Page 31 of Kitty Season (Green Line Ice #2)

I forgot my shift. I forgot my freaking shift.

Honestly though, how could I be expected to remember work, after Brady hauled me and Troye in to the showers and did … that.

I’d never seen him like that off the ice.

So forceful.

Dominating.

And yeah, so hot I forgot my shift. So instead of choosing the perfect lingerie and perfume, prepping my room, and every inch of my body, I’m sitting with Lotte in Callie’s office, waiting to be sacked.

“What’s going on with you, Quinny? You’re even more … distracted than usual.”

Oh, nothing, I’m just treading water till I get railed by BC’s two hottest hockey boys.

I want to tell her. I need to, actually. Keeping this secret is more painful than holding your bladder on your doorstep when you can’t find your keys.

“You’re my bestie, Lot. I want to tell you but I’m scared you’ll judge me.”

Lotte cocks her head, twists in her seat and gives me short, sharp huff.

“Quinn. You’ve been with me to Neuropsychology, neurology appointments.

Held my hand at the OBGYN, and got an unexpected eyeful of my bits in that stupidly positioned mirror.

We share a bedroom wall. We are so far beyond judgment we’re on Mars.

I love you like the sister I never had, nothing could make me?—”

“I had a threesome with Brady and Troye and Brady ran out, but wants a do-over so we are meeting up after practice but before the game and that’s why I forgot work.” I don’t realize I’m squeezing my eyes shut till Lotte pries them open with her fingers.

Then she smiles. Then she says, “Wow.”

“Uh-huh. Wow.”

“Troye and Brady?”

“Yup.”

“Troye and Brady, and you?”

“And me, yup.”

“Wow.”

“Uh-huh, wow.”

“And did they … do … you … and?—”

“And each other. Yep. Well, they kind half did, but that’s the plan for tonight, yup.”

“Wow.”

Our conversation continues like this for what feels like sixty-seven hours, halting only when Callie slides the door between the servery and office open, two mega-huge iced coffees in her hands. Judging by the sickly sweet smell, I’d say they contain more vanilla syrup than ice or milk, or coffee.

She’s trying to sweeten me up. This can’t be good.

The giant cups are placed before us on the cluttered desk, and she sits, groaning like my dad does when he’s about to dispense a lecture. Again, not good. “Thanks for popping in Quinn, even though technically , you were supposed to be here.”

“You’re welcome?” It comes out like a question because it is one. What the hell else am I supposed to say? Maybe I should start with an apology? And some version of the truth.

“I’m really sorry to have let you down again, Callie. I don’t mean to keep doing it. I’m just easily distracted and I guess, kind of spoiled.”

“Pfft. Kind of?”

“Yes, thank you, Lotte,” I mutter, before raising my voice again.

“I definitely am more than a little spoiled. I grew up not having a single soul relying on me for anything of real use, and little to no consequences for the times I was relied on, and thoughtlessly let people down. Combine that with wanting for nothing, and getting everything, and you have a recipe for a vapid, selfish snob.”

“I wouldn’t say vapid,” Lotte adds.

“Okay, Lot, so just a selfish snob, then?”

Callie looks between us, confusion mixing with amusement. Maybe it’s bemusement. I don’t think she expected me to rake me over the coals, and for Lotte to chip in with an assist.

“I was just going to ask if there was anything you wanted to talk about? I employ young adults that go to school, some while being athletes or raising families or working two or three jobs. I get that stuff comes up. It’s inconvenient that you missed your shift today, but you being okay is more important. ”

“Wow. Callie, that’s really cool of you?—”

“Having said that?” Op, here it comes. “I can’t afford to keep you on, if you’re going to miss more shifts without notice. I’m happy to work on a new schedule that may suit you better, but if we can’t make that work?—”

“We can make it work,” I insist, jumping to my feet. “I do have stuff going on but it’s of the personal, complicated, romantic nature.”

“Understatement of the millennium.”

My eyes narrow. “Thanks again, Lotte. I’m so happy I brought you with me for this … moral support.”

Pulling her laptop out from her bag, Callie laughs.

“Personally, I think you’re none of the things you mentioned.

Customers love you. Your till balances every shift, and that’s a rarity.

You’re supportive and kind to your co-workers, always looking after them when they need help, always being there if someone needs to talk.

And your skill set is improving all the time.

I have confidence in you, Quinn. Maybe you just need to find that in yourself. ”

Kind of lost for words, I sit and watch as she clicks away on the keyboard then spins the laptop, displaying her impressive roster.

Days, weeks, months and each staff member highlighted with a different color, and it looks like there’s at least three months planned out.

“Let's pair down your shifts to three a week for now. If you can be consistent with that, then we can build from there.”

“Great, Brilliant. Thanks, Callie.”

“No thanks necessary. Now, why don’t we go through the calendar while you drink your drinks and fill me in on this personal, complicated, romantic situation I presume involves hockey boys named Troye and Brady.”

Lotte and I still, my heart pounding against my rib cage almost louder than Callie’s clacking on the keyboard. “You overheard what I said to Lotte?”

“No.” Callie shakes her head. “I just have eyes. You three look at each other with the same adoration and want I do an excel spreadsheet. And as you can see, I love me a spreadsheet.”

