Page 10 of For Pucking Real (The Seattle Vipers #4)
EIGHT
DEVAN
Now
T he click of Glitzy's claws on the hardwood is louder than I remember.
Either she's extra irritated tonight, or I forgot to file her nails again during her monthly caticure.
She struts across the entryway like she owns the place, which, to be fair, she kind of does.
Her diamond-studded collar catches the recessed lights just right.
Pale pink claws, freshly painted by her groomer yesterday, glint like tiny threats as she perches in front of the elevator doors like a bouncer at an exclusive club.
Her white fur practically glows under the soft lighting, making her look even more regal than usual.
"You don't have to be dramatic," I mutter, wiping my hands on a dishtowel.
I glance at the clock, Tobias should be here any second.
"He's not the enemy. Yet." My stomach tightens at the thought of him stepping into my space after all these years.
Eight years of silence, then seeing him across the ice but never really talking. Now he's here, in Seattle, on my team.
Glitzy flicks her massive tail like she's withholding judgment.
I scratch behind her ears in apology. She bites me, then licks the same spot as if to say you may serve me now .
Oh, my big white fluffy aristocratic Queen.
Her blue eyes narrow as if she can sense my anxiety, and honestly, she probably can.
That cat knows me better than most humans do.
The elevator dings and Glitzy sits up straighter. She knows the sound better than I do. Her glacier-blue eyes lock on the doors with royal suspicion, her ears perked forward, body tensed like she's ready to pounce if necessary.
The golden doors part and Tobias steps into the foyer, immediately stopping.
He looks good, better than good. Time has been kind to him, filling out his frame, adding definition to his jawline.
He's wearing a simple gray hoodie and jeans but somehow it makes him look like he stepped out of a magazine.
"Jesus," he mutters, eyes wide. "Is that a cat or a snow leopard?" His hazel eyes flick from Glitzy to me, a hint of the old humor we used to share there.
Glitzy doesn't move. She stares up at him like she's deciding whether to attack or accept his presence as a personal inconvenience. Her tail swishes once, deliberately, measuring him up from whiskers to boots.
I smirk, tossing the towel over my shoulder, trying to appear more casual than I feel.
My heart is hammering against my ribs. "That's Glitzy.
She runs this place. I just pay the bills.
I'm happy she allows me to live here." The joke falls easily from my lips, a shield against the tension crackling between us.
He raises a brow, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets. "Does she always greet people like this?" There's something in his voice, a wariness that wasn't there before. Before I ruined everything.
"She's judging your worthiness. If you pass, she'll let you live." I snort back a laugh, though nothing about this situation is actually funny. My palms are sweating, and I resist the urge to wipe them on my jeans.
Glitzy stands, does one slow circle, lifts her chin like the haughty bitch she is and turns her back on him with a swish of tail.
She walks a few steps into the penthouse, then glances back as if to say well, are you coming or not?
Her entire three-foot body ripples with disdain and reluctant acceptance.
Tobias looks to me, then lets out a low whistle. "Guess I passed." The corner of his mouth twitches, almost a smile but not quite there.
"For now," I say, already heading back to the kitchen. I need something to do with my hands, something to focus on besides the way he still moves with the same quiet confidence, the way his presence still fills a room.
He follows me into the open-plan space, concrete beams, high ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking downtown Seattle.
The whole place is more than I need, but I bought it thinking of the future.
Of family. Of maybe convincing a certain someone to move in someday.
The lights of the city twinkle against the darkening sky, casting long shadows across the polished concrete floors.
Rain patters against the windows, typical Seattle evening.
Didn't expect it to be this quiet. Just me, Glitzy, and the weekly episodes of Smutty Pages and Puck Dreams I record in my podcast studio.
Well, the back room lined with bookshelves and romance novels from floor to ceiling.
The spines of hundreds of books create a kaleidoscope of color against the charcoal walls, my not-so-secret passion on full display.
I gesture to the island stools and slide him a mug. "As promised. The worst protein coffee on the planet." Steam rises between us, carrying the bitter scent of protein powder mixed with espresso, a concoction we used to drink religiously during late-night study sessions.
