Page 112 of Puck Princess

“If you want a PowerPoint presentation of every woman you’ve ever been with, ranked on a scale of one to ten, then go for it,” Lance says. “But if you want someone who will bring the crowd to both laughter and tears with a heartfelt speech, I’m your man. I killed at my brother’s wedding last year.”

Dax doesn’t even toss his hat in the ring, which is for the best. He’s going to be an usher, at best. “I just want to know what the rush is. Y’all have been a thing for four months? Five? I know you’re decisive, but even for you—” He stops, whipping around to stare at me. “Is she knocked up?”

I throw my bouquet at his face. “Shut the fuck up, man.”

After the pictures of Callie outside the doctor’s office leaked, there were rumors. But Lance is the only one who knows the truth. I don’t think Dax would blab—mostly because he probably doesn’t actually care if she’s pregnant—but Callie wants to keep it a secret for some reason. Until she gives me the all-clear, I’m not going to breathe a word.

“People are talking, that’s all. And hey, even if you did knock her up, marrying her is pretty honorable of you.”

“I am not marrying her because I knocked her up!”

“So she is pregnant?” he asks.

I open my mouth and close it. “Just shut up and help me.”

I want to punch him in the face. But honestly, I have to admit, this is all a little weird to me too. I never thought I’d get married. I also never thought I’d be a dad.

Yet, here I am, about to be both.

Callie made me break all the rules. She flew across the ice like a puck that was never part of the game. She hit me square in the heart and changed the course of everything.

“Listen, I’d love to sit and chat—” Dax stands up, typing a quick text before shoving his phone in his pocket. “—but I have a fantasy football thing to go to.”

“Fantasy football is more important than this?”

“It is when you’re winning.” He slides a pair of aviators on. “Good luck and godspeed.”

With that, he leaves. At this point, I don’t even care. I’m too far to turn back now—not that I want to—and I just need to get out of my head and get through it.

“For the record,” Lance says now that we are alone, “I haven’t talked to anyone about Callie being pregnant. But peoplearetalking.”

“Which is why, as a rule, I ignore people.”

“Something kind of odd did happen, though.”

I stop plucking to look at him. “With Callie?”

He nods. “Did she mention someone sending her flowers recently?”

“Who sent her flowers? Fuck, was it Santos?” I don’t know their history, but I know thereissome kind of history there. That’s probably another thing I should figure out before I propose, but…

“It was Santos… but not Spencer.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Rodger Santos came into the PT room the other day while Callie was working with me. While he was scoping the place out, he mentioned that he’d sent her flowers.”

“Why would Rodger Santos send Callie flowers?”

And why haven’t I seen them? Did he send them to her other apartment? How would he even know where that apartment is?

Lance shrugs. “Beats me. She looked a little confused too. And uncomfortable.”

“Of course she was uncomfortable. That dude’s a snake. I wonder if he’s trying to turn her on me too.”

“What do you mean?” Lance is walking around the room, gathering naked stems to shove them into the trash. I owe this man a beer. Or twelve.

“Well, clearly they hate me. I don’t know why, but I know they’re trying to convince the coach I’m trouble and get the team to turn on me.”

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