“Silas and a few of the other franchise owners have some legendary poker game that they play every month. Guys like Weston Rutherford and Crossland McClaren.” Axel shrugged.
“Bristol’s brother?” Briggs’s fiancé’s brother owned the team out of Calgary.
“Yep.” He looked over Cannon’s shoulder and grimaced as a gaggle of girls headed our way. “Here we go.”
Blonde. Brunette. Red head. There seemed to be one to suit every taste, and the brunette was headed this direction with a Reaper jersey in her hand.
“Hi,” she said with a demure bat of her lashes. “I’m so sorry to bug you at dinner, but you’re Maxim Zolotov, right?” The look of hope on her face was the only thing that kept me from denying it. Besides, I was seated with the Reapers, so all that would have done was make me an asshole for hurting her feelings.
“I am,” I answered with a polite smile.
She blasted me with a megawatt smile. “Oh my God, I just love you, and I was hoping you’d sign my jersey?” She pushed the fabric at me and thrust a Sharpie in my face.
“I can do that.” I took them both and scrawled my name on the shoulder, noting that her friends were draped all over McKittrick and Greene. “Here you go.” Twisting in my seat, I offered them back to her.
“Thank you!” She shimmied a little as she dropped to a crouch next to my chair, a move I was sure she thought was incredibly sexy but missed the mark for me. “And I know you’re single. I read all the gossip mags,” she whispered.
“For fuck’s sake.” Axel turned back to his plate.
“Uh. Thanks?” What the hell was I supposed to say to that? Cool? Glad you stalk me on the internet? Fuck, I missed hanging out at home with Evie. There was none of this glittery, plastic flirting, or fake…everything. No pressure to be anything but who I was.
“Two-fifty-four.” She pressed something into my hand. “I’ll be waiting.” A coy smile lifted her lips and she rose slowly, giving me a direct shot of her cleavage before walking away.
“A key?” Axel asked, stabbing another forkful of his salmon.
“Yep.” I leaned back in my chair, rocking on the back two legs, and hurled it at the trashcan next to the potted palm. It landed right where it was supposed to—in the refuse. Maybe last season I would have taken her up on it. Maybe this summer I would have. But where I usually felt a modicum of appreciation for the efforts put forth by the fairer sex, there was…nothing. I had zero interest. None. Zilch.
And it wasn’t like it would be cheating on Evie. We weren’t even dating…just a few friendly good luck pecks. And one hot-as-fucking-hell kiss that you can’t get out of your head.
“Forget poker games,” Asher laughed. “That was fucking bold.”
“And it worked on those two knuckleheads,” Sterling said from down the table.
McKittrick and Greene were gone.
“Damned rookies,” Cannon muttered.
“McKittrick isn’t going to last a year on this team without a ring on his finger,” Asher joked. “At the speed you all get married.”
There was a universal laugh down the table, because it was true. The running joke among the league was that if you weren’t married once you were traded into the Reapers, you would be soon.
“Some of us are happily unwed,” I remarked before digging back into my dinner.
“That’s because you have Evie waiting at home for you,” Sterling joked.
“Fuck off.” I picked up my dinner roll and hurled it at him just as Axel leaned back, giving me a direct line of fire at my brother. It hit him square in the chest, butter and all.
“Boys!” Axel snapped. “It’s not nice to throw food at the table.”
“Brothers,” Asher muttered, but there was a slight smile on his face.
My chest went all tight because Sterling was right. Evie was waiting at home. Maybe she wasn’t exactly waiting for me, but she was there. In my living room watching a show while she edited photos on her laptop, in my kitchen baking all those delicious treats, in my rink breaking in the new skates I bought her last week.
But she wasn’t in my bed.
And that was a good thing, right? Because it was a complete asshole move to fuck your little sister’s best friend while said little sister was studying in Italy.
But that didn’t mean I wasn’t thinking about it.
Constantly.
I pulled into the garage late the next evening. We’d had delay after delay trying to get out of Seattle this morning, but we’d finally landed about forty-five minutes ago, and I’d driven straight home.
The feeling I got in my chest when I saw Evie’s car parked next to mine was a clear indication—or warning sign—of why I’d ignored the speed limit.
Wait…did that mean she was actually here? On Valentine’s Day? She wasn’t out, getting romanced by some guy in her MFA program?