Page 2 of Goaltender Interference

The wedding celebrations had put him in a decidedlyunromanticmood.

With an annoyed grunt, Connor drained the rest of his drink then ducked out of view, using the crowd as a shield as he wove through the throng of people.

Clearly, the problem was that he was too sober.

Connor waited in line at the bar, making small talk with various relatives and friends who, thankfully, were not trying to set him up. The guest list was obscenely large—partly courtesy of the huge extended O’Shea family who’d made the trek to Chicago from the Boston area where everyone but Kelly was based.

Anders had retired from the NHL and now ran a hockey skills camp while Kelly was still playing for the Evanston River Otters so in addition to family, they’d had no shortage of friends and teammates to invite, plus people from across the league.

And all their plus ones.

Anders probably would’ve been happy with something small and intimate but he was a sucker for making Kelly happy. And Kelly had relented to the inevitable family pressure to throw a giant Boston Irish-American rager.

At least they hadn’t had to deal with the religious bullshit Connor and Viv had. Instead, Anders and Kelly had gone for a very nice civil wedding ceremony in a historic building with great architecture.

Though, Connor supposed they hadn’t had much choice. It wasn’t like anyone in the Catholic church was gonna bless the wedding of two men.

A cheer rose from the crowd and Connor glanced toward the tent’s dance floor, half-expecting the Toronto Fisher Cats goaltender to have started a strip show or something, but the music had shifted to something more mellow without him noticing. Kelly and Anders were wrapped tightly in each other’s arms, kissing deeply.

Fucking hell.

Connor glanced away with a wince, trying not to remember holding Viv like that all those years ago. Yep, he definitely wasn’t fucking drunk enough to deal with this shit yet.

He shuffled forward in line while people ordered their drinks, got them, then walked away. He finally ordered his own, drumming his fingers on the bar top, idly watching the play of lights over the bartender’s taut forearms as he shook someone else’s cocktail.

Connor swallowed thickly, looking away, jerking in surprise when his gaze landed on Jesse Webber.

“The fuck are you doing here, Webber?” fell from his lips before he could stop it.

Webber laughed. “I was invited?”

“Right, no, I figured that.” Though if anyone was likely to crash a wedding …

“I know Anders from his skills camp. He’s got the best goalie coach in North America working for him,” Webber said with ashrug. It showed off his bare chest and arms, glistening in the lights sweeping across the crowd.

Connor drummed his fingers on the bar top more impatiently this time. Christ, this bartender was taking forever.

“Right.” Connor cleared his throat. “Makes sense.”

“Your drinks.” The guy slid two double whiskeys toward him.

“Thanks, man.” Connor stuffed a tip in the jar then took the already sweating glasses. He turned back toward the dance floor.

Webber’s face brightened. “Ooh, you got one for me. Thanks.” He reached for one of the glasses.

Connor scowled, jerking them away. “They’re both mine. Fuck off and get your own, you little mooch.”

Usually when Connor growled, people backed off, but Webber grinned, letting someone else go ahead of him.

“So you’re like this all the time, not just on the ice. Huh.” He licked his lips, giving Connor a blatant once-over. “I kinda like the Captain Growly thing. It’s hot.”

Christ, he was annoying.

“See you around, Webber.” Connor turned and stalked away, making a beeline for one of the open flaps in the massive tent. Once clear of the crowd, he slugged back one of the drinks, set the glass on an empty table, then ducked out into the fresh air, grateful for the cooler temperature outside.

It had been a sticky July day, though Chicago would never rival Boston for summer humidity.

Connor made his way across the grassy lawn toward the waterfront, grateful for the breeze that cooled his overheated skin and the lap of the waves from Lake Michigan hitting the shore. The half-moon and city lights glinted off the dark water and a knot in Connor’s shoulders finally unraveled.

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