Power Play (Nashville Assassins Next Generation 2)

“I like you guys more. We’re the McBroenes line.”

I want to roll my eyes. I hate the nickname the announcers have given our line. We couldn’t be the “badass Assassins top line motherfuckers” or something awesome like that? No. They smushed our last names together, and boom, a nickname was born. So stupid.

“I feel closer to you guys than I do some of the guys I grew up with.”

I can’t hate on him for it. I like him and Wes more than anyone else too. Most of the guys tease us because we spend so much time together, but we just click. Probably why we’re such badass motherfuckers on the ice. See? The name fits!

Wes slaps him on the back. “Yeah, bro. I got you.”

Aiden beams at him before looking over at me.

“If you still like me then, yeah, I guess.”

“Please don’t sound excited.”

I chuckle as I lean back, propping my ankle on my knee. “I am. Hopefully, there are some hot-ass bridesmaids. Who we got?”

“Her cousin, Amelia, and Allison Titov, and then her sister, Posey, who—hey, did you guys hear—might be our new assistant coach for special teams?”

I perk a brow, and Wes nods. “I did hear talk, but I thought she said no?”

“Yeah, since she thought she was going to Colorado for some guy. But he didn’t want her like we all told her he didn’t, and now she’s back. There is really no reason for her not to take the job. She’s a genius playmaker,” Aiden says, and Wes points to him.

“Don’t we use some of her plays now?”

He nods. “Yeah, but Titov wants to bring her in full time.”

“Cool. If she’s good, we can use her. Our power play is a little wack right now,” I say honestly. I can’t place Shelli’s sister. I’m sure I must have met her, but if she’s anything like her sister, I would remember. Shelli is an iron fist in a velvet glove. A little fairy who could snap your neck. I hear all the Adler kids are like that, though. Dream-chasing badasses.

“It’s not too bad,” Aiden says as he stands. “But it can be better.”

“Sure can,” Wes says as they shake hands, and then Aiden stops in front of me, shaking mine.

“You out of here?” I ask.

“Yeah. Shelli is on the phone with her mom in the car, which is why she didn’t come in. We’re going to dinner.”

I waggle my brows at him. “I could eat.”

He shakes his head, grinning. “Nope, I’m wining and dining my girl for some freaky stuff tonight,” he says with a wink, and then he heads out.

“Is it bad that I’m jealous he gets freaky stuff tonight?” I ask as I glance over at Wes.

He rolls his eyes. “It pisses me off that we’re friends with him, and because of that, I can’t mess with his sister.”

I nod then point to him. “I’ll let you have that.”

“Good. But I’m not letting you have the jealousy shit. You can have the freaky stuff. You just gotta find someone to be freaky with.”

“Seems like you have,” I say with a nod, and he glares. “If Stella wants you, I’m sure Aiden would be cool with it.”

He looks toward the TV, ending our conversation. “Good talk.”

“Real good talk.”

I’m not sure it was a good talk, wasn’t very productive, but one thing is for sure.

I may have to put myself out there before I start dwelling on my ex-fiancée again.

More so than I already am.

Chapter Three

Posey

I’m pretty sure I am mirroring a scene from Lilo and Stitch.

But instead of Elvis, I’m listening to Lewis Capaldi’s “Someone You Loved.”

On repeat.

There are tears in my eyes and streaks of past tears along the sides of my face. My nose is inflamed from rubbing it and all the snot. My heart hurts, my stomach aches, and my body feels heavy.

I am dead inside.

I’m unsure if I’m crying because I made a total fool of myself and flew all the way to Colorado to profess my love for a man who didn’t love me, or if I’m crying because he didn’t feel the same and I was convinced he did. Either way, my good mate Lewis is singing to my soul. Or making it worse. Not sure. The jury is still out.

It all just burns, though. I’ve been home for a couple weeks now, and I still find myself having moments when I need Lewis to sing my pain. I can’t seem to forget the look on Maxim’s face when I admitted to being in love with him. The rejection he so easily delivered. Seeing my total opposite stand in his house and in his arms once I left. It didn’t even seem like Maxim cared that I loved him. He didn’t love me, and it was that simple. Why would he, though, when he could have someone like Stella Brooks? Super-hot model or kinda chunky tomboy? It’s a clear choice, I guess. But man if I didn’t want him to feel what I felt for him.