Page 129 of The Stud

“A hockey quip, I’m certain,” he chortles and slides his hands into his pants pockets. “And one I’m sure our son will appreciate.”

“Along with you arranging for us to come down for family night,” Carson adds, arm draping itself around his husband’s shoulder.

“I’m so glad you both could be here.”

It’s a first.

And I can’t wait to see Tanner’s excitement.

As much as I don’tloveall this hockey girlfriend PR shit – especially ones that require me to fuckingbakenearly burning down my boyfriend’s kitchen – I’m really amped about this one.

Not only because I can do it – and not get caught like the bracelet making – but because of how meaningful it is.

Tanner’s never hadbothof his parents out for anything hockey related in his pro career, and I think now is the perfect time to change that.

To give him a chance to see, yeah, the league does still suck, but thereischange.

There has beenprogress.

Therecan bemore.

Hockey is for everyone.

Shouldbe for everyone.

And more importantly?

The team that he’s on doesn’t shy away from breaking out-of-date traditions or paving the way for new acceptance.

I can’t wait for him to see that.

Experience it.

Plus, slyly getting his parents numbers, texting with them, securing their seats, and the recipe for “Baked with Love”, the Valentine’s Day themed event for the first home game in February, was all very secret peace treaty style which momentarily gave me something else to focus on besides the possible dissolving of my relationship.

Meeting them today – without Tanner – was oddly less stressful than had he been privy to the whole sitch.

Becks and I picked them up from the airport this morning, took them to lunch, dropped them off at their hotel, and then I got to baking the second my boyfriend was out of the apartment for the rest of the day courtesy of an array of personal medical appointments that basically have him having to head straight to the barn afterward.

“Now, these need a few more minutes to cool before they can be loaded onto one of the snowman plates, but those are good to go.” My eyes oscillate between Tanner’s dads. “You’re sure you don’t mind loading, wrapping, and bringing these for me?”

“Not at all,” Trent warmly exclaims. “I rather enjoy the plating process.”

“Weird,” Becks murmurs while attempting to reach for another cookie.

Another slap stops him again except this time I sass, “You can have whatever doesn’t fit pretty on the plate if you just stop trying to prematurely eat them.”

Becks juvenilely sniggers, “Premature.”

There’s no stopping the eye roll his impish laughter causes. “Your name is on the list for family with theirs.”

Surprise overwhelms his stubbled complexion. “Sérieusement?”

“Hundy P.”

Additional shock keeps him stunned silent.

“The boys’ll be glad to see you.” Casually dropping the spatula on the island is attached to a small grin. “Probably even wanna get a brewskie but-”

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