He takes a sip, grimaces. "You weren't lying." His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, and I force myself to look away.
"You drank it religiously in college," I remind him. Back when we were inseparable. Back when we were everything.
"Yeah, because you made it." His voice is quiet. "Somehow that made it better." There's a weight to his words that makes my chest ache.
I don't have a response for that, because even after all this time, I remember it all so vividly.
The way he'd curl against me in my twin bed, both of us barely fitting.
The way he'd kiss me after every game, win or lose.
The way I left without a proper goodbye.
My throat tightens, but I cover it by taking a long pull from my own mug, watching him over the rim, trying to read the man he's become.
Glitzy jumps up onto the counter, determined to be the center of attention, and parks her fluffy ass right between us.
Tobias freezes mid-sip. Her massive paws spread out as she settles, taking up more space than seems possible for a single cat.
She blinks slowly at him, royal judgment in every whisker twitch.
"I'm afraid to ask if this is normal." He eyes her warily, keeping his distance from those pink claws.
"Only when she's unsure about someone," I say. "She's staking her claim. You're officially being evaluated."
"Good to know I'm still being scouted," he mutters, nudging his mug out of reach of her paw. There's a hint of bitterness there that I let wash over me. I deserve every jab.
I gesture to Glitzy, running my hand down her long back. Her fur is silky beneath my fingers, a familiar comfort. "She's very particular. Hates when her things are touched." My voice catches slightly on the word ‘things’, memories flooding back unbidden.
"Reminds me of someone." Tobias smirks, a shadow of our old banter.
I glance sideways, lips twitching. "Talking about me or yourself?" The familiarity of our rhythm is still there, buried beneath years of silence and hurt.
He doesn't answer and I don't have a reply. I knew this would be awkward. What do you say to a man you ran out on? Betrayed? Saying sorry isn’t big enough. The kitchen suddenly feels too small, too intimate with just the three of us—me, Tobias, and the weight of our history.
The silence stretches a little too long. Outside, the rain intensifies, drumming against the windows like a heartbeat.
Finally, he says, "Why didn't you call me?" His voice is soft but there's steel underneath. The question I've been dreading since I heard he was coming to Seattle.
I should've known it was coming. Still, it lands like a punch to the gut. My fingers tighten around the mug, seeking an anchor.
"I wanted to," I say honestly. "Every damn day, I wanted to." The words feel inadequate, scraped from somewhere deep inside me.
"But you didn't," he replies defensively. His jaw tightens, a muscle working beneath the skin.
I shake my head. "No. I didn't." The admission hangs between us, simple and devastating.
His jaw tightens. "Why?" One word, loaded with eight years of hurt.
"Because I was scared." The words taste like rust in my mouth.
"Scared if I reached out, I'd want it all over again.
Fuck the consequences. But I couldn't afford to want something I wasn't allowed to have.
" Not then, when we were both fighting for our places in the league.
Not when being out could have cost us everything.
He looks away, biting the inside of his cheek. The kitchen light catches a newer scar near his eyebrow. A reminder of a fight on the ice I wasn't there for.
"I told myself I was protecting both of us," I go on, wanting to reach out and take his hand in mine.
Wanting to trace the veins on the back of his hand like I used to.
Knowing I had no right, I wrap both my hands around my mug to anchor me again.
"From the media. From scouts. From teams that wouldn't look twice at us if we came as a package deal.
" The excuses sound hollow now, even to my own ears.
"Yeah," he says bitterly. "You told yourself that. But you didn't ask me what I wanted." His eyes meet mine, challenging, hurt still burning bright after all these years.
I swallow. "You're right. I didn't." I know I took the choice away from him and I've lived with that regret for eight years now. Every time I saw him on the ice, every trade announcement, every glimpse of him in the press, a constant reminder.
Glitzy shifts, tail flicking between us like a metronome to the tension. She makes a small chirping sound, almost like she's commenting on our conversation.
Tobias leans forward. "You think I had less on the line? You know what it cost me when my dad found out? I didn't tell you what happened during spring break when I went home." His voice has an edge I've never heard before, sharp with old pain.