Page 52 of Pucking Wild

“—and Josh arranged to have Lauren Gerard come pick you up for your PT at 9:00 a.m.—”

“Yeah—hey, Shelbs,” I say, raising my voice. “I need to hop off here and go ask my roommate something really quick.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—wait—roommate? Is Mars staying at the house still? Did he move back in? Ohmygod, is something wrong between them already?”

The speed at which this woman flips from unbothered to unhinged is truly astounding. One whiff of gossip, and all the WAGs pounce like a pack of feral hyenas. It would be easy to complain, but we all know the actual players are even worse.

“No,” I say, wobbling on one foot like a drunk flamingo. “It’s not Mars, Shelbs. The Prices are fine. More than fine. They were here last night. You’ll meet her when you get here—”

“Wait—her?”

Shit.

“Ryan Langley, do you have a puck bunny in that house?”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“—can’t believe you. Don’t think I won’t tell Josh. Your first priority should be your recovery, not adding notches to your bedpost—”

“Okay, byeeee,” I say, drawing out the “e” as I hang up on her.

I tuck my phone into my pocket and swing forward on my crutches, not bothering to get a shirt. I hurry into the main room and look around. She’s not out here, but she was. The kitchen smells like fresh coffee, and there’s a few new dishes drying on the rack. Her laptop and legal pad are stacked beside a leather backpack on the table.

From back down the hall, I hear the unmistakable sound of a hair dryer and I breathe a little sigh of relief. She’s still here.

I peer into this fridge, taking note of the items Tess purchased—yogurt, salad stuff, fresh pineapple, a pack of turkey, and some cheddar cheese. What I don’t see is a pale blue pitcher of freshly brewed iced tea.

My housekeeper Yolanda knows just how I like it. She’s this awesome Cuban woman I met at the practice rink. She was one of the janitors there, and she was always so nice to me. I made her an offer she couldn’t refuse, and now she works for me two days a week, stocking my fridge with the most amazing food. She makes me iced tea each week too. I don’t know what magic she puts in it, but it’s delicious—not too sweet, with just a hint of lemon.

The doorbell rings, and I close the fridge, swinging over to the front door. I see Shelby’s outline through the fogged glass. “Who is it?” I call out, just to be a dick.

“Open the door, Langley. The ice cream is melting!”

That has me on the move, twisting the bolt on the lock to let Shelby in.

She sweeps past me, her hands full of bags, big sunglasses framing her face. She’s tall and skinny, built like a volleyball player. In fact, I think she may have played in college. Her long, dark ponytail swishes as she walks.

I follow behind her, turning the corner just as she sets all her reusable shopping bags down on the counter. Immediately she turns, flicking her sunglasses up to the top of her head. “You look like shit, Ryan,” she says in greeting. “Have you even showered since the Classic?”

I just shrug. “I’ll get around to it eventually.”

She squares off at me, hands on her hips. “You’ll do it today, or I’m gonna hose you down in the front yard. Don’t think I won’t. And if you’re entertaining bunnies in here, I’ll do the sheets at the same time.”

“Nice to see you too, Shelbs.”

Remembering her manners, she sweeps forward and wraps me in a hug. “Oh—” she stiffens in my arms.

“I’m sorry,” comes Tess’s voice from behind me.

Shelby pulls away and peers around me.

I glance over my shoulder, my gaze feasting on Tess wearing curve-hugging black leggings and a cropped Ferrymen top. She’s layered it with an open fleece zip-up in a soft grey color. Her red curls frame her face, her freckles on full display.

“Well, you don’t look like a bunny,” says Shelby in greeting.

“Excuse me?” says Tess.

“You’re Doc Price’s friend.” Shelby steps around me, holding out a hand. “It’s Tess, right? Hi, I’m Shelby O’Sullivan.”

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