Page 20 of Lucky Shot (Moonshot Hockey #1)

NICK

“Why is that chick staying in the cabin?” Aidan asks after dinner. He’s rinsing off his plate next to me, staring out the window. I follow his gaze to Ruby walking down by the lake. She’s in a blue sleeveless top and jean shorts. Her red hair whipping around her face.

“She needed a place to stay for the summer.”

“Is it true she’s writing a book about you?” He glances over at me, spaghetti sauce on his face.

“No.” I wipe his mouth with a rag. “Where did you hear that?”

He shrugs. “Uncle Trav.”

“What’d I tell you about believing Uncle Trav?”

He ducks away from the rag, grinning as he says, “That he’s full of bull crap and I should think of everything he says as mostly exaggerated.”

A chuckle scrapes up my throat. “Exactly.”

The doorbell rings.

“Speaking of Uncle Trav.”

Aidan’s grin widens. He looks up to Travis and listens to him, much to my dismay, more than just about anyone else.

Of all people it had to be Travis. Surprisingly, he’s good with kids.

All the reasons I worry about his influence on Aidan are the exact reasons kids adore him.

He has no filter, he doesn’t talk down to them, and he’s got this funny, charismatic way about him that makes people want to be his friend, even kids.

“You get the door, I’ll finish up in here,” I tell him. He’s taken off at a sprint before I finish the sentence.

I glance once more out the window at Ruby as I toss the rag onto the counter.

Outside of our morning interviews at the rink, I’ve barely seen her.

She’s shown up every day this week, staying until the kids arrive for camp to ask me questions.

So many questions and things no one has asked me before like, “Which team jersey was my favorite?” and “What color tape would you use for your stick if you had your choice?” and “What does it feel like to step onto the ice each time?”

She’s…interesting. Perhaps it’s because I’m used to the people asking me questions having a deep love, or at least a baseline knowledge of the sport, but I find myself trying to anticipate what she’ll ask me next, and I almost never get it right.

But maybe most perplexing of all is that I’ve found myself dreading our time together a little less each day.

Outside of our time each morning, she’s kept to herself. She’s often walking down by the water or sitting out on the porch of the cabin (not that I’m looking) but otherwise, I could almost pretend she isn’t here. Almost.

As I turn from the window, Aidan is running back to the kitchen. Travis is behind him, followed by our teammates Conrad Shepard and August Penn.

“Hey,” I greet them all at once, but go to Shep first. I haven’t seen him since he left after the season to visit his family in Washington. “You’re back. Good to see you, man.”

We slap hands and I pull him in for a quick, side hug.

“You too.” He offers a half smile with the quiet words. On the ice he’s one of the fastest, toughest defenders I’ve ever played with but off it, he’s soft-spoken and happy to fade into the background. Which honestly is easy to do in our group.

I look to Penn next. Our goalie has been with Moonshot longer than any of us. Like Shep, he’s on the quieter side but from him it has more of an edge. Travis says the only one grumpier than me is Penn. Far be it for me to judge, but next to Trav we all probably seem like moody motherfuckers.

“How’s it going? How’s the knee?” I ask him. He had surgery after the end of the season, one of many since I’ve joined the team. The man is a beast.

“Good.” He glances down at his right leg as his mouth pulls into a tight, straight line. “The doctors think I can get back on the ice this week. And your shoulder?”

“Good,” I mimic his words.

Penn is one of the best netminders in the league and our team’s not-so-secret weapon, but he’s also a hell of a guy.

There’s no one else I’d want stopping pucks for us, and I know the team feels the same.

I might wear the captain’s “C,” but that’s only because he can’t lead while stuck in the net.

Plus, he has no interest in it. Either way, we all look up to him.

He’s been around long enough that he’s seen it all.

The ups and downs don’t get to him the same way they do the young guys, and for the rest of us, we recognize the sacrifices he’s made, body and mind, and the discipline needed to keep playing as long as he has.

Realistically he has maybe another three or four seasons, and I want to bear witness to all of them.

The man is a legend. His jersey will be hanging in the rafters for sure.

“Is D-Low coming?” I ask at the same time the doorbell rings in rapid succession like someone is repeatedly pressing it.

Shep laughs softly. “That’ll be him.”

“Grab a beer and head on down, if you want,” I tell them as I move toward the front door.

Pulling it open, I smile at the man on the front stoop. His finger is poised on the doorbell like he was considering ringing it again.

“Don’t even think about it,” I tell him, using my dad voice.

Danny Marlowe, otherwise known on the team as D-Low, smirks. At twenty-three he still has a streak of youthful playfulness that sometimes reminds me of Aidan and his friends.

“Just wanted to make sure you heard me, old man.” He steps forward and wraps me in a hug, slapping my back twice, hard, before brushing past me.

“And here I thought you might have grown up during the break. Isn’t there a book on that?” I find myself ribbing him, some of his playfulness rubbing off on me.

“If there is, rest assured I’ve read it and dismissed it as crap.”

A small chuckle leaves my lips. “I don’t doubt it.”

