Page 37 of Dice & Dekes

We all agree that we could use a night off. Maybe that’s why we all let loose a little when it comes to the evening’s drinking. Before I know it, I’m three beers and a shot in and feeling fine.

Or at least I was.

Because that’s when the door opens. I don’t even need to look. I feel her before I see her—like the air shifts just from her being in the room. When I do glance up, my stomach goes tight.

Knova steps into The Puck Drop like she owns the place, which, to be fair, she kind of does. She’s in jeans, hair pulled up, neck bare. Her dog tags aren’t visible, but I know they’re there.

She sees the table, sees me, and for a second—I swear she hesitates. My heart stutters. But then she walks toward us. Toward me. And when she slides into the chair next to mine, the ache behind my ribs dulls just enough to breathe.

When Tristan offers to buy another round, I wave him away. “Nah, thanks, but I should get going. I’m already a little buzzed.”

I rise to stand, only to sway and catch myself on the edge of the table.

“Whoa, there.” Knova catches my shoulder to steady me. “Deep breaths, buddy. I think you’re more than alittlebuzzed.”

Oh, goddammit, not this again. I didn’t mean to drink so much tonight. I meant to be smooth. Maybe slip in a compliment, flirt a little, get that pity kiss she promised for a Venom win. But no—I’m three drinks past clever and one shot away from needing subtitles.

Although, to be fair, Knova wouldn’t have agreed to marry me if she’d been sober after the team party. I was hoping that if I played my cards right, she’d agree tostaymarried, though. Dammit. I’ve blown it for the night. And things were going so well!

Knova’s still holding my arm. “Got everything with you, Abbott? Phone? Wallet? Testicles?”

I choke on a laugh, glancing down like a guy who’s just been asked to locate his soul. I’ve got my phone. My wallet. My—yeah, they’re still there. Unfortunately, not in any mood to help me out.

“Pretty sure I do.” I almost ask her if she wants to double-check that last one, but no, that willnotwin me any points tonight. Maybe she can check my balls another time.

This presents a new problem. The thought of Knova caressing my balls has no effect on my junk. It should be hot. I should be turned on. But nothing. Oh, God, what if I’ve given myself alcohol-related ED? Knova will think I canneverget it up, and then she’ll divorce me and never talk to me again, and she’ll marry someone else—

“I’m gonna walk this knucklehead home,” Knova tells the guys. “As fun as it would be to watch him crawl back, I think your chances of winning the NHL’s top prize would dropsignificantlywithout your first-line right wing.”

A general murmur of assent greets her words, and that’s it. There’s no argument, no funny looks, no question about why we’re leaving together. The team is used to us hanging out.

As friends.

Is that what we are now? Friends who happen to be married? Or is there any chance of her falling for me, too?

I live in the same development as the Puck Drop. It’s not a long walk, although it’s made longer than usual by my weaving and meandering. I do a little more weaving than necessary because it encourages Knova to hold my arm.

“How are you so sober?” I ask.

She smirks up at me. “It’s called impulse control.”

I shake my head. “Never heard of it.”

“I know.”

“Impulse her? I don’t even know her!”

“Oh my God,stop.” She punches my arm. “You’re cancelled.”

“Nuh uh. You bought a lifetime subscription.” Midway through that sentence, I realize that I’ve made a terrible mistake, that I want to convince her to stay, not drive her away.

Knova shakes her head at me. “Sure, I did.”

That’s not a no. Is it? Dammit, why did I drink that last beer?

Back at my place, Knova deposits me on the couch. I sink into the cushions with a sigh and close my eyes.

“I’m getting you some water,” she tells me.

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