by Meghan Quinn
The car is freezing for a late-May night, the leather seats cold against my thinly covered thighs, and since I’m just wearing a t-shirt, my entire body stiffens, my body aching from the temperature.
But I welcome the cold.
Letting my car warm up for a few minutes, I take my phone from my pocket and let out a long sigh.
After the game text messages are either fun to read, or fucking dreadful. Tonight’s round of messages are going to fall under the category of torture, especially when I get to my dad’s text. I know it’s sitting in there and I can tell you what it’s going to say before I even read it.
Call me.
It’s two simple words that hold so much weight in them that I dread seeing them come from my dad. I might be an adult now, twenty-three to be exact, an old rookie in hockey years, but I still fear the wrath of my dad, the lecture I get whenever I get in a fight.
I’ve taught you better than that.
True men don’t fight on the ice, they prove their point with their foot work.
Do you enjoy upsetting your mother?
It’s the same thing every time and frankly, even though I am grateful for the time my dad has put into getting me to where I am today, I’m not up for the lecture.
Bringing my phone to life, I press on the green text message button.
Ten.
Scrolling through, I see a few from Calder, one of my best friends, telling me to call him when I’m done with press. Some from my friend Racer congratulating me on a stiff right hook—I chuckle at that one—one from my publicist—insert eye roll—a few from my mom and the infamous text from my dad.
Ignoring the text from my dad, I can deal with that when I’m in a better headspace, I call Calder.
“Where are you?” he answers.
“In my car, in the player’s parking lot.”
“Rachel made some bread pudding and I have some beer chilled. Come over.”
I strap my seatbelt on. “Does the bread pudding have raisins in it?”
“No.”
“Be there in twenty.”
My keys fall against the marble counter top as I take a seat at the kitchen island of Calder’s house. One of our defensemen, Calder Weiss knows exactly how to sulk, in private with beer and sweets.
When I joined the Brawlers, Calder took me under his wing and through the season we grew incredibly close, relying on each other for the good and the bad. This being the bad.
“Saw your interview.” Calder hands me a beer and chuckles. “Steinman is going to have your ass.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
He chuckles some more. “But the guys are worshipping you for finally telling that piranha off. Bend over . . .” Calder sips his beer a smile on his face. “Man, that was great.”
Taking a gulp of beer, I feel the faint tug of a smile on my lips. “I’m not sorry.”
“It’s evident.”
Rachel strolls into the kitchen wearing an apron, looking domestic and right at home. A month ago Calder met Rachel at a Mexican restaurant . . . outside of the bathroom. Romantic, right? The best part, Calder was dressed up for his little girl, Shea, as a fairy so he was decked out in fairy wings and a tiara, looking like a real man-lady and for some reason, Rachel couldn’t say no to giving him her phone number.
That’s some game right there.
They’ve been together ever since and I have to admit, I adore Rachel. She’s perfect for Calder and has really taken on the role of a female figure in Shea’s life. You can tell Rachel loves that little girl.
“Are we ready for bread pudding, or do you need more time to drink your manly beer?”
Calder takes the seat next to me. “Bread pudding.”
I nod in agreement. “Bread pudding.”
“You got it.”
Making her way around the kitchen, she pulls a couple of plates from the cabinets, some spoons, and dishes out three heaping helpings of her banana bread pudding. She tops them with some melted caramel and a little scoop of vanilla ice cream.
God bless this woman.
“Here you go, boys. Sulk away.”
“Thanks, babe.”
“Yeah, thanks, babe,” I mimic. Calder territorially eyes me, a playful warning, and then dives into his dessert.
I do the same, scooping up ice cream, caramel, and bread pudding all in one bite.
Heaven.
“Was this supposed to be a celebration dessert?” I ask, mouth full.
“I figured it could go either way but I did pop the congratulations balloons I got, figured a congratulations on our loss wasn’t appropriate.”
“It’s appreciated.”
We sit there in silence, enjoying our dessert, no need to speak about what happened on the ice. No need to hash it out. What’s done is done, we can’t go back.
When I finish my dessert, I take my plate to the sink, rinse it and then stick it in the dishwasher. “That was really good, thank you, Rachel.”
“Anything for the tripod.” She winks.
It’s what we jokingly call ourselves, a nickname Calder doesn’t quite appreciate, being that Rachel and I get along so well that we joke around with Calder more than he wishes.
Calder takes his empty plate along with Rachel’s, presses a light kiss across her temple then hands me the dishes and I take care of them. It’s hard not to be a tripod when we look like a goddamn old married couple, a weird threesome married couple.
Wrapping Rachel up in his arms from behind, Calder asks, “What are you going to do now? Take some time off?”
Propped up against the counter, I grip the edge of the marble. “Yeah. I’m sure my parents are going to want me to stay with them for a few weeks.”
