I smirk on the inside when she whips her phone out, knowing she’s texting Ares a warning that I did something, and he and Zeus better be on the lookout.
Too fucking easy.
“What else did you do?” she asks, rightfully so. “Swear to god, Nick, if you ordered more dick cookies for someone…”
“I took Kami out last night,” I tell her.
Because yeah, actually, I do want to talk to Felicity about me dating Kami. I don’t want it to be a secret.
I want my sister to know I’m trying.
She doesn’t have to know about my good luck charm, and she doesn’t have to know that my dick’s still aching from not getting any relief last night, but she can know I’m trying.
“How was it?” she asks cautiously, and I get the feeling she’s more Team Kami than Team Nick, which is probably a good thing.
Kami has a much better reputation than I do.
“The part where I was with her? Awesome. The part where we accidentally ended up doing an escape room with a bunch of warring farmers? That’s more…memorable.”
“Only you,” she says on a laugh, shaking her head. “Warring farmers?”
I fill her in on the Wankers, and next thing I know, the room’s full of curious onlookers, including Ares and Lavoie, and I better text Kami to give her a heads-up that basically the entire planet has heard about our date now.
Or maybe I’ll call her.
Considering the gift that’s supposed to be delivered to her office today, I probably definitely want to call.
“You’re taking her out again?” Felicity asks.
I nod. Not because we firmed up any plans, but because if we win, I’m heading over to her house as soon as I can get out of here tonight.
Fuck, if we lose, I’ll probably head over there too. She gives good scalp rubs and makes all the right sympathetic noises.
“Well, don’t fuck it up, Murphy,” she says in her cat puppet voice. “We like Kami!”
“Speak for yourself, pussy happy pants,” she replies in her grouchy grumpapotamus voice. “She’s too fucking nice all the time.”
“Aww, don’t be jealous. You never had a shot with her anyway, Harold,” I tell the puppet, even though he’s probably locked in a chest in her bedroom a few blocks away, but if Felicity can talk like the puppet, I can answer the puppet.
“You’re an ass, Murphy,” Harold the Grumpapotamus replies.
“But a loveable ass!” Felicity vents in her happy cat puppet voice.
Ares grunts.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t go that far either,” Lavoie adds with a nod. “C’mon, Murphy. Skate time.”
“Practice good, boys,” Felicity calls.
We hop the elevator and get back to the dressing room right behind Zeus, who’s hanging up his phone with a goofball smile on his face as he walks in.
“Joey?” Ares asks.
“She’s coming in tonight for the game.” He’s grinning so big, he looks like a monument to happiness. “Staying until we leave for Nashville Friday.”
“She must be excited to see her sister,” Lavoie says. “Too bad she has to see you too.”
Frey chokes on air and goes back to pulling his pads on for practice. Probably because he’s married to Zeus’s wife’s sister, and knows too much about the formidable Joey. And also because that was a hell of a zinger.
“Don’t be jealous,” Zeus tells Lavoie with a grin. “Someday a woman’s gonna want to blow you again too. You too, Murphy. Hang in there, fuckers.”
That would be a lot funnier if my dick wasn’t still a little cramped.
But Kami’s worth earning.
I don’t think I’m ready for all this marriage-and-kid stuff, but I can’t stand the idea of Kami marrying someone else.
So I’ll give her everything else I can.
Even if I’m not always sure it’s exactly the right thing. I’m trying.
Zeus turns to his locker, pulls down his jersey, and jumps, but quickly covers it with a snort. “What the fuck? Somebody thinks this is supposed to scare me?”
“Your cubbie has the spots, Berger,” Frey says cheerfully.
“Fuck, those are eyeballs.” Jaeger shakes his head. “You got a thousand googly eyeballs watching you.”
Zeus bends over and peers at them closer while more of the guys filter in and check it out too. “They’re not even glued on straight. Whoever did this is an amateur.”
“Fucking creepy amateur,” Klein mutters.
“That’s seriously lame,” Lavoie says to me.
“Shut the fuck up. It is not.” Gluing googly eyes inside Berger’s locker?
Yeah. That’s lame.
But the dumber I look now, the more surprised he’ll be next week.
Lavoie’s shaking his head. “Losing your touch. Hope that date last night helped your game. Didn’t help your pranks.”
