Page 45 of The Pucking Proposal

“Things cool with Coach?” he says, keeping his voice low in consideration of the other players still wrapping up to leave.

I shrug, acting like the meeting was no big deal even though it felt like a roller coaster with no seat belt to hold you to the seat. “Yeah.He told me to block everything. Duh. And wants me to lead a goalie section at the kid camp.”

“Oh, that’s good,” he replies, looking relieved.

I’m obviously not the only one worried about my place on the team beyond this season.

“Yeah, I’m supposed to lead a goalie section with DeBoer as I take him under my wing to guide him to greatness,” I deadpan. We both cut our eyes toward DeBoer’s locker, where he’s standing stark naked, flipping through TikToks like it’s his job and sole purpose in life. In his defense, there’s an outside chance he’s watching videos of the Rockets. More likely, he’s watching thirst traps of women doing viral dances.

“Shiiiit. Sorry, man,” Shep offers. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Keep me from killing him? I wouldn’t do well in prison. I’d look like shit in orange.”

“Unless Philadelphia calls. You’d wear orange like it’s your favorite if they wanted you,” he argues, grinning because he knows he’s right. I’d wear orange every single fucking day to play for an NHL team.

“What if they don’t?” I ask him quietly, staring at the floor. “What if no one calls me up?”

I’ve considered it a million times. It’s the first time I’ve said it aloud, and it hurts more than I thought it would.

“Then it’s their fucking loss, man,” Shep reassures me, throwing his arm around my shoulder. “And you play your ass off as a Moose, making that goal your Last Stand and winning the fucking playoffs.”

I meet his eyes, so familiar and blue ... like his sister’s. I clear my throat. “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks, man. Having some come to Jesus realizations here, but as always, you’re right.”

I’m trying to downplay the rare vulnerability, but Shepherd knows. He understands. He’s been at this game a long time, too, and he’s not much younger than me.

“Let’s grab dinner.” He’s not asking, but rather telling me that it’s happening. “Been missing you, man. Need a chance to fill you in on what’s been keeping me so busy lately.”

His latest and greatest, I imagine. Shepherd dates more seriously than I ever have. He’s a relationship type, unlike me, but his first love has always been and always will be ... hockey. It’ll take a special woman to understand that, and though he hasn’t found her yet, I know he’s looking. His ovaries are ticking loudly, no matter what he told his parents at Thanksgiving. He wants the whole picket fence thing.

I almost say no. Sitting at a table and discussing his love life over chicken and veggies while hiding what I’m doing with Joy sounds like hell. And heightens the betrayal of our friendship. In a way, I’m deluding myself into thinking that if I don’t lie outright to Shepherd, it’s magically not as bad. But the truth is, it is.

And Ihavemissed him. He’s my best friend, and I’ve been avoiding him. Until now.

“Sure. First round’s on me,” I answer, knowing that we’re allowed only one beer anyway.

As hard as it’s going to be, I’m going to have to keep my mouth shut about Joy and me. Especially when I need her to stay hot on the ice.

But that’s not all it is with us. It hasn’t been for a while, at least not for me. That’d be an even more dangerous thing to tell Shep, though. He’d be pissed if I was fucking his sister. He’d be lethal if he found out I’m falling in love with her.

Chapter 19

Joy

Rushing in after my eleven o’clock report, I drop my purse on the tile next to the door, fling my coat in the general direction of my coatrack, and kick off my furry boots that are a behind-the-scenes secret of news reporters. Unless we’re in the field, we only have to appear professionally dressed from the waist up. Underneath the in-studio desk, more often than not, Jonathon has on golf shorts or athletic pants with his suit and tie to do the top stories, Carlise has on yoga pants with her blouse to do local reporting, and we all have on warm shoes because the studio is kept a balmy sixty-five degrees to counteract the hot lights on the set. The only person who has to dress head-to-toe in film-worthy attire is Veronica, the weather reporter who walks back and forth in front of a green screen.

In my mismatched outfit of a sweater and collared shirt paired with stretch jeans, I barge into my bedroom. “Ten minutes, Joy. Get a move on,” I coach myself. If only I’d been faster leaving the station, I wouldn’t be rushing this much, but my producer and boss, Greg, wanted to talk about the NHL report, so I gave him some stats for my major league counterpart, Matt, to use despite it not being my job to do so.

Yanking everything off and dropping it to the floor in the general direction of my laundry hamper, I dig in my pajama drawer forsomething cute. “Red? Too aggressive. Pink? Too soft. Green? Too teamy. Ooh, yellow, perfect bit of sunshine for the gray December day.”

I pull the thin cotton cami over my head, adjusting my breasts so that my pearled nipples are both at the same level of attention, and then pull the matching shorts on. Well, shorts might be a generous descriptor. They’re more like fluttery-leg hot pants that leave a good inch of my ass cheek hanging out the hem. I spin to look in the mirror and grin evilly. “Irresistible.”

Not that Dalton is trying to resist me.

Except he’s in town tonight for tomorrow’s home game, and when I’d asked if we were meeting at his place or mine, he surprised me by suggesting a video chat. I’m not sure what that’s about, but I’ll be sure to find out tonight even if it takes a little teasing, taunting, and edging to get at the truth.

So yeah, maybe irresistible is exactly what I need.

My phone rings and I answer, though I keep the screen pointed at the ceiling. “Hey, I’m almost ready. Hang on.” I toss the phone to the bed and sprint for the bathroom. But I can hear Dalton yelling at me from the phone.

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