Good Boy

by Sarina Bowen

  Traffic slows us down, unfortunately. By the time we’re speed-walking through the stadium corridors, the game is already in progress.

  This time, Jamie and I don’t head for his usual seats. Tonight we’re watching from the WAGS box. I follow my brother up an escalator and down a corridor to a set of shiny turnstiles. Before we reach them, Jamie digs something out of his shirt pocket and hands it to me. I look down at a plastic team ID card with my photo on it.

  Jessica Canning, it reads. Role: WAGS (Riley.)

  “Omigod!” I yelp. “It’s so official. That’s cuckoo.”

  My brother waves his card in front of the turnstile, which springs open for him. “All part of the fun.”

  I use my card at the turnstile, too, and then Jamie leads me along a curved corridor lined with fancy wooden doors, each with a corporate plaque beside it. I see boxes for Canada’s two largest banks and an insurance firm. The fourth one simply says: WAGS. Jamie opens the door and ushers me inside.

  Katie Hewitt spots us first, waving her tequila bottle in our direction. “You’re late!” she hollers. “Get over here, Cannings.”

  I have a sudden thought. “Jamie? Is there going to be hazing?” Since I’ve become a nerd again, my tolerance for alcohol has plummeted. How embarrassing would it be to get plastered and throw up on the WAGS my first night here?

  My brother chuckles. “It depends what you mean by hazing. You’ll see.”

  “Ladies! Our newest member has arrived. Get the bag.”

  I reach Katie, who grabs me into a hug. “Jessica, you were holding out on us, you sneaky Pete! Blake told Eriksson who told Luko who told Estrella that his new girlfriend would be here tonight! And I was all, what new girlfriend? And then I saw they made you an ID card, so we had to hustle with your welcome packet! Why didn’t you say anything the last time we saw you?”

  She puts a hand on her hip, and I’m momentarily distracted by a retina-searing flash of brilliance. It’s the four giant diamond rings on her hand.

  Focus, Jess. “Well… It’s a new thing.”

  Katie smiles at me, her Toronto-shade lipstick perfect again tonight. “Usually the girlfriends practically do a pole vault to get in here. We’re glad to have you, though. His last girlfriend…” She rolls her eyes. “We called her Velcro. I knew it wouldn’t last, and when he came to his senses she did not go quietly.” She shakes her head. “Blake deserves someone as sweet as you are. I could not be happier for the two of you!”

  “Thank you. This is, uh, a nice place you’ve got here.” I glance around at the rich wood paneling and the candlelit buffet. I wouldn’t even know I was in a hockey stadium.

  “Well, make yourself comfortable. We spend a lot of time in here. Are you ready for your welcome packet?” She doesn’t wait for a response. “Girls!” she yodels. “Let’s give Jess her party favors!”

  “Should be fun,” my brother murmurs under his breath.

  “Wait—she needs a drink first,” Estrella says.

  “Where are my manners?” Katie yelps. “Champagne? Margarita? Beer?”

  “I would love a beer,” I tell her, choosing the simplest option.

  Two seconds later Estrella is pushing one into my hand. “All right. Let’s tell her what she’s won, Johnny!”

  Katie reaches behind a leather wingback chair and emerges with a giant shopping bag. Blake would love it—the bag is coated in Toronto-red glitter. “Ta-da! The welcome packet.”

  “Wow.”

  She slides one hand into the bag and pulls out a sheaf of papers stapled together on the edge. “This is the WAGS booklet of tips and tricks. It’s your basic How-To-Sneak-Into-A-Hotel-On-The-Road handbook. How to shake off a pesky reporter, that sort of thing.”

  “Um, thanks.” I didn’t know that being Blake’s girlfriend would come with a user’s manual, but what’s one more textbook in my life?

  “And now for the fun stuff.” She digs into the bag again and extracts a bottle of Chanel nail polish in—wait for it—Toronto red.

  “Oh! I love it.” My poor nails don’t get any attention these days. I’ll have to fix that. “Thank you!” I tuck the bottle into the small handbag I’m carrying tonight.

  Estrella shakes her head. “You’re going to need the whole bag, babe. We’re not done here yet.”

  Oh.

  The next thing Katie removes from the bag is a jersey. And it is not regulation. It looks much tighter than anyone could play in, and it just happens to have a sweeping V-neck. Katie turns it around so everyone can see the back. It reads, Riley is mine.

  I burst out laughing.

