Page 4 of Sticking Around

“It’s not slimy. It might be shiny, but it’s dry, and hey, fun fact, they can taste like cucumber when really fresh. Dad used to be a fisherman, and sometimes when I helped, we cooked them right off the boats.”

Is that how he got all those muscles? “Eating a fish and kissing one is different.”

He pulls his phone out, and his fingers fly across the screen. “True, and did you know cod are high in protein and low in fat?”

“You know an awful lot about cod.”

“That’s why they call me Coddy.” He holds his phone out to me. “Look, once you’re screeched in, we can print off this official certificate and you can be an honorary Newfoundlander.”

“I think I’m going to stick with being a Bostonian.”

“Suit yourself. But if you ever come to Newfoundland with me, it’s happening.” He laughs and the sound curls around me. I take in his handsome features as his phone pings and he checks the message. Honestly, I don’t hate Brady, but I can see why he thinks I do. I’ve just not really given him the time of day before. I haven’t been rude to him, but I shut down his advances as fast as they come—which clearly means, I’m never going to Newfoundland with him.

He’s cute enough, though. Actually, he’s drop dead gorgeous, and that’s half the problem. The man is a joker, the life of a party kind of guy, one who has women throwing their panties at him, even in the streets. At least that’s what Brighton—owner of this gorgeous house I’m in, and the resort beside it, where I bartend—told me.

I’m finally getting my life together and I don’t need some younger guy, a player on and off the ice, messing around inside my head. I’m the psychologist here. I’m the one who’s supposed to be doing the messing and the helping. Nothing about getting involved with Brady is going to help me.

Okay, maybe that’s not entirely true. Getting involved with him sure would help soothe the needy ache between my legs. One that makes its presence known every time he’s in the room—and yes, even times when he’s not. Dammit.

He shakes his head and tucks his phone away. I note his grin and ask, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, that was Noah, letting me know you’d be staying here this weekend.” He laughs. “I told him I nearly poked you.”

“What?” I practically shriek. “Did you explain what you meant?” Oh, good God, I can only imagine what’s going through Noah’s mind and naturally he’s going to say something to Brighton.

“Nah, let him think on that for a while.”

“Brady!” This time I do shriek. I don’t want Noah—yeah, we’re friends, but he’s also my boss—to think I’m messing around with his teammate in his house, when he’s been kind enough to offer me a place to stay for the weekend. Just then, my phone pings.

I throw one hand out and my voice is dripping with sarcasm when I say, “Geez, I wonder who that is.” Brady gives me a smirk, and like I said…joker. I hurry across the room, snatch my phone off the coffee table and read the message from Brighton.

“Brady poked you? Do tell.”

I can’t help but laugh and I look up to see that irresistible look on Brady’s face, but unlike one of his bunnies, I’m immune to it.

Or not.

You are not hooking up with him, girl.

I growl at him. “You’re a troublemaker, Brady Fisher.”

He playfully shrugs it off. “I’ve been called worse.”

Is the man ever serious? All the more reason for me not to get involved, right? Or maybe all the right reasons for me to get involved. Because maybe there is something I’d like to ask Brady…or rather, ask for.

I nearly choke on that last thought.

What did you just say about not hooking up?

The truth is, the last thing I’m looking for is a serious relationship, or any kind of relationship. I have zero interest in losing any kind of focus, and when it comes to asking for anything, not going to happen. There’s always a hitch and a promise—or should I say, a broken promise.

Even though Brighton and I grew close over the last year, asking for a place to spend the weekend was so incredibly hard for me. No one gives without expecting something in return—that’s how life works—so I’ll pay them back, somehow. Not financially, because it’s all I can do to pay my upcoming tuition by the end of October, but maybe I’ll take Camryn out for the day and give them some much needed adult time before the pre-season kicks in.

I stare at my phone and more messages come in from Brighton. “What am I supposed to tell her? Nothing is going to come out right over text.”

“Call her, straighten it out. How about I run out and grab us an order of fish and chips? All that talk about cod has made me hungry.”

My stomach takes that moment to grumble. I should say no, and send him back to his wing in this big house, but I worked a long shift tonight and was going to have toast before bed. Fish and chips do sound yummy.

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