Page 144 of Some Like It Hot

“But—” Dani starts.

But I see Nathan reach over and put a hand on her leg, squeezing gently. She presses her lips together.

On my other side, I hear Cam lean in and say, “You made your point, Pixie, give her a minute.”

Thank you Nathan and Cameron.

I take a deep breath.

Thank God, just then Luna‘s boyfriend Alexsei shoots the puck down the ice to Crew, Dani’s husband and everyone’s attention is glued to the ice.

I know they mean well. I know they have experience and they know what they’re talking about.

And these are the women I would want to talk to if I actually had a long-term, committed poly relationship.

But, fortunately I do not. Because it sounds like a big headache, to be honest.

I’ll be single again soon. No more worries about the three men who have come in and turned my world upside down.

So, yeah, I’m really happy I avoided all of that long term.

Yep. Really, really happy.

CHAPTER 35

Blake

“Well, that was a long day,” I say as I shove open the door to my apartment and let Elise slip in before me.

I’m both keyed up and exhausted.

I hate the spotlight on a good day.

But today?

When I just wanted to be alone with Elise on our wedding day?

It was fucking torture.

There were reporters everywhere, mics in my face, lots of congratulations, and my phone hasn’t seen that many notifications since I let the puck slide past me last season and I lost the Racketeers the championship.

But probably for the best, because if I was alone with Elise, I would have told her I’m in love with her and forced her to let me down gently.

Which would have really been torture.

“I had no idea people were so in love with love,” she admits, dropping her overnight bag by the front door and bending over to yank off her boots.

She strips her winter coat off and just drops it on top of her shoes.

“I have a coat closet.” I point to it.

She just shrugs. I leave the coat where she’s tossed it.

She’s stayed over here several times before but we were usually ripping each other’s clothes off within three feet of my front door. Tonight, she looks like she needs a hug much more than she needs my dick.

She looks as exhausted as I feel.

Faking happiness is brutal. Or rather, faking that you’re faking happiness is brutal, when you are, in fact, really happy, but it’s all fake. Or something like that.

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