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“Hudson?”

“Hey, princess.” I turn with a smile.

Fuck, she takes my breath away.

“How are you? Ready for dinner?”

“Did you wait for me?” she asks in surprise. “It’s late.”

“It’s always better to eat together instead of alone. Food’s already in the oven. I hope you like meatloaf.”

“I love it. Thank you.” She gracefully sinks down on the large leather sectional and then stares at the TV. “Vipers are winning—yay! Go SoCal!”

That’s another surprise. “I didn’t take you for a hockey fan,” I say.

She cocks her head, curiosity in her eyes. “Hollywood princesses can’t like hockey?”

I chuckle. “Of course they can. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have jumped to that conclusion. You just don’t seem like a hockey fan, but that’s a bias on my part.”

“Well, just so you know, I love hockey in general, but the Vipers are my team. I have three different jerseys, four T-shirts, more pucks than I can count, a couple of baseball caps, and Banks Christianson is my absolute favorite. He’s dreamy.”

She actually giggles, and a sharp twinge of jealousy catches me off-guard.

Banks is a good-looking bastard. Women love him. Almost as much as they loved Colt back in the day. I’m no slouch, but I don't compare to my enigmatic best friend.

“You know he’s part of my family, right?” I ask quietly.

“Wait—the Banks you talked about is Banks Christianson?” Her eyes widen. “Oh my gosh! I somehow didn’t put that together. I will totally fangirl if I ever meet him.”

“His fiancée probably won’t like that,” I say dryly.

“I didn’t say I want to sleep with him.” She frowns, a flash of hurt in her eyes. “He’s extremely attractive, but more than that he’s an amazing hockey player. I mean, his stats have always been impressive and he’s killing it this season…”

I open my mouth but then close it again. I need to stop being an ass. Thousands of women love Banks—as a hockey player. They're not in love with the man, just the fantasy he provides as a pro athlete. It’s part of the job. There are probably hundreds of thousands of men who fantasize about Willow. It goes with the territory when you’re a celebrity, whether you’re an athlete or a rock star or an actor.

I know all of this, so I don't understand what the hell is wrong with me.

I don't get jealous.

Certainly not over a woman I barely know because she happens to be a Vipers fan.

“Yeah,” I say after a moment. “He’s always been amazing. We played together in college. I was nowhere near the player he was, though, which is why he went pro and I went into the military.”

“You were in the military? You didn’t mention that. Which branch?” She looks genuinely interested.

“Marines.”

“Thank you for your service,” she says quietly. “I don’t get a chance to say that very often, but what you guys do—anyone who serves—is important. I never take it for granted.”

“Thank you.” I nod. “I would have played pro hockey if I was good enough, but it was obvious early on that it wasn’t going to happen so I already had my Plan B in place. Colt and I both went into the military.”

“Colt.” She frowns. “Your friend…the one who passed away?”

We’d talked until five in the morning the night before last, and I forgot that I told her about him.

“Yeah.” I sigh, always reluctant to talk about him to strangers. I’m not sure why either. He was a great guy. My friend—my brother—and one of the best people I’ve ever known. Deep down, I guess it’s because I miss him but it’s not easy to articulate that kind of vulnerability outside the family. “It’s hard to talk about him. Losing him was…rough. Probably the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through.”

“Then tell me more about the Vipers,” she says, a smile on her pretty face. “Do you go to all the games?”