Page 55 of Puck Prince

“Well, buckle up, buttercup. It all happens fast. What is the phrase? ‘First comes love, then comes marriage. Then comes?—’”

“A dad bod and a nonexistent sex life.” Lance, my first client of the day, walks in with exquisite comedic timing. He tosses a sweat rag at Miles who catches it just before it can hit him in the face.

“Funny.” Miles tosses it back and heads out.

“I try.” Lance gives me a lopsided smile. “I’m just here for some kino tape.”

“I can do that.” Grateful for something to do with my hands, I turn away and start rummaging through my drawers.

“Do us all a favor and put some on his mouth while you’re at it!” Miles calls over his shoulder as he slips through the door.

Lance flips him off, but he doesn’t see. Then he turns his attention back to me. He’s still smiling, but it feels like there’s something behind it.

“So KT tape? Nothing else?” I ask as he takes a seat.

“Just that. Coach Rand-O has been running us ragged, and I’d like to not fuck myself up ten minutes into the game.”

“Fair enough.” I run my hands over his muscles to feel where everything is at before applying the tape. “You’re pretty loose. Glad to see at least one of you taking care of yourself.”

“Uh-oh. Is Owen in trouble?”

“Always.” A small smirk ticks at the corners of my mouth. “I’m having trouble dislodging the stick from his ass, let’s say that.”

Lance laughs. “I mean, he’s always been a little high-strung. But at least he has you around to loosen him up now.”

It’s quiet for a beat because I really don’t know how to respond to that. I know Lance is Owen’s best friend on the team, and I can see why. He’s not a dick. And he takes the game seriously, like most of them do, but he seems to realize that he won’t always be in that locker room or on the ice. He seems to see a future for himself, where most hockey players can’t see beyond the end of their stick.

“You know, he didn’t even tell me y’all were dating at first,” he goes on.

“No?”

“Nope. I found out through social media. The ‘Gram knows all.”

“He plays things pretty close to the vest.” I focus on the tape and not on the woman and child Owen may or may not be hiding in a second apartment across town.

“That’s the thing, though: not usually. Either you have really spun his world upside down or—ouch!”

“Sorry,” I say with a grimace as the strip of tape yanks at his arm hair. But I want to hear the end of that sentence. “Or what?”

“He’s just acting strange lately, I guess. I’ve never seen him like this. But I’ve also never seen him in love. Maybe this is just standard Lovesick Owen operating procedure.”

I drop the roll of tape on the ground. “Did he say that?”

“Say what?”

“That he’s in love?” My words come out high-pitched and frantic.

I didn’t tell Owen he couldn’t fall in love with me because this isn’t a John Hughes movie, but it was implied. Things are complicated enough already without dropping the L bomb.

Lance narrows his eyes, a hint of amusement on his lips. “Negative. But I assume it’s headed that direction?”

“Right. Yeah. Of course.”This is a real relationship on the course for real love, obviously. Nothing fake here.I turn back to the counter before he can see the ugly truth written all over my face.

“I’d like to hang out sometime, if that’s cool.” He rubs his arm where I just accidentally waxed him. “Owen is my best friend, both on the team and off. If you matter to him… well, maybe the three of us can grab a beer after the game?”

I prepare a normal, believable reaction before turning around to look at him. “Yeah. Sure. Why not?”

Because there’s no need to get more attached than we already are—bun in the oven and all.

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