Page 17 of The Love Trick

I shrug. “Sure, why not?”

“Great!” Dylan wiggles his eyebrows. “We’re gonna snag the ladies left and right with these muscles.” He flexes.

I shake my head. I have no desire tosnag the ladies.I have enough on my plate as it is with hockey.

“I’ll see y’all tomorrow,” I tell them as I slip out of the exit, heading toward the parking lot. The sound of laughter catches my attention, and I tilt my head in the direction, spotting Cam and Nila in the parking lot.

The newly engaged couple doesn’t notice me because they’re so wrapped up in each other. I’m happy for them. And in a way, I’m partly responsible for bringing them together—because they never would’ve met if Cam hadn’t stupidly punchedthat fan inmydefense. Nila was the social media manager who cleaned up the mess, and those two have been inseparable ever since.

But I don’t know why I have this little pang of jealousy in my chest every time I see them fawning over each other.

I wouldn’t even know how to make a relationship work.

I frown at the thought and climb into my Jeep, the black leather sticking to my sweat-drenched skin. It’s moments like this that make me miss my motorcycle … but I had to sell it when I joined the NHL because my body is “too valuable to risk the injury.” It’s against my contract to even ride one.

I sigh and start the engine, startling at the radio that’s suddenly blaring classic rock.

The me three hours ago was harder of hearing, apparently.

I begin the short drive home, which is just a few blocks away, in the same neighborhood as Cam and Kade.

Ten minutes later, I’m climbing out of the car and making my way through the interior garage door. My phone buzzes from somewhere inside my gym bag, but I ignore it.

Whatever it is can wait until I’m done showering.

I clamber up the spiral stairs, ignoring my sparse home decor. Addy has been on me since the day I moved in to make ithomier.But I don’t know how to do that. I’ve never stayed in one place long enough to get attached to it. Not since my parents chose drugs over me when I was four years old.

I ended up in foster care because there were no other family members to take me in. And I guess I just drew the unlucky number, because nobody in the system ever took me home and kept me there either.

The concept of creating a cozy home seems foreign to me.

But Addy insists that this house isminenow, that I should make it a home instead of just a place to sleep.

Some habits die hard…

I slip into the master bedroom—which is about as bare as the rest of the house—and toss my bag onto the black quilted king-sized bed. I leave it there while I take a quick ten-minute shower. When I step out, I tie the towel around my waist and pause in front of the mirror.

I probably should’ve shaved.

I take in the thick, dark stubble casting across my jaw.

“Oh well.” I shrug before running a brush through my disheveled, but clean, jet-black hair.

Just as I step out of the bathroom to get dressed, my doorbell rings.

“What the heck?” I furrow my brow as the security app pings my phone. I dig into my gym bag and grab my phone, opening up the app as I head downstairs. I see the live video recording of Addy standing on my porch, her arms folded across her chest.

I narrow my gaze, squinting down at her oversized T-shirt and…

Wait, does she even have pants on?

My eyes grow wide, and I pick up my pace, hoping like heck nothing is seriously wrong. I set my phone on the counter on the way to the door and rip it open, a burst of warm air hitting my exposed abdomen.

“Oh my… Oh my gosh! Put some clothes on!” Addy screeches, her hands flying up to cover her face.

“What?” I glance down, realizing all I have on is my bath towel. “You can’t see anything.”

“Uh, it’s the principle,” Addy says, still looking away. However, I don’t miss the redness tinging her cheeks… And something about that makes me feel…weird.

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