’re not gonna bring the Cup back to Jersey without putting in the work,” Ryan says, answering my earlier question.
I’m surprised my dog is the only one he’s enlisted to run with him. What about his teammates?
“Jake and Chance are lucky I didn’t pull their asses out of bed.” It’s scary how well he can still read my thoughts.
“I agree about Chance since you live in the same house, but I call bullshit on Jake.” He arches a brow at the mention of his brother-in-law. “There’s no way you would risk facing the wrath of your sister if you woke up any of her babies.”
I don’t bring up the fact that it’s weird for a group of professional athletes—multi-millionaire athletes—to share a shore house together, even if it is a mansion. Those comments fall on deaf ears anyway. No use wasting trash talk on it.
“You got that right. I would prefer not to be the victim of one of JD’s revenge plots, thank you very much.”
“Plus, you run the risk of seeing her naked since she and Jake like to—”
“Not cool, Madz. Not cool at all.” He is quick to cut me off before I can go on about his sister’s sex life. Torturing brothers is one of my favorite pastimes, one that is also enjoyed by some of my fellow Covenettes.
Who are the Covenettes, you ask?
Only the most awesome women in existence. It started with the original six—the founding members, if you will—but we’ve added to our ranks the last few years.
“If you want, I can text her to see if it’s safe?” I reach for my phone only to have it snatched away.
“No way. I don’t need to be the topic of a Coven Conversation this early.”
I snort, like I do any time one of the guys uses the name they assigned to our group chat. I highly doubt Ryan’s brother Jase—Jordan’s twin—and his best friend Vince knew what they were getting into when they gave us our nickname in college. Too bad for them we’re the type of women to take the ball and run with it.