Page 71 of The Pucking Grump

Luke groans. “What about the one in Miami in November?”

“They’re all booked, bro,” I force through gritted teeth.

His groan is louder this time. “I’m going to lose the hottest girl I’ve ever had, and it’s all because of you.”

Thankfully, Faye’s name does not come up again. Not through practice, and not after we shower and start heading off to our own destinations. Ken hitches a ride in my car.

“We’re going to Alex’s,” he announces, not waiting for my opinion. “His wife—your sister—is out all day. We can have some real fun.”

I mull it over in my head. I was half considering calling Brit and letting her know what happened between Faye and me last night, but I thought better of it. She could comfort me, but she’ll probably say some stuff that’ll make me feel like a jackass too.

Drinks and games with the guys sounds like a hell of a lot more fun.

“Fine,” I respond. Within twenty minutes, we’re pulling into Alex’s driveway. Before he got married and had a kid, Alex had a sweet bachelor pad I loved crashing in. He traded it in for a five-bedroom in an up-and-coming Philly suburb.

I can’t help but cringe. Just another example of how love destroys things.

Alex has a big pot of pasta and a cooler of beer and soda ready, and he’s already drinking when we walk into his living room. He takes a swig of beer as he watches us approach.

“Switching up of the practice schedules was always my least favorite part,” he says with a cocky grin. “Got to say, I’m glad I have control over my day again.”

Ken scowls. “Yeah, nothing like changing diapers and washing bottles for the rest of your thirties.” He slumps beside Alex on the couch. “You going to put a game on or something?’

As Alex sets up, I look around the room. I’ve been here more than fifty times already, and the lime green walls, bamboo furnishings, and pictures on the mantel feel as familiar to me as my own cabin. But I newly realize how different this spot is from Alex’s bachelor pad. Homey, full of life, yes . . . but also restricting in an odd sort of way.

“The nanny’s got the little one for the afternoon,” Alex says, interrupting my thoughts. “So, I’m not going to be changing diapers for a few hours. Also, you know, since he’s been potty-trained, there’re a lot less diapers in general.”

Ken rolls his eyes. “Still doesn’t mean he doesn’t suck up all your attention when he’s around.”

Alex grins. “Yeah, he kind of does that, doesn’t he?”

My chest growls with discomfort as I grab a plate of food and settle down. There’s no use denying it. No matter what I try to tell myself, the facts are clear. Married father Alex is a hundred times happier than the Alex I knew as a bachelor.

In-love Alex is even better.

I let out a sharp exhale, hating myself. Doesn’t matter how much better off Alex is now. Some men just aren’t built for this kind of family lifestyle. Some people can’t thrive in a loving, happy marriage.

My father certainly couldn’t.

The intro for Grand Theft Auto comes flashing on the screen. Ken and Alex each grab a controller. “You want in, White?”

“No.” Reaching for a diet coke rather than beer, I down half of it in one gulp, washing down the pasta. I prefer not to drink on practice days. “I’d rather watch you guys fail at it . . . for now.”

Ken grins, but his expression turns serious a second later. “Don’t be so pissy about Luke. He’s just an idiot.”

Alex looks between us. “What happened? What did he do?”

“Nothing,” I say quickly, but Ken’s nothing if not insensitive.

“Kept bothering Blake about Faye and some damn tickets.” Ken glances at me. “You’ve got to understand, the other guys don’t know this relationship is all PR.” He pauses, and I know he’s about to say something that might piss me off. “It’s also harder for us to know when you behave like, you know, like at our last Philly game.”

“I watched the clips on TV.” Alex’s gaze is focused on the screen. But he, at least, sounds a lot more cautious. “Seems like you’re settling in.”

Settling in. Yeah, that’s one way to put it.

They say nothing for a few moments. Just when I think I’m getting off the hook, Ken looks up from his game.

“I just don’t get Luke, though. I know he was being insane, but what’s the obsession with the tickets? He keeps asking about them, all the damn time.”

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