  “Cute, right?” she says, draping it over my arm. “We had to get team boxer shorts for your brother instead.” She dips back into the bag. “Next we have the family-size Tums, for those stressful games when your man is struggling.”

  “Aww,” everyone says.

  “I got those, too,” Jamie tells me.

  Katie tucks the antacids back in the bag and then grins wickedly. “This is something else you’re going to need.” She pulls out a long, slender box and puts it in my hands.

  Confused, I lift the lid. Then I quickly drop it again when I realize I’m holding a luxury vibrator. My face gets hot. “Thanks?”

  Katie pats my hand. “Keep it on the charger, hon. Because road trips are long. And, in a similar vein…” She slaps her thigh. “I said similar vein!” The other women laugh as she pulls out a Clone-A-Wang kit.

  Do It Yourself… And Then Do Yourself, the box enthuses.

  “Oh my god,” I sputter. Though the idea of a Blake dildo is honestly appealing.

  “Got one of those, too,” Jamie says. “Totally works.”

  “EEEK!” I clap my hands to my ears. “I do not want to hear about your sex life. Not because it’s with a guy, but because you’re my brother.”

  “Whoa!” He holds up his hands. “I totally get it. Feel free to keep all the naked details to yourself, too.”

  “But, wait.” Sheila, the goalie’s wife, tugs at my elbow. “Is it true that Blake has a giant dick?”

  Yikes. I’m really not willing to answer that question. Not on my first beer, anyway. Luckily I don’t have to, because something exciting seems to be happening down on the ice.

  “Power play,” a voice blares over the loudspeaker, and all the women lean toward the rink, tensing.

  “We can do this!” Katie yells. “Yes!”

  I’m not in a good spot to see the action, so my eyes fly to a large-screen TV on the wall, showing the televised coverage. The boys are engaged in a high-speed game of keep-away. The camera zooms in on Eriksson, who passes to Wesley. Who passes to Blake.

  Who shoots!

  The whole arena roars and the announcer’s voice shouts, “GOAL!”

  “Oh my God,” I shriek. As I check the scoreboard, it changes from 0–0 to 1–0. Blake has just scored the first goal of the game.

  “Hey, Cannings!” Katie yanks her tequila off a table. “You both have to do a shot. One for the goal and one for that assist.”

  “No can do.” My brother shakes his head. “I’m driving. Sad but true.”

  She wrinkles her perfect nose. “What a shame. Jess?” She pours a shot of tequila and hands it to me.

  In for a penny, in for a pound. I toss the shot back, and the sudden burn of tequila makes my eyes water. Now that I’m a nerd, I probably can’t hold my liquor. If Blake gets a hat-trick, they might have to carry me out of here on a stretcher.

  Jamie hands me a wedge of lime, amusement in his eyes.

  “Thanks,” I manage. Several women congratulate me, and I have a moment of embarrassment. “I didn’t have anything to do with Blake’s goal,” I whisper to my brother, feeling like a fraud.

  He puts two strong hands on my shoulders, and squeezes. “I hear you. But you make Blake happy, right? He goes to work feeling good. And sixteen thousand fans appreciate that right now. I’m pretty pumped up when my kids score a goal, and I didn’t shoot it myself.”

&nb
sp; “You’re their coach,” I point out.

  “Is it really that different?”

  This idea gives me a happy rush. Or maybe it’s just the booze. “Jamester, I’m going down to the stands to say hello to Mama Riley for a minute, while I’m still sober.” I burp. “Sober-ish.”

  “Good plan.” He pulls something out of his pocket. “Want these?” He hands me a pair of disposable earplugs.

  I press them away. “Nice thought, but she’d be offended.”

  Downstairs, I discover that my WAGS ID is like a master key to the arena. Security guards wave me through doors and nobody blinks when I make my way to the reserved seating behind the home-team bench. I spot Blake’s parents. Or rather, Blake’s mother. She’s on her feet, of course, shouting loud enough to make everyone around her wince.

  “MOW ’EM DOWN, BLAKEY! CUT THAT LAWN!”

  Her head swivels abruptly when she notices me. “Jessica! GET OVER HERE!”

  Two seconds later, I’m enveloped in one of her mama bear hugs and sporting at least two broken ribs when she finally releases me.

  “Did you see our boy’s goal?” she exclaims. “THING OF BEAUTY!”

  “It was pretty awesome,” I agree. “I just came down to say hello.” I smile at Blake’s dad. “Hey, Mr. Riley.”