I keep my poker face while I grab my own pads and start suiting up. “Feeling good today. Think I’m getting sorted out.”
Thank fuck.
Because that game against Indianapolis is creeping closer and closer, and I. Cannot. Lose. To. Them.
It would be like admitting defeat in the playoffs a month into the season.
Practice feels good. Despite the occasional twitch in my still disappointed cock, I feel more grounded today.
Like I can see the ice better today, spot the pucks faster, move quicker.
Like I’m five years younger.
After practice and lunch with the team, I head back to my parents’ place for a few hours. Last I heard from my real estate agent, I needed to lie low and be a fucking choir boy for a few weeks, and then she was pretty sure she could get me hooked up with a place downtown again.
But downtown doesn’t have room for Sugarbear.
It’s weird how attached I’m getting to my cow-dog. Instead of conking out on the couch with my DVR’d copy of the Master’s—seriously, you want to nap, put on some golf—I head out back and toss the ball around with my cow.
And then I call Kami.
“Hey, you,” she says brightly after the first ring. “How’d you know it was my lunch break?”
I might’ve called her office earlier. “Lucky guess.”
“How was morning skate?”
“Good.”
Sugarbear charges me as I lounge in one of the pool chairs, but I dodge and toss the ball back out under the oak trees, and she snorts and changes course.
“Are you playing fetch with the cow?” Kami asks.
I laugh. “You could tell?”
“Lucky guess,” she quotes back to me. “I’ve been laughing to myself all morning over you asking the head Wanker if he’d sell you a couple more cows so you could get some cow hockey going.”
“That’s all you’re thinking about?”
“If I want to function today, yes.”
Huh.
My gift must not have arrived yet.
“And as much as I appreciate your generosity, would you please stop sending apology gifts?” she adds.
The woman can read my mind. It should be terrifying, but I’m so distracted by the total awe of someone else riding my wavelength that I almost miss the calf charging me again. I sidestep at the last minute with a small oof, and manage to snag the yoga ball and fling it deep into the yard again. I wince when it comes close to Mom’s garden shed, but Sugarbear avoids it like a pro.
“Nick?”
“They’re not apology gifts anymore. Now they’re just fun.”
“You had thirty drawstring bags with my picture on it delivered to my office.”
“I thought about sending them with my picture, but I didn’t want to be presumptuous.”
She snorts out a delicate little snort-laugh, and I rub that soft spot in my chest.
“You know there are only seven people who work here, right? That’s like four bags each.”
“Or it’s a lifetime supply. You could switch them out once every two years, and they’d last until you’re ninety.”
“No one will recognize me as the woman on that bag when I’m ninety.”
“You’re going to be gorgeous when you’re ninety.”
“I’ll be a plump wrinkled prune with white curls and a cane yelling at all the kids to get off my lawn.”
“You’ll be a beautiful raisin,” I assure her. “And you’ll be the old lady everyone’s afraid of because you’ll try to give candy to all the kids, and all the moms will be yelling, don’t take candy from strangers who keep cows for pets!”
She laughs, and yeah, I’m feeling like I just had my tenth shutout in a row, just from making Kami happy.
“You’re still coming to the game tonight?” I ask her.
“I was thinking of skipping it. I mean, you guys play Minnesota a few times a year, and I could just watch it on TV.”
“Probably a good idea,” I agree. “Then you can’t distract me.”
“Oh, please. You don’t get distracted on the ice.”
Not usually. “Great. So you’ll be there.”
She laughs. “Yes. I’ll be there.”
I offer Sugarbear a high five. She snorts at me and paws the ground, waiting for me to toss the ball again. “Good. Because I’m wearing your bra.”
She makes a strangled choking noise, and I grin. “I mean it’s tucked into my uniform. For good luck,” I clarify.
“I think my mother would actually be proud,” she murmurs.
“So that’s where you get your good taste in sports teams.”
“Oh, most definitely. Dad wasn’t a fan until she basically told him she wouldn’t marry him unless he learned to love the Thrusters.”
“You bringing her tonight?”
“No, she and Dad are hosting friends in their box. I’m bringing Muffy and Aunt Hilda and Alina.”
I wait for her to laugh and tell me she’s kidding, but she doesn’t.