Page 40 of The Wildest One
Hart laughed. “Don’t hold your breath, asshole. Things behind the scenes are as busy as our kitchens. I don’t remember the last time I even cooked for myself.”
“Which is why all of you have a personal chef.” Eden rolled her eyes. “Let’s stop wasting time talking about things that aren’t ever going to happen—like Hart cooking for you—and let’s discuss the elephant in the room.” Eden reached across the space between us and held my cheeks as though she was inspecting my face. “What was under your nose at the press conference?”
I chuckled. “I can’t believe it took you this long to ask me. You’re slacking. That’s not like you.”
“We had more important things to discuss through text message”—she pointed at the pile of folders in front of Hart—“like some of that.”
“Speaking of that”—I nodded toward Hart’s pile—“how many more locations of Charred are we opening?—”
“Nope,” Eden said, cutting me off. “First, we’re discussing the face crumb. Then, we can talk about work.”
“This one is relentless.” I smiled. “I had a bite of a chocolate chip cookie before I went out to the press conference. What’s the big fucking deal?”
“The internet thinks it’s a big deal. They’re having a blast, coming up with theories of what the crumb was. Listen to this: Vegas is even allowing people to take bets on whether it was a protein bar or a piece of your helmet.” Her hand slapped the table—her attempt to really drive in her point.
That was why my agent had called the next day and asked what it was—Vegas probably needed him to confirm the answer.
The expression I gave her backed up this point. “You know I give no shits about what the internet thinks.”
“But you do give a shit about what you look like.” She crossed her arms. “Which has me wondering …” Her eyes narrowed as she stared at me.
“I’m with Eden.” Walker pushed up his white sleeves. “You’re the prettiest one out of all of us.”
“And the king of being camera-ready,” Hart contributed.
I waved both of them off, even though they weren’t wrong, and said, “Wondering about what?” to my sister.
“A few weeks before, there was the ice-humping scandal”—she covered her eyes with her black-painted nails—“something I don’t even want to talk about—I’m scarred for life because of it.” Her hand dropped. “Now we have the face incident. So, yes, both of these things have me wondering: Are you trying to stay in thelimelight for reasons other than hockey? Are you raising your middle finger to someone? Or …” Her brows furrowed.
I replied, “You’re reading too much into it.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think I am.”
Of course, the fucking detective of the group had called me out. I wasn’t surprised. I just wasn’t going to admit why that piece of cookie had been on my lip. The person who had needed to see it did. That was what mattered.
I looked at Walker, Hart, and Colson, knowing the three of them were probably stirring and that this wasn’t the first time they had heard our sister bring this up. “Do any of you have anything to say? Or can we talk about what’s in those files?” I nodded again toward Hart.
Hart smiled at me, the kind of grin that said he was up to something. “Let’s talk about Boston.” He licked his lips, leaning even further onto the table. “How was it?”
“Out of all the places I played at during this stretch of away games, you want to talk about Boston?” I was rocking in my chair, but stopped. “It was fine. Why do you ask?”
Hart’s brows rose. “It was justfine?”
“I walked into a fucking lion’s den this morning.” I let out a loud laugh. “Do you have something to ask me, Hart?”
“Do you have something to say?” he countered.
There was no question in my mind who could have told my brother this information. Not that I gave a shit. I didn’t hold back anything from my siblings—minus the reason for the face crumb—but I was going to dig into my goalie for this one.
I laughed. “Nah. I’m good.”
Hart rubbed his hands together. “I bet you’re real good after those three nights.”
“Oh my God,” I groaned with a grin. “Here we go. Lay it on me. Give me everything you’ve got.”
“Hold on a second. Is there tea?” Eden asked. “That only Hart knows about?” She glared at Hart. “How dare you not tell me!”
Hart pointed at his chest. “It’s not my story to tell.”