Uncertain as to what to say, I chuckle awkwardly, reach for my drink and slurp. Lotte does the same, but my boss, my boss keeps talking. “In my freshman year, I was in a throuple with two Norwegian exchange students.”

Lotte sinks deeper into her chair. “Good lord.”

I chew on my straw, waiting for the perfect response to hit me, and come up with. “Oh. Well we’re not really a throuple. It was just the one time, that maybe might happen one more time. Tonight.”

“Any wonder you forgot about work. I would have too. It was so hot.” Callie looks wistfully out the window.

This time, I don’t bother with a reply, as I don’t think she’s listening.

“So, so hot.” I was right. “I think of them to this day. Jan was huge, blonde, strong and dominating. Everything you would imagine a true sexy viking ready to pillage and plunder would be. While David, he was almost as short as me, timid and shy, and so damn sweet. God they were incredible in bed. I’ve never been so satisfied, or unable to walk in my life. ”

I shift in my seat, crystal clear replays of Troye and Brady in bed with me a direct hit to the libido. “Yeah, I can imagine. What happened to you three? Why did it end?”

“Time happened. The year finished, the boys went home and I moved on to a stable relationship with my vibrator and Sarah J. Maas. Probably for the best,” she continues after swallowing down a shaken breath.

“It’s difficult to navigate a non-conforming relationship outside the bedroom.

People are pretty horrible. But still, it was totally worth it. ”

If the color blooming on her cheeks three years later is any indication, she’s right. It was worth it.

Fanning herself with paper she pulls from the printer, rosters and class schedules return as the main focus of our meeting. I try to stay focused, but find my mind wandering frequently to the idea of me, Brady and Troye being more than a one or two time thing.

Brady with his sweetness.

Troye with his own that he tries so hard to conceal.

Me wedged between them, soaking up their goodness like a sponge.

It’s a preposterous notion. The reason I began seeing Troye, and not Brady, was to avoid a feud with Dad. Now I’m sitting here clenching my thighs over the idea of the three of us not just hooking up tonight, but every night.

Non-conforming indeed.

With the new work plan in place, we leave work, I drop Lotte off at home then head to the library.

Yes, I have some bodily maintenance to perform, but I also have exams coming up.

That meeting with Callie was a wake up call.

I’ve been so caught up in hockey boys, I’ve let my studies and my job fall to the wayside.

Things need to change.

As I take my seat amongst my peers in the musty hall, I pop an antihistamine to stave off the allergies this place always sets off, and pick up my rarely used journal, ready to make a binding declaration.

From this day forward, at least three hours of each evening will be spent engaging in activities likely to improve myself.

Actually, three seems a stretch. I’ll make it two.

One.

Thirty minutes, minimum.

*note to self. Doing hockey boys does NOT count.

I’ve just walked through my bedroom door, kicked one boot into the closet, and tossed my bag onto my dresser, when my phone vibrates its way to freedom, bouncing in haphazard circles on the chipped timber top.

Daddy Dear flashes across the screen, and I contemplate letting it ring out. It’s unusual for him to call me this time of day, though. The boys should still be at practice.

Something might be wrong.

“Hey, Dad,” I answer, wedging the phone between my ear and my shoulder. “Everything okay?”

“No Quinn. Everything is not okay. Not by a slap shot. I’ve been standing here watching two of my best players bicker like an old married couple trying to find a free parking space. Can you guess what one word, other than fuck and off, keeps being muttered between them?”

Shit.

Bouncing on one foot, I slip the other shoe off then fall onto my bed. “Ahh. Pucks deep?”

“That’s two words Quinn, glad the economics study is paying off. Also no. It’s not pucks deep. Nor is it, yes Coach, one timer or nice save. It’s Quinn, Quinn.”

Shit.

“Hate to tell you Dad, but Quinn Quinn is two words, too.”

His deep, drawn out exhale sends shivers to my soul.

I haven’t heard one that exasperated since I used Dad’s credit card to buy each member of entire graduating class a bottle of Hennesy.

“Quinn. They’d just started to tolerate each other.

What’s come between my goalie and my new center, and for the love of hockey, don’t confirm that it’s you. ”

I release a ridiculous laugh. “Me? Why would it be me?”

“Like I said, your name is on repeat. Your party was the last time they were seen together, and your mother informs me the three of you were left alone when she came to bed.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. Oh. Now, I know you think me old and foolish, but it was clear even to me that there’s something going on between you and Becker, despite the fact I expressly forbade it.”

“Something you have no right to do since I am a grown woman who no longer lives under your roof.”

“Needless to say, this is the exact reason I took and maintain my stance. You and hockey players are as simpatico as oil and water. You distract them from their game, and they from your studies.” I hold my breath, praying what I expect is coming, not too.

“I’d have thought you learned that lesson with Foxman. ”

And there it is. Tears sting my eyes on the mere mention of my toxic exes name. “Dad, that wasn’t my fault.”

“That may be the case, but if you’d listened to me in the first place, it would never have happened.” There’s a loud bang in the background followed by raucous laughter. “For God’s sake, Shane, get Malkovich down from there?—”

And with that he’s gone. As always, hockey comes before me.