“Where do they live?” Rachel asks.
“Scranton.” I drag my hand over my face and let out a long breath of air. “Not sure I want to go there though. I know my dad, he’s going to want to rehash every angle of the game until I’m blue in the face. And staying here in Philly,” I shake my head, “I don’t want to be sequestered to my apartment out of fear of running into Brawlers fans.”
“They’re brutal.”
And that’s the goddamn truth. Beyond brutal. They’ve been known to flip cars over from a loss, I can only imagine the kind of beating the city is taking tonight.
“Vacation then?” Rachel asks. “I heard Europe is beautiful during the summer.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, I wish. As much as I would love to leave the country after tonight’s game, I have some obligations that are keeping me close to Philly and New York City.” I push off the counter and snag my keys. “I think I might go visit my hometown, spend a few weeks up there.”
“Binghamton, right?” Calder asks.
I nod. “Yeah, my friend Racer lives up there. It might be good to play catch up. Thanks for the dessert and half a beer. I’m going to head out.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’ll talk to you guys later.”
As I’m leaving, Rachel calls out. “For what it’s worth, Miller deserved a hell of a lot more than the ass-beating you gave him.”
I shut the door with a smile, Marcus did deserve so much more. What a prick.
Reaching into my pocket, I scan through the contacts on my phone and press send.
Hopping into my car, I turn it on, and listen to the phone ring on my Bluetooth.
“Dude!” Racer answers. “You dropped that mother fucker so hard.”
I pull out onto the street and head to my apartment. “How are you, man?”
“Semi-drunk after watching that game, a little turned on from your right hook, and wondering why you’re calling me when most likely your dad is frothing at the mouth to recount your entire game for a good three hours.”
Racer is one of few people who knows my family so well, that’s what happens when you grow up together, you end up knowing the ins and outs of each other’s lives.
“Haven’t called him yet. Kind of waiting on that phone cal
l.”
“Smart.”
Feeling awkward, I ask, “So, what would you say if I decided to come up to Bing for a few weeks?”
He doesn’t skip a beat when he asks, “Too afraid to go home?”
I laugh. “Not afraid, more like not in the mood.”
“Yeah, I would avoid that lecture train for as long as I could.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Are you asking if you can stay at my house? Because I’m on the hunt for a girl and I don’t want you stealing her away with your brawny athletic body and good looks. It would actually be detrimental to have you around.”
Racer is such a nitwit.
“I was going to ask Mr. Lockwood if I could stay at his place for a few weeks, he’s offered it up before.”
“You fucker. Of course he would offer up his house to you. Let me guess, you leave a few signed hockey sticks around the house and you call it even?”
Pretty much.
Mr. Lockwood is a teacher Racer and I both had in high school. He lives on a hill in a little cottage that over looks the area. He is retired now and spends his summers up in the Adirondacks, leaving his cottage up for grabs for any of his friends or formal students.
“If I leave a signed jersey for the man, that’s between me and him.”
“Such bullshit.” He huffs and says, “So you’re coming to Bing, huh?”
“I think I need to.”
“Then let me throw together a welcome home party, but you’re paying for it.”
I roll my eyes. Of course I am, the cheap fuck.
Hayden’s story, ONE BABY DADDY, the final book in the Dating by Numbers Series is releasing this Summer! To be the first to find out about release dates and be one of the first to preorder, click here. And don’t forget to add the book to your TBR!
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Dating by Numbers Series
(Adventurous dating series full of laugh out loud moments and very heated scenes)
Three Blind Dates
Two Wedding Crashers
One Baby Daddy
The Binghamton Boys Series
(Full of heart, humor, and heat and some HOT CONSTRUCTION WORKERS)
Co-Wrecker
My Best Friend’s Ex
Twisted Twosome
The Other Brother
Standalones
(Full of heart, humor, and heat and some real laugh out loud moments)
The Mother Road
Newly Exposed
Dear Life
The Romance Novelist Series
(Hilarious, laugh out loud romantic comedies)
The Virgin Romance Novelist
The Randy Romance Novelist
The Stroked Series
(HOT sports romance with plenty of humor)
STROKED
STROKED LONG
STROKED HARD
The Bourbon Series
(Sassy, erotic romance with a gorgeous, protective alpha male)
Bourbon Sins
Bourbon Deceit
Bourbon Kingdom
Bourbon Truths
The Love and Sports Series
(New Adult, college football forms into professional football careers. Love triangles.)
Fair Catch
Double Coverage
Three and Out
The Hot-Lanta Series
(My first series ever. Baseball sports romance with lots of drama!)
Caught Looking
Playing the Field
Warning Track
Hit and Run
The Warblers Point Series
(Three Irish brothers, their younger sister, and the drama they get into. Love triangles. Book three still to come.)
Beers, Hens and Irishmen
Beers, Lies and Alibis