Page 9 of Three Pucking Ex's Brothers
After seeing some of his teammates and rival team players fall into some bad situations with the BookTok fans on TikTok, Brett agreed it was probably best, and so did I.
But now…
Now I’m wondering how much of my life with Brett was real, or if everything was some strategy from the start, some illusion I bought into like one buys a season pass to the boy aquarium.
“Excuse me,” I say to the thick bodies crowding my space. The bar is packed with everyone rushing to get their refills. I should have made Zayne come do this. He’s not a huge guy by any means, but he can push his way past an army without a problem due to his loud mouth and personality.
Me? No one notices me. Not now, not ever.
Brett was the only one. I mean, I had boyfriends in high school, sure, but nothing serious. Though my dance card wasn’t as full as you would think after I graduated. I went on a couple of dates—mostly blind dates set up for me by my friends, or I met up with a few guys offline, but for the most part, I spent the better half of the last five years swiping on matches that would never swipe on me.
I had thought something was wrong with me. Was it my fiery red hair? My freckles? The fact I wasn’t some size four Barbie doll? Or maybe it’s the fact that I’m just not a go-getter or an extrovert.
But then I met Brett—at a local fundraiser for our county library—and it was like suddenly I understoodwhynothing had ever worked out or felt right before. Because from the moment I met him, it felt like everything clicked. So when he asked me to get drinks after, of course I said yes. He wasBrett Sterling,for God’s sake.
I hadn’t planned on sleeping with him that night. Truthfully, I hadn’t. I never sleep with a man on the first date, but the mixture of alcohol and Brett’s smoldering gaze and the fact I hadn’t slept with a man in nearly five years at that point had me crumbling for him like a deck of cards.
And now…
I shove the thought away.
“Excuse me,” I repeat, a little louder, hoping to at least pull the attention of the lumbering asshole in front of me. I’m not looking to piss anyone off, and if I could get through to the bar any other way, I would, but it’s like the whole place is crawling with people and I’m growing impatient.
“I said, excuse me!” I nearly shout, my voice pitching from the mixture of alcohol and pure dizziness, and I nearly knock someone over as I shove through the two men crowding my only entrance.
“What the hell?” a voice says, having the audacity to sound offended.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I say petulantly as I reach out to steady myself, my hands settling on thick, hard muscles, and I freeze as I look up to see a familiar face.
Well, two familiar faces, technically.
“Oh…Nora, hey…you’re all good, sweetheart.” The heavy scent of cedar and spice mixed with tequila hits me like a tidal wave along with the jade gaze of Flash,the goalie for the Lansing Lions.
Or as most of us know him—Freddie Sterling. My ex’s brother.
“Nora! Hey, what are you doing here? Is my brother around?” Rush, the forward for the Lansing Lions and also my ex’s brother, meets my gaze.
I knowtechnicallyRussell, Tommy, and Brett are half brothers, but their mother always seemed to insist her boys wereallher boys, no matter where they came from. I know Brett didn’t hold the same sentiment.
Despite being close in age to Freddie, and Russ too—Brett rarely saw his brothers unless it was some sort of family thing, and seeing as he traveled a lot for games, usually it was me who had to make the appearance on his behalf, and when he was home…well, let’s just say Brett would rather drink bleach than go to afamilyevent with his brothers.
Still, running into your ex’s big, built, hockey player brothers, when you’re drinking and fresh from the fire, isn’t exactly how I envisioned my night out with my besties.
“Do not call me sweetheart,” I bite out as I turn from them and try to flag down the bartender, who looks utterly swamped. If I knew how to serve throngs of starving, thirsty patrons and was sure I wouldn’t get stiffed, I’d jump behind the counter and help out, but I digress.
I don’t know how to serve anyone, and the thought of having to juggle all those orders literally gives me anxiety, so instead I wave my hand vividly, trying to catch the bartender’s attention.
“Easy there,sweetheart,” Russ says with a chuckle. “Cat piss in your cornflakes this morning?”
I turn to glare at Russell, his jade-green eyes sparkling. My gaze roves over him—over his pronounced jaw and those sparkling green eyes, his dishwater-blond hair turning all shades of pastel underneath the neon light.
He was a few years behind me, since I came to to town my senior year, so I knewofhim and his brothers and I certainly heard about Brett, who had just signed on with his team then. But I never really got to know many of the folks I went to school with, especially if they were behind me. Still, I’ve seen the Sterling brothers—Russell and Freddie, and of course, Tommy—and there’s no denying they are all impeccably and irritatingly attractive.
Freddie, the hefty three hundred pound forward with his big arms and kind green eyes. Russell the boy next door with a surfer mop of blond hair and a more toned, lean figure but enough bicep and muscle that you know hecouldbench-press you if he tried. Then there’s Tommy—the baby-faced blond who’s the perfect mash-up of a lost Backstreet Boy and Mr. Americana.
And of course, there’s Brett—the oldest with his dark chestnut hair, deep brown eyes, and a body with curves and dips of muscle in all the right places and then some. If the Sterling brothers are the angels of the ice, Brett is certainly the devil.
In more ways than one.
