“He’s not kicking me out.”
“But is he serious about you?”
I know what she’s asking, and I know why. Kami had a friends-with-benefits relationship with Nick for months before she realized it wasn’t going anywhere and dumped him. Not to say that all hockey players just like sex however they can get it, but let’s be real.
The sex is definitely one of the highlights of living with Tyler.
And while Kami dumping Nick finally opened his eyes to what he had, I don’t feel like Tyler takes me for granted the same way.
“I met his family. He moved me into his place and brought my cat. We’ve all heard the rumors about him hooking up with a random bunny or someone he met somewhere else, right? And he’s sworn up and down almost as long as I’ve known him that he’s never getting married. But then he tells me he misses me when he’s out of town and he cooks me breakfast and he stops by Cod Pieces when I have a random shift, and it’s like—”
“You’re working at Cod Pieces?”
I open my mouth, then shut it.
“Muffy. Are things—” She glances at the rest of the group, leans closer, and lowers her voice. “Are things that bad?”
“No! No. I’m filling in some shifts as a favor for someone. And things are getting better at Muff Matchers. I’m screening the men better than I did last year, and the support group is going so well, and I’m on the verge. I’m seriously right on the cusp of making this work-work.”
Maren’s brows are bunched together. She knows as well as I do how badly my screening efforts failed last year, when I was letting random men sign up on my website.
I accidentally set Kami up with one of their other friends’ horrible ex-boyfriends.
With the number of dating disasters my services have sparked, it truly is a miracle that I still have any clients at all.
“If you need help, call me. Understand?” Maren says.
“I’ve got this. I do. I’m not bailing on this the way I—the way I bailed on med school.”
“I have a spare bedroom and I don’t mind cats, okay?”
“Thank you, but I don’t think I’m going anywhere anytime soon.”
I start to smile.
She meets my eyes, and she laughs. “You really do have it bad.”
Can’t argue with that.
I really, really do.
But Tyler does too. He might not say it, but he’s showing me that he does.
I stare at him down there on the ice, see him glance at the other side of the rink, where Cranford is glowering at him from the boards.
My stomach drops.
If Tyler gets hurt—
“Cranford won’t touch him, Muffy,” Maren says. “He got a twenty-game suspension after the last time he went after Jaeger. If he does it again, they’ll boot him from the league, and he might have sponges for brains, and you know he’ll push it as far as he can, but Tyler’s safe.”
“He’s a hockey player. I don’t think safe is quite the right word.”
She smiles. “He’s as safe as he can be flying across the ice and chasing a rubber puck while five other guys try to slam him into the boards. Better?”
Mostly.
But I still don’t like it. Anyone willing to hold a grudge for this many years isn’t someone I trust with my boyfriend.
“You want me to rough up one of the Indies after the game, let me know,” Brianna says.
“I’ll be there with my phone taking video,” Maren adds.
“Are we supposed to cheer if they fight?” Phoebe asks.
“Yes,” Maren says.
“No,” I say at the same time.
“I mean, so long as it’s the other team losing teeth,” she amends.
I settle deeper into my seat and blow out a slow breath as the clock winds down on warm-up time.
The roughness is part of the game. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.
Especially with Tyler’s sworn enemy out there on the ice with him.
40
Tyler
The only thing better than winning a game is having Muffy leap into my arms the minute I walk through the door of Chester Green’s Sports Bar afterwards.
Except we lost a hard-fought game on a fucking technicality, I’m sporting a black eye courtesy of one of the Indies’ left wings, who told me Cranford says hi, and I’m more in a mood to punch something than I am to hang out in the middle of a bar where Thrusters fans should be celebrating, but instead just eyeball those of us on the team walking in the door to join the subdued party of our friends and family who are taking up half the space.
And to top it all off, Muffy’s mother is here.
“At least she’s not Cranford,” Lavoie mutters to me.
The Indies are starting a seven-day road trip, which means they’re staying in Copper Valley tonight before heading to their next stop tomorrow.
I don’t actually trust that Cranford won’t show up here.
“Should’ve gone to the bunny bar,” I mutter back.
Except even if my whole family could fit in the bunny bar, kids aren’t allowed, and I’ve already spotted two little ones in the crowd waiting for us.
Muffy leaps up from her spot as we make eye contact, a million questions racing over her face. “Hey. You okay?”
“Had worse.”
She looks stressed, and I don’t know if it’s the hard game, or if it’s her mother talking to my sisters. She goes up on her toes, kisses my cheek on the side of my face that’s not swelling, drops back to her heels, and tugs me toward the open seat beside her chair, calling greetings to my teammates as she drags me down the table.
“Hey, Connor. Great game. You totally got robbed. Nice goal, Duncan. Nick. You’re okay, I guess.”
It’s so normal, my bad mood starts to lift. I squeeze her hand, and she smiles at me, which makes my heart lighten too.
Daisy’s talking to the server. West’s cuddling Remy, who’s passed out cold. My sisters are all chattering away, most of their kids back at hotels with babysitters.
My teammates’ wives and girlfriends are waiting too. Kami greets Nick with a kiss, then passes him their baby. Felicity and Gracie pull away from chatting with my mom to greet Ares and Manning. Klein’s sidetracked at the bar with Athena and Cassadee, who must’ve heard we weren’t hitting the bunny bar tonight. Rooster hasn’t made it past the entrance. He’s signing autographs and teasing the crowd with the stuffed Thrusty he pulled out of his cowboy hat.
I swear the dude either has stock in the toy company that makes those, or he’s getting a kickback from the team for promoting them.
Dad stands and thumps me on the back. “Great game, kiddo. Tough loss, but you played hard.”
“Way to not get a concussion this time,” Oscar, one of my brothers-in-law, calls.
I give him a thumbs-up while Mom smothers me in a hug. “Thank god for that sweet Applebottom boy. He was even more effective than that giant Berger boy who tried to be your bodyguard last year. Where is he, anyway?”
“Rooster?”
“No, the other Berger boy.”
“I’m retired, ma’am, but I’d still kick your ass in mechanical unicorn bull-riding.”