Page 8 of Pucking Revenge

“It’s open,” I holler from my bedroom as I button my jeans.

His footsteps signal his entry, along with a heavy sigh. “How many times have I told you to keep that locked?”

Peeking out from my bedroom, I shoot him a devilish grin. “I knew you were coming over.”

He’s hovering near the door, always the gentleman, ensuring my privacy. He’d never just wander into my bedroom. “You live in a building full of horny hockey players.”

“Who believe you’ve staked a claim on me.” I bat my eyes and shoot him a wide, innocent smile. Yes, every one of them believes we’re more than friends. No, I don’t mind. Langfield Corp has a no-fraternization policy, and this keeps me from having to shut any interested guys down.

Because the last thing I want to do is risk my job. I love what I do. And more importantly, I need this job.

Seb and I have kept our relationship discreet, obviously, and he’s promised that my job is safe either way. He divorced Brooks’s aunt years ago, but he’s still close to the guys, Brooks especially, and he worries it’ll upset them to know he’s dating. He’s not giving them enough credit. Brooks doesn’t judge people. That’s just not who he is. And he loves his uncle. He’d want him to be happy, regardless of what that looks like.

Although, right now, I don’t give a shit if Seb is happy. In fact, I’m tempted to text him a picture of Brooks and me just to piss him off. He thinks he can tell me who I can and cannot be friends with, but he seems to have forgotten who he’s dating.

Brooks stares me down, hands on his hips, but when I just keep smiling brightly, he drops his head and gives it a shake. “You’re a pain, you know that?”

“That I do.” I turn back so I can finish getting ready and holler over my shoulder. “Does Liv know she has an extra ten people coming to dinner?”

Brooks laughs. “Not likely. Knowing Beckett, he didn’t tell her.”

I toss my blond hair up in a high ponytail and coat my lips in a layer of gloss. In front of the mirror, I give them a good smack and inspect my reflection. With a quick glance at my outfit, which consists of jeans and a mocha sweater that hugs my curves—perfect for the fall vibe I’m rocking since it’s pumpkin season and I’m basic like that—I head out to the living room.

Brooks is typing furiously on his phone, his smile wide, when I exit my bedroom. He’s sporting his usual man bun. It’s pulled back neatly, though the few rogue curls that always try to sneak out are already making their escape. The man has, hands down, the best head of hair in Boston. It’s chocolate brown with natural highlights, and every time he turns those damn green eyes on me, I almost melt on the spot. My best friend is simply gorgeous. And far too humble.

In short, he’s the perfect man.

“Texting your new girlfriend?” I plaster a grin to my face and do my best to keep my tone even.

I’m not jealous, exactly. He asked me to go to dinner with him, not her, so clearly, he’s still making time for our friendship.

Brooks frowns, his dark brows drawing low. “Who?”

“The girl you told me about?”

He blinks, and his eyes clear in understanding. With a subtle nod, he slides his phone into his pocket. “Nah, just the boys. They’re taking bets on how Liv will kill Beckett.” He holds out his hand. “Ready to go?”

That’s another thing I love about my best friend. He’s so affectionate. That’s probably why his teammates think we’re together. Brooks is always touching me. It’s never sexual. He keeps every touch appropriate. Like now. He slips his palm against mine and leads me out the door.

Growing up, I never experienced this kind of affection. My mother was always working, and my father dipped out before I turned two, so I spent the majority of my childhood alone.

Meeting Lennox in college was like hitting the lottery. From that first day, she took me under her wing and forced me out of my shell.

When I met Brooks, I swore I’d found the person who completes me.There was a moment when we first met where I thought maybe we would be more than friends, but then I found out about the no-fraternization policy, so I put him in the friend zone. Fortunately for me, Brooks is the best kind of friend, always making time for me.

My heart squeezes in my chest, making it a little hard to breathe. I really hope this new girlfriend doesn’t ruin it for me.

“Sorry about this morning,” Brooks says when we reach the car.

“This morning?”

“With Coach and the guys.” He clears his throat and slides his hand from mine so he can set it on the small of my back as he opens the door. “I talked to them, by the way. They won’t be making comments anymore.”

I let out a soft laugh as I climb up into his truck. The thing is massive. It’s a souped-up F-150 in Bolts blue. It’s the only loud thing associated with Brooks. He so often flies under the radar, but the people who live between here and the arena know when Brooks pulls onto the road.

“You didn’t have to do that. I can handle myself, Brookie.”

He glares at me like he does every time I use that nickname. And I use it a lot. The man is so even and collected. I like getting a rise from him.

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