Page 54 of Love You Too

My gaze hasn’t left Ren, who skates away and gets back into the game. Calgary takes a shot, but the Otters goalie deflects it. They try twice more, and my heart starts pounding. “Get ‘em out of there!” I yell, feeling the pressure on the goalie and the inevitability of the puck getting past him after that many shots.

Finally, Ren gets the puck and races past the Calgary defense, lines up a shot, and scores a second goal.

With a two-point lead, the fans go nuts. The blare of the air horn fills the arena, and everyone is on their feet, shouting and applauding. Ren’s teammates fist-bump him, and he skates in a circle, basking in the glory of a perfect shot. He skates right past the glass where Archer and I sit and hits me with his cocky smile, a little salute, and a wink, like that goal was a little hockey demonstration just for me.

“Hope you don’t mind if the entire world knows about you two.” Archer nudges me with an elbow.

“Why do you say that?”

He points, and I see my face on the jumbotron for a second before it switches back to where Ren skates back to take his position. It didn’t occur to me that the cameras would follow Ren after his goal and zoom in on the person he was saluting. “That little display hadgirlfriendwritten all over it. If he hasn’t said anything to the press already, there are going to be questions.”

And that’s when I feel it—I’m falling hard for the guy. Archer is right. If it’s not love, it’s sure headed in that direction. It’s not the foolish, reckless dive bomb into love that I experienced at twenty. This is a slow, delicious slide into something deep, unpredictable, and solid. It’s love for the same man, but it’s somehow deeper and more substantial this time around, and ithas nothing to do with us having a baby. I have the overwhelming sense that I do want to be his girlfriend. Or maybe something more permanent. I know it may come back to bite me in the ass, but right now, it’s what I want.

“Be interested to see how he answers them,” I say.

Archer laughs, a surprising sound coming from a guy who’s more tightly wound than me. He’s the hardest working sibling in the family, and I often feel bad that the entire burden of running Buttercup Hill has fallen on him. He never asked for it. Never said he wanted to be a winemaker. But when the need arose, he stepped up for our dad and the rest of us.

His grumpy attitude is a lot to deal with, but I have to remind myself that he and I aren’t so different. We both put work first and look around at what’s left over for ourselves once the obligations are satisfied. Of anyone, I know how hard he has it.

I don’t realize I’ve been staring at him until he raises his brows. “What?”

“Thanks for coming with me here tonight. And not being too annoyed that I don’t know squat about hockey.”

“How did you date the guy for a year in college and not learn about hockey?”

“I wasn’t dating him for the hockey knowledge,” I deadpan.

“But you went to games, right?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t pay that much attention to the game. I just watched my hot hockey boyfriend and cheered when other people did.”

“Well, I guess you can do the same thing here. Thanks for inviting me.” He gives me a partial smile, which, from Archer, is like finding a gold nugget in a muddy river. He gestures to the ice with a nod of his head. “You know enough. And whatever you don’t know, I bet that guy’d be happy to teach you.”

Ren is rightwhen he promised I’d see a fight. I just didn’t expect him to be the one in the penalty box after the ref missed a call. The entire arena sees it when the defender trips him and sends him skidding across the ice, right into the stick of a Calgary player. The crowd goes nuts, yelling and booing, and Ren wastes no time skating up to the guy, getting right in his face, and yelling. That’s when the defender loses his shit and gives Ren a shove.

I don’t blame Ren one bit for getting riled at the guy and pushing him back. Three other teammates join the scrum, but it’s mostly yelling and a little bit of shoving for show. “Why aren’t the referees doing anything?” My high-pitched voice sounds as scared as I feel.

“It’s part of the sport. They’re giving fans what they want.” The fight fuels the fans like nothing I’ve ever seen. For a second, I get a little nervous. It feels like the place is rocking off its foundation. “Fans don’t fight with each other, do they?” I ask Archer.

He puts an arm around me and pulls me close. “I’ve got ya. No one’s messing with youormy future niece or nephew.”

The referees let the melee go on for a few seconds longer before pushing the players apart. They throw Ren and the defender into their respective penalty boxes.

“Your boy just earned the respect of everyone in here for keeping his cool after the ref missed that call. He’s gonna have a swollen jaw later on. Be nice to him.” Archer has never taken the slightest interest in anyone I’ve dated, not that there have been many, but still. He’s legitimately on Team Ren, and I’m here for it. I vow to take Archer to every home game I can because this is the best time I’ve ever had with him.

“Got it. Be nice to Ren.” I say the words robotically, as if there’s any question.

The final buzzer ends the game with a win for the Otters, and the crowd erupts once more in raucous cheers and applause. The players take it all in, and Ren does a lap around the ice, slowingdown near the glass in front of us to blow me a kiss. I feel my face turn crimson as the camera following Ren lands on me. I bend down like I’ve dropped something important. “They’re gone. You’re safe now,” Archer laughs. Finally, the team skates off the ice, and Archer and I head down to the clubhouse, where Ren said to meet him.

He shows up an hour later in a navy suit that fits him like a glove. His broad shoulders pull at the fabric of the coat, which tapers to his slim waist. The top two buttons of his white shirt are unbuttoned, showing off the contour of his pecs and a hint at the smooth skin that lies beneath the fabric. All I can think is that I’d like to tear every stitch of it from his body.

Seriously, hormones, I hear you loud and clear!

Even Archer seems to know how hot I am for Ren because he pets my head like a puppy. “Down, girl. You’re panting.”

“Am not.”

“Right. Guess it was me.” He actually looks nervous as the Otters file in one by one and find their people in various corners. They swipe beers off a tray near the door and spend a few minutes more shaking hands with various VIPs in the room—friends of the owner or investors, according to Archer.

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