Page 201 of Pucking Around

I clear my throat. “Um, I’m finished now. I was just waiting to get a ride home.”

Harrison snorts. “Still a little chicken shit behind the wheel?”

“I’m finished,” says Ilmari. “I will take you.”

I glance to Jake and Cay.

“I’ve got hours yet,” Caleb mutters. “Longer the longer I stand here.”

“I’ll give you my keys before we go,” Jake says. “I’ll ride back with Mars and Rach.”

Caleb looks to me, giving me a nod before he walks off.

I turn to Harrison. “Will you stay the night?”

“Of course, he will,” says Jake, getting to his feet. “He’s coming out to the house. I was already texting a grocery delivery order as we’ve been sitting here. You like seafood, Harrison?”

“Yeah,” Harrison says, his tone hesitant.

“Great, I’m making a low country seafood boil tonight—shrimp and andouille sausage, corn, onion, potatoes—the works. It’ll be delicious.”

“Jake is a great cook,” I add.

“Oh, shit—that’s right,” Jake says with a laugh. “You’re a chef. Well, I don’t have a Michelin star, but I do okay.”

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Harrison replies.

I stand up, taking a deep breath. This is fine. My twin is unexpectedly here and he’s coming out to the beach house where I live with two and a half men and a dog. The internet is speculating wildly about the status of my relationships, I have an NHL public relations manager in ‘manage it’ mode, and the fate of four people’s careers now hang in the balance.

This is totally fine. That’s what the cartoon animals always say right before the anvil falls from the sky, right? This is all going to be just fine.

88

“Are you well?” Ilmari murmurs, one hand brushing my hip as we stand at the sink washing dishes.

I nod, my hands in the soapy water scrubbing a plate before I hand it over to him.

He takes it silently. “You’re worried.”

“Of course, I am,” I reply, not daring to look at him. “This is unsustainable. We all know it.”

As soon as Harrison stepped out onto the back patio to take a call with his restaurant, Caleb filled us all in with the CliffsNotes version of what happened in the laundry room this morning with Novikov and Morrow. And I let the guys know what happened with Poppy in my office.

Jake whipped out his phone, instantly going online to check out the gossip for himself. He’s been in ‘minimize it’ mode ever since. ‘This is fine, babe,’ he’s said at least ten times. ‘It’s no big deal.’ He said it all the way out the door, determined to go get us all ice cream, which apparently is his cure for any crisis or malady.

No big deal.Right. NHL players are spreading the rumor that Jake and Caleb are finally out as gay. Meanwhile, the celebrity tabloids are saying we’re in a tragic love triangle. The gossip is only finding fuel with the puck bunnies, no doubt thanks to delightful creatures like Aspen Albright. In less than 24 hours, they’ve apparently spread the rumor that I spurned Jake’s proposal in favor of Caleb. They’re calling me crazy for ditching a player for an equipment manager, saying all kinds of horrible, disparaging things about Caleb and his position.

The only one who seems to have escaped the fray so far is Ilmari—thank god. He doesn’t need this attention now. Not when the FIHA scouts are still here.

“I think you need to get some distance,” I murmur, still not looking at him.

“What does that mean?”

Letting out a shaky breath, I glance up. “You haven’t been dragged down in this yet. You can still break away.”

“Break away?”

“Please, Mars,” I press, holding his gaze. “I know how hard you’ve worked to keep your privacy intact. But nothing about me is private. I wish to god that it were,” I add with all the sincerity I can muster. “But I never had that luxury.”

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