  “Papa,” he grunts. “You call me Papa.”

  “Ah, okay. Papa.”

  “You want to sit with us for the second period?” Mama Riley offers.

  “No, I promised the WAGS I’d sit upstairs tonight. Next time,” I promise.

  Her gaze drifts back to the ice, where the final two minutes of play are unfolding. Toronto’s still up by one, but Dallas has regrouped and they’re rushing our net. Sanders, one of the d-men, is too slow to stop the attack, and the Dallas forward unleashes a slapshot that makes the crowd give a collective gasp. And then…ping. The puck bounces away.

  “SAY HI TO THE POST, DALLAS! NO GOAL!”

  Mama Riley’s shriek nearly shatters my eardrums. “No goal!” I echo in a normal human volume.

  Blake’s mother frowns. “Jessica. What was that?”

  “What was what?”

  “Is that how you root for our boys? Where’s the enthusiasm? WHERE’S THE HEART?”

  “Uh.” I shift awkwardly. “I’m not much of a screamer.” And in the back of my mind, I hear Blake’s cocky voice wholeheartedly disagreeing with that.

  “Unacceptable,” she says firmly. “You’re a Riley now, Jessica. And you know what Rileys are?”

  Insane?

  “LOUD,” she finishes. “So what’ll it be, Jessie? Are you a soft-spoken, not-cheering-from-your-heart fan, or are you a Riley?”

  A slow smile stretches my mouth. “I’m a Riley.”

  “Good. Now let’s make these last thirty seconds count.”

  And for the next thirty seconds, I stand in the aisle with Mama Riley, and the two of us scream, shriek, yell and shout until my throat is raw and my ears are ringing.

  After the buzzer goes off, I take a much-needed sip from the water bottle she hands me and wonder if my larynx might be permanently damaged. But then all thoughts of my broken vocal cords disappear, because Blake suddenly appears in front of the glass at the home bench. Grinning widely, he taps the plexi with one gloved hand, waving for me to come down.

  I’m slightly self-conscious as I hurry down the steps. Blake is making his way toward the entrance of the chute, still gesturing for me to follow. There are dozens of people leaning over the railings at each side of the tunnel, screaming and cheering and snapping pics of the players as they lumber past. I elbow my way through the mob until I’m in the front of pack, just as Blake reaches me.

  His helmet is tucked under his arm, sweaty hair stuck to his forehead, and he’s pretty much a giant because he’s still wearing his skates. He leans in until his mouth is practically glued to my ear.

  “Blew you a kiss after the goal,” he whispers. “Did ya see?”

  “I saw.” I give his damp cheek a quick peck, which triggers several high-pitched shrieks from the females in our vicinity. Sounds of betrayal rather than approval. “Uh-oh,” I whisper back. “I might start a riot.”

  He tips his head and grins ruefully. “Yeah, you might wanna head back to the WAGS box. The Blake Brigade is kinda possessive.”

  “The Blake Brigade? Seriously?” I roll my eyes. “You named your groupies?”

  “They named themselves,” he protests. “They’ve got a website and everything.”

  I sigh. Of course they do.

  “Anyway, gotta go. Just wanted to tell you how hot you look.” My boyfriend leans in and smacks a very loud kiss on my lips, which I’m pretty sure is captured by every news camera and cell phone in the rink.

  Instinctively I look up at the jumbotron. Sure enough, the screen is frozen on a shot of Blake kissing me. THE KISSCAM STARTS NOW, FANS, it screams.

  “Cheezus,” I mutter. My five siblings are probably laughing their asses off right now.

  “Babe. You said cheezus.”

  “I did no—yeah.” I grin up at the loud, crazy, incredible man I love. “I guess I did.”

  t h e

  e n d

  The next book in the WAGs series is STAY! Can you guess which player’s story is next? Find out here.

  Want more from Sarina & Elle? Find all their titles in one handy place.

  Also By Sarina Bowen & Elle Kennedy

  STAY

  HIM

  US

  Acknowledgments

  We would like to thank Benjamin Kimelman and Samantha Estrada for their tips about nursing school! Thanks to Edie and Eagle for their excellent editing. And to Nina and Sarah Hansen for their help, as always.

  Copyright © 2017 by Sarina Bowen and Elle Kennedy

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Final version.

  Cover design by Sarah Hansen. Cover photography by Wander Aguiar.

  ISBN: 978-1-942444-30-5