I roll my eyes. “Sneaky Saguaro,” I say adamantly. “First round is on me.”
“Second and third one too,” Kane says with a grin. “You have much lost time to make up for.”
“Fine,” I grouse, but secretly I’m pleased. Part of me thought they’d decline, as a sort of payback for all the times I’ve been invited and never gone. “Let’s grab Baden too.”
“It’s a plan,” Jim says, pulling his phone from his cubby. “Let me text Ella since she was expecting me home.”
“I better text Mollie.” Kane, too, grabs his phone.
“I’ll text my mom and let her know I’m going out with you big, whipped babies,” Bain says, and doubles over laughing. I laugh, too, because I feel the same. Don’t need to be asking permission from a woman to go do my thing with my buds.
Somehow, I think Veronica would never be the type to care if her man went and did his thing. She seems like the type who’s going to do her thing, and holy shit… why am I even thinking of her like this?
It happens at the oddest times, and in ways that aren’t perverted—although that has happened once or twice—but usually when I’m observing couples together, I wonder what type of half she would make to a whole. Janelle says she was in an awful marriage, and I’m betting whatever happened, she’ll never let it happen again.
Not that it would happen with me.
No way, no how.
Aaron pops his head around the corner of the cubbies. “Anyone going to the Big Cactus?” Our nickname for the Sneaky Saguaro.
“We all are,” I reply for the group.
Aaron blinks in surprise. “Even you?”
“Even me,” I say dryly and bend to work on my other skate.
“Good,” he says. “I’ve got a favor I wanted to talk to you about, anyway.”
I look up at him. No one on the team has asked me for a favor before. This would not be unusual in normal circumstances, but I’ve been so standoffish, I’m wondering what makes him feel comfortable asking now.
♦
We’re three beers in at the Big Cactus when I start to relax. The other guys have an ease about them, forged by playing together last year, winning the Cup, and spending a great deal of social time together. But they’re good dudes, and they went overboard to make me feel included.
I let Janelle know via text I was going out after the game. Veronica was going to give her a ride home from the store since I’d be at the arena, but she didn’t need to stay with Janelle. She’s seventeen years old and more than able to stay a few hours by herself on game days.
I only have an adult watching over her while I’m away on road trips to ensure someone has her back in case of an emergency, and to ensure she’s got general oversight.
Most of the team came out tonight, but many are heading home. The fans have settled, and Bain, Aaron, Kane, Jett, Jim, Baden, and I are at a large, rectangular table on the first floor. Normally we go upstairs, but Baden refused to let us carry him. He ditched the wheelchair in favor of his crutches and braces, feeling comfortable enough to walk into our regular hangout to a secured area where we had a table reserved. Not a lot of crowds to maneuver, and he wanted people to see him up and moving on his own.
He’s ready to let the world watch his progress.
I have to give it to the guy. He’s handling his reintroduction back into the hockey world well. He can’t play yet and can only walk with crutches, but he’s coming to every game, and he’s going out in public. With the strides he’s making in rehab, I imagine it won’t be long before he’s walking on his own. We all hope he will become strong enough to return to the ice, but it’s anyone’s guess if that’ll ever happen.
Up until now, the conversation has been bawdy and irreverent, as only men can do when hanging out and beer is involved. Thankfully, Kane hasn’t brought up his damn wedding once, and there’s plenty of teasing of Jett for falling hard for Emory Holland, our team’s VP of social media marketing.
At one point, Jett glares at me and says, “You’re on Emory’s shit list.”
I feign ignorance, eyebrows rising high. “Who, me?”
Yeah, me, and I know it. I refuse to join Instagram, and she’s been hounding the hell out of me. I suppose I better make an effort or else I’m liable to hear it from Dominik Carlson.
I finish my beer and the waitress appears out of thin air. She’s been overly attentive to me, but I’ve not given her attention past asking for a refill, which I do once again.
“Anyone else?” I ask the table. Jim and Baden pass, but the others order another. We’ll all be taking Ubers home, or if we’re lucky, Clarke, Mollie, Emory, or Ella may come and pick us up.
That’s the last I heard, anyway.
Aaron elbows me from my left and I give him my attention. “So, about that favor,” he says, dipping his head closer.
“What’s up?” I ask, knowing it’s the beer causing my good nature to be at peak performance.
“I’m going to propose to Clarke,” he says in a low voice, and I blink in surprise.
“Congrats, man.” My smile is genuine because I know this is a big deal for him. But inside, I’m thinking, what a poor fool. Another one falls for the false promise of happily ever after.
“And I need your help.” Aaron looks at me expectantly.
My eyebrows draw inward. “What kind of help?”
“It’s our anniversary day after tomorrow, and—”
“Anniversary? You haven’t been dating a year yet.” I might not be overly involved, but I’ve picked up on shit by listening, and I know Aaron and Clarke started dating over the summer.
“Six-month anniversary,” he amends.
I nod in understanding. “First date.”
“No, first fuck.” Aaron blushes as if that was disrespectful, not to me, but maybe to Clarke. “I mean, first time we had sex. June 29.”
I’m not tracking very well. “Let me get this straight… you want to propose to Clarke on the six-month anniversary of when you first had sex?”
“Right,” he says with a nod. “I mean, I’d do our first date, but that didn’t work out with the game schedule. But day after tomorrow is cleared of any games, so I’m going with that date.”
“So romantic,” I drawl sarcastically.
He ignores me and moves in closer. “We were going to go out for an elegant dinner, and I was going to do something like put the ring in a glass of champagne and have someone playing a violin, but she said she doesn’t feel like going out. So I thought, how about something unique that she won’t ever see coming.”
“And you need me to do what?” I ask, apprehension growing. I envision him wanting me to wear a cupid outfit and deliver the ring to her, to which my answer is a resounding no.
“I want you to come over for a friendly game of Scrabble, and I’m going to arrange it so as we’re playing, Will you marry me will be spelled out on the board.”
That’s pretty damn unique, and it doesn’t involve a cupid costume. I smile at him. “Sure. Day after tomorrow, right?”
“Day after tomorrow,” he affirms and claps me on the shoulder. “Thanks, dude. I owe you big time. I’ll have Clarke invite Veronica as we’ll need four to play for it to work, plus I know Veronica would love to see me pop the question. I’ll make sure I let Veronica in on the plan ahead of time. This is going to be epic.”