Page 9 of Best Kept Secret (The New York Thunder #3)
LOGAN
THREE MONTHS LATER
I swear to God, if Happy asks me one more time if I’m going out tonight, I’m going to reach into the pile of dirty, sweaty, post-game laundry, pull out someone’s nasty-ass shorts, and shove them in his fucking mouth.
“C’mon, man,” Happy pleads next to me while buttoning his shirt. “Mason and Tex are practically joined at the hip to their women. You and me are the only single guys left. We’re a team.”
Tucking the lucky pink scrunchie I wear around my wrist when I play into my hockey bag, I roll my eyes, turning back to Happy.
“Or, you could just, like, not go out. You know that’s an option, right?
” I arch a brow, looking at him. “Go home. Get an early night. Wake up and meet me in the park for a run…” I trail off when I realize he’s looking at me like I’ve lost my damn mind.
“We just beat Miami. In overtime,” he says as if I didn’t just score the winning goal. With a scoff, he smacks me in my chest. “I’m going out tonight to get my dick sucked. At least .”
I shake my head with a low chuckle. Happy Slater, ladies and gentlemen. Shrugging on my suit jacket, I grab my bag and follow the horny asshole out of the locker room and into the tunnel where family, friends, and a few VIP fans are waiting .
Camera flashes go off and kids are yelling my name, holding Sharpies in the air and begging me to sign their jerseys.
And I do because, although I’m dog-tired, and all I really want is to go home, crawl into bed and read a few chapters of the same book I’ve been trying to finish for the last month, this is one of my favorite things about being a professional athlete. The kids.
I sign a few jerseys, take a few selfies, then make my way down the tunnel to allow for some of the other guys to take over as they exit the locker room behind us.
Up ahead, Dallas stands with his back to us, trademark cowboy hat perched on top of his head, his arm wrapped around his fiancée, Emily.
They’re talking to a few people, including our unofficial enforcer, Robbie, and his girlfriend, Fran, and Happy makes a bee line for the group, inserting himself into the conversation with an eager, “So, what’s the plan tonight, ladies ? ”
I have every intention of waving goodbye and heading for the stairs to the parking garage so I can get the hell out of here before anyone can try to convince me otherwise, but instead, I’m stopped dead in my tracks, spine stiffening like I’ve been touched by a ghost.
“It’s Millie’s first weekend in town as an official New Yorker,” Fran announces. “So, we’re taking her out.”
What the fuck? Am I hearing things, or did she just say…?
Moving so fast I stumble over nothing but my own loafers, I shoulder my way into the huddle and sidle up next to Happy. And when I see the familiar redhead standing right there, I swear it’s as if the world and everything in it falls silent for at least a few long seconds.
I try not to stare, but fuck she’s beautiful.
Even more beautiful than I remember. Glossy red hair, bright green eyes, freckles sprinkled over an adorable nose, plush lips, curves for fucking days.
It’s been months, but I still remember exactly what those lips taste like, remember exactly how those curves felt pressed up against me.
As if on instinct alone, her mossy gaze finds mine, but she looks away so fast, I’m not sure if I imagined it or not.
But when I witness the way the dimpled smile on her lips shifts from easy to forced, the way her teeth grit, the way her chest hitches, I know she saw me. And she still fucking hates me.
What is she doing here?
When all eyes turn to me, I realize I just said that out loud. Shit . I clear my throat, trying to play off my question with a casual grin.
Thankfully, Dallas steps in and snakes an arm around Millie’s shoulders. “My little sister got an internship on Wall Street.”
It’s a funny feeling. My chest swells with pride at the same time as my shoulders sag beneath the crushing weight of dejection.
Because I’m so happy for her. I know what getting that internship meant to her.
But the fact that she didn’t tell me, or even give me at least a heads up to let me know that she was coming here, hurts like hell.
She knows damn well how I feel about her.
And I know it’s pathetic, and selfish, and I have no fucking right to feel this way, but this is a blatant slap to the face.
“Tonight, we’re celebrating.” Dallas beams, grinning down at his sister. “Drinks are on me.”
“Loges is going home,” Happy announces like it’s national breaking news, nudging me with his elbow. “To knit, or jerk off. Or whatever it is he does nowadays cooped up in his apartment all by himself.” He laughs out loud, nudging me again, and it takes all I have not to punch him in his dick.
“You’re not coming, man?” Robbie asks, his brow furrowing slightly. “You just scored the winning goal. If anyone should want to celebrate, it’s you.”
I make a point of looking at Happy like he’s delusional. “I’m not going home.” I scoff. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Happy rears back, his face stark as he gawks at me, but I ignore him, turning back to Robbie with a grin. “If Tex is buying, count me in.”
My gaze flits to Millie in time to see her release an obvious sigh, her face deadpan, and it takes all I have not to laugh.
Yeah, she fucking hates me. And I’m not saying her hate isn’t justified; I fucked up.
But the fact that she’s still this pissed at me has to count for something, right?
So, as far as I’m concerned, it’s game on, baby.
“What the hell was that?” Happy asks as we weave our way through the cars in the parking garage.
“What?” I play dumb, hitching my hockey bag higher on my shoulder.
“Changing your mind to come to the bar,” he says incredulously. “Looking at me like I’m a fucking liar, Mr. Go home, get an early night, and meet me in the park for a run .”
“No idea what you’re talking about,” I murmur as I stop next to my Porsche, opening the trunk and depositing my bag inside while Happy tosses his gear into the backseat of his G Wagon. I can feel his eyes on me, but I ignore him, moving to the driver’s side.
“I’ll see you at Ned’s,” I say, opening the door, but it’s slammed shut so fast I almost lose a damn finger.
“Jesus Christ,” I yell, glaring at my best friend who stands there, smirking at me, his hand holding my car door closed.
“She’s the chick, huh?” he asks all cocky and know-it-all . “The one from Detroit who hates your guts.”
I bite down on the inside of my cheek, staring at him.
Happy throws his head back on a laugh. “I knew it, you dirty dog!”
I roll my eyes then, furtively looking around the parking garage. There’re a few people starting to file out of the doors, so I shush him, shoving him in his chest. “Keep your fucking voice down, Hap.”
“Okay, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Still giggling, he holds his hands up in the air. “But you do realize you’re fucked, right? ”
I drag a hand down my face, nodding once at the reminder I don’t particularly need to hear right now.
“Did you know she was moving here?”
“Of course I didn’t know. She blocked my fucking number.” I shake my head, looking back toward the doors, my heart racing.
“What are you gonna do?”
Raking my fingers through my still damp hair, I release a heavy sigh, tugging on the back of my neck. “I dunno.”
“May I remind you that this is precisely why we have our player code of conduct,” Happy boasts like a smug asshole. “I’m a literal degenerate, and not even I’d break rule number four.”
I deadpan. “That’s really helpful. Thanks, Hap.”
Happy snickers again, and I turn away, hopping into my car and relishing in the silence that allows me a chance to collect myself and my wits.
When I’m startled by a loud honk, I turn to see my friend offering me his middle finger out his window, accompanied by a shit-eating grin as he backs out of the parking spot next to me. I shake my head at him, flipping him the bird straight back because when it comes to Happy, I’m mature like that.
Heaving a sigh, I start the engine, but just as I do, I glance in the rear view mirror, right as Dallas and Emily walk out with Fran and Robbie, Millie trailing behind them, focused intently on her phone.
And as I watch her walk off toward their cars, I can’t help but wonder if maybe Happy’s right and I truly am fucked.