Page 46 of Interference

Bear was also sitting up straight and tall, but he wasn’t nearly as imposing as Moose. In part because he had those huge round eyes that always seemed to be asking, “Huh?” And also because, being the genius he was… he was sitting in the sink.

“Weirdo.” I chuckled as I continued assembling my sandwich. I picked up the package of lunchmeat, and as I was pulling that open, Bear suddenly lunged out of the sink, grabbed the pack of cheese, and took off.

“What the—dude, seriously?” I hobbled after him with Lily on my heels. Fortunately he didn’t go far. He took it into the living room, then dropped it on the floor and started pawing at it. When that didn’t work, he bit the plastic and picked it up again, but that didn’t help to get it open.

I rolled my eyes and laughed. “You aren’t the brightest crayon in the box, are you, buddy?” I tousled his ears, then reached for the cheese. He smacked my hand. No claws, but there was some strength behind those giant mitts of his. “Hey! Let me pick it up, and I’ll share it with you, dumbass.” He again tried to bat my hand away, but I got the pack up off the floor.

Lily looked at both of us like were complete idiots.

“Don’t judge me, pup.” I looked toward the kitchen, where Moose had twisted around and was eyeing all of us. “No judgment from you either, cat.”

He flipped his tail.

I just laughed and headed back into the kitchen. I wondered what Anthony would think if he checked his cameras and found me having conversations with his animals. Then again, he talked to his boys constantly. I suspected he’d have done the same with Lily if she wasn’t a service dog; he was one of the few people I’d met who’d seemed to understand from the start not to distract a working dog from her job. He’d pet her, talk to her, and offer her treats when she was off duty, but if her vest was on, he acted like she wasn’t there. Perfect.

I gave both the cats and Lily some lunchmeat as well as a little bit of cheese, finished making my sandwich, and then settled in on the couch right as the pre-game was wrapping up. Lily jumped up on the cushion beside me and rested her head on my thigh. Moose sprawled across the back of the couch while Bear perched on the armrest. Once they’d each had another nibble—I was such a sucker, not gonna lie—I started eating my sandwich and fixed my attention on the hockey game.

I didn’t know if I’d ever fully understand the game, but the commentators filled in a lot of the gaps. The replays helped, too. I still didn’t quite understand the difference between slashing and hooking. I was confused as hell about what actually constituted a cross check, considering I’d see like six players do the exact same thing before one was called for it. And though Anthony had explained offside to me, I still wasn’t completely sure I grasped it. Then again, the refs might’ve been confused about it too, because the commentators insisted one call wasn’t even remotely offside, and then five minutes later, they were chastising the refs for not calling something offside.

This sport was weird.

One thing I had caught on to, though, was that the men who played the sport were smoking hot. I’d always imagined hockey players as guys with mullets and half their teeth missing. Or maybe built like linebackers, which were absolutely not my type.

No one told me this sport was full of chiseled jaws, sharp cheekbones, and sweaty hair. Their gear wasn’t the most flattering in the world, but it couldn’t hide the agility or the sheer athleticism of the sport. I was in awe as the players whipped around the ice, turned on dimes, and somehow not only stayed on their skates, but controlled their sticks and the puck and seemed to know where all their teammates were at a given time.

And God help me whenever the camera zeroed in on the man with number twelve on his back.

Anthony was… wow. One second, he was gracefully skating around and between other players, controlling the puck the entire time as if it were the easiest thing in the world. The next, he was slamming someone into the wall hard enough to make the glass flex. At one point, someone crashed into him, apparently trying to knock him away from the puck, but Anthony barely flinched while the other guy bounced off and fell on his ass.

Then Anthony passed the puck to a teammate, who sent it screaming across the ice to someone else, who shot it right into the goal. After the replay, the camera zoomed in on the scorer and his teammates, who were sharing hugs and back slaps to celebrate, and—

Holy. Shit.

The bright smile on Anthony’s face made the living room tilt. No shyness. No self-consciousness. No worrying about his boyfriend, who was on the bench at that point. Just excitement and elation for his teammate and for his team. Then they were skating away to fist bump the other guys on the bench.

His shift was over, so he took a seat on the bench, and the camera stayed on him.

“Aussie’s been looking better tonight,” the commentator said. “He’s picked up two secondary assists, including on the captain’s goal just a moment ago.”

“You’re right about that,” the other said. “He’s also put up three shots on goal, which is more than in his last three games combined. This could be a fluke, or it could be Austin finally turning his season around.”

I only half heard their remarks. I was too focused on watching Anthony towel some sweat off his face as he and another player peered at an iPad. The intense concentration, the flush in his cheeks, the competitive glint in his eyes…

I pushed out a breath. Hockey players were definitely hot. Anthony Austin was… I didn’t have words. He was gorgeous anyway. Even when he was just wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, he was unreasonably sexy. Throw some hockey gear on him, put him on the ice, and let him work up a sweat?

Well, hello there, libido that’s been quiet for way too long.

I fidgeted on the couch. The last thing I needed was to get a hard-on right now. Anthony did have cameras in this part of the house after all, and that would just be… seriously awkward.

The period ended, and the players filed off the ice. I decided to busy myself doing something other than sitting here with my impure thoughts about Anthony, so I got up and wandered into the kitchen to get something else to eat. I still felt weird about helping myself to what was in Anthony’s fridge and cupboards, but he’d insisted. He’d even done an Instacart order before he’d left for the trip, making sure the house was well-stocked with a few things I liked.

I had no idea how I could ever begin to make any of this up to him, but I vowed for the millionth time that I’d find a way.

I wasn’t even all that hungry right now, which was an alien feeling. Mostly, I just needed something to do until I had the game to hold my attention again.

As I was making a small salad—fresh produce, oh my God—the commentator on TV caught my attention.

“Chelsie Lake is standing by with Simon Caron. Chelsie?”

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