Page 96 of It's Mother-Pucking Christmas!

Dakota’s parents had rented out an entire restaurant. It was still early enough in the year that we could sit outside on the roof. Which meant Dasher could stay too.

The dog tried to climb up me. I finally picked him up into my lap. He licked Dakota, who was next to me, and he wagged his tail as Philly sat across from us.

“Sup, Dakota. You had enough of this idiot yet?” He took a swig of his beer.

“So College Boy’s buying dinner!” Schneider, high off the win like we all were, clapped a handshake with Philly.

“No, you’re not, Ryder,” Dakota’s mom said, petting my still-damp hair. “It’s our treat. You boys order whatever you want. We’re going to celebrate your first big game.”

“I’m going to grab a drink from the bar,” I said to Dakota. “Do you want me to get you anything?”

Dakota kissed me. “Such a Boy Scout. I want a dirty martini.”

“Lame! What are you—fifty? Let’s do shots!” Dakota’s sister yelled, and the guys whooped.

As Dakota bickered with her sister, I slipped down to the bar.

Rick, Mike, and Pete jumped on me.

“Do you have it?” I hissed to Rick.

He patted his pocket. “Don’t worry about me. You don’t blow your speech.”

There had been a few other moments where I’d thought I was about to propose to Dakota. But here on this beautiful night, with the skyline as a backdrop? This was the night I was going to ask her to be my wife.

EPILOGUE - DAKOTA

I could barely give Ryder a kiss before he was swept up in a mob of Icebreakers players, Direwolves players, and my family in the after-game celebrations.

Ryder had been busy the last couple weeks before the season started. Dasher, because he got to go to practice with him, saw more of my boyfriend than I did. I was trying to not do anything to blow his big chance with the NHL, considering I’d already almost ruined it once—as my family would never ever let me forget.

“You need to help him network.” My mom liked to call the Richmond Electric office—no, not my cell phone, the actual office—and ask to be transferred to me so she could backseat drive my WAG career.

“You need to show that you’re a supportive girlfriend.”

“You know,” Aunt Stacy interjected —I could hear her and my mom scuffling—“I do Botox. A little around the mouth wouldn’t hurt.”

“No!” That was Uncle Bic’s wife. “She needs filler for those lines.”

“Did you see Number 43’s girlfriend? Face as smooth as a baby’s bottom.”

“They are part-time dancers and models. I have a real, very stressful job,” I complained.

“Dakota,” my mom warned.

“Fine.” I huffed.

I really had to dig deep to be social with the other hockey wives and girlfriends. Some of them were actually cool, to be fair. I’d always take more brunch partners, even if Gracie and I did usually go to second brunch after meeting with the WAGs because I needed more than mimosas and a slice of cantaloupe in the morning.

I did manage to take Dasher on a dog date with Gracie and the girlfriend of one of the wingers, which was fun. A part of me did wonder if Ryder was going to wake up one morning, look at me drooling next to him on the pillow, and wonder if he wouldn’t rather have a more impressive girlfriend like the other NHL ladies. We hadn’t really talked about marriage much. He’d just been absorbed into the pro-hockey world, and I wasn’t sure if I fit there.

I blinked.

I’d almost cost him said career. I could suck it up and be supportive. My mom was right.

Though Ryder had disappeared. So had the other players at the table.

I fiddled with my fork.

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