He’s the best-read person I’ve ever met, and an honest-to-God rocket scientist. Most hockey players, especially the good ones, either skip college completely or spend those years focused on getting drafted but not D-Low.

Sometimes I think he’d be just as happy if he’d ended up in a lab somewhere.

I thought I was smart until I met him. He’s always listening to a book or reading one, spouting facts like a one-man trivia genius.

Seeing him and thinking about books has my thoughts returning to Ruby. Travis must have really gotten in my head because I can’t help but wonder if D-Low’s more her type than me.

Sure, he doesn’t look the part of book nerd with his tattoos and piercings and extrovert personality, but he’s smart, and something tells me Ruby is into smart.

As we walk back through the house, voices drift from the kitchen. Aidan has disappeared, but my dad has joined Travis, Shep, and Penn at the back door. Their backs are to us.

“She’s a looker,” my dad says with a low whistle.

“I always did have a thing for redheads,” Travis adds. He glances back, finds my gaze, and smirks.

I don’t have to look myself to know exactly who they’re watching or talking about.

“I think that’s what they call a string bikini,” Dad says.

“Seriously?” I ask, dryly.

No one moves, but Penn slides his gaze back to us.

“Hey, D-Low. Good to see you.”

“Yeah, you too.” D-Low steps closer to the group of guys and stares out the back door with them. “Who’s the redhead?”

“She’s an author,” my dad says, then tips his head toward me. “She’s here interviewing Nicky boy.”

D-Low’s brows lift as he turns his attention briefly back to me. “Are you writing a biography?”

“God no.”

“She’s a romance author,” my dad says with a smile. “She’s writing a book about a hockey player falling in love.”

That’s the tidbit that finally gets all of them to look at me.

“Don’t worry, he didn’t tell me either. I had to find out from her,” Travis says to them.

“Yeah, and now I remember why,” I say under my breath.

“Hold up.” Shep’s brows tug together in the center. “Why would someone interview you for a romance novel?”

Penn chuckles, and immediately Shep’s cheeks take on a ruddy red flush.

“I just mean…” He starts, but I hedge him off by holding up a hand.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m well aware that I’m about the worst possible candidate for the job.” I tip my head toward my dad. “He invited her.”

“Ah. Now that makes more sense,” D-Low says.

“Yeah,” I agree. My body hums with a desire to move the conversation along or maybe look out the window with the rest of them at the woman that’s currently making my life chaos. Instead, I ask, “Are we ready to get started?”

There’s a buzz of agreement, but no one makes a move to the basement.

“Dad, are you playing?”

“One hand,” he says. It’s always what he says, but he usually stays much longer than that.

“Maybe we should move our poker game to the back deck,” Travis says. “Nice night and all.”

I roll my eyes. “Everything is already set up downstairs.”

“Fine. Fine,” he says with a heavy sigh. He’s trying to get under my skin. And it’s working.

Still, no one moves.

“For the love of…” I step in front of them, at least partially blocking their view of Ruby, but not before catching a glimpse of her. Dad was right on several counts. She’s stripped down to her bikini and she is definitely a fucking looker. Damn.

Shep blinks as if he didn’t realize he was staring for so long, then offers me a sheepish smile. D-Low still looks like he’s piecing together the situation. Penn looks bored. Dad tries to look around me. Travis fights back a smile. Fucker.

“Someone’s feeling protective,” my dad notes as they finally shuffle away from the back door.

“What I’m feeling is annoyed,” I say, mostly to myself.

“Don’t worry, Nicky boy. We won’t get in your way,” Travis says.

“I thought she seemed like your type,” my dad says to him.

“I’m on a dating cleanse.”

“That doesn’t sound healthy,” Dad says, which makes Travis laugh.

“Probably not, sir. Probably not.”

Downstairs, we take our usual seats around the poker table.

We’ve been playing every Saturday night for the last two years.

The group is slightly different depending on the time of year.

Other guys pop in and out during the season and often we’re on the road, sitting around in someone’s hotel room instead of my basement.

During the off-season it’s whoever is in town.

Dad winces as he carefully drops into the seat to my right.

His leg is bothering him more and more. Not that he’d admit it.

Another symptom of the heart issues he’s been having.

I need to make sure he’s walking every day.

The doctor said if he was consistent with that, it would make a big difference.

Travis picks up the cards and starts to shuffle. “It feels like my night to take your money.”

He says that every week, despite his epic losing streak. The last time he won was eight months ago when D-Low was absent and I was getting over the flu.

As the cards are divvied up, somewhere upstairs Aidan begins playing his guitar.

“Damn,” my dad says. “I forgot my earplugs upstairs.”

Shep chuckles and Penn grimaces.

“Go easy on him,” I say. “He’s just learning.”

Aidan picks that moment to hit a particularly rough chord and I wince involuntarily.

“Is that an old Metallica song?” Travis asks, bopping his head and dealing the cards around the table.

“Nah, nah. I think it’s Pink Floyd,” my dad says.

It’s as likely to be “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” for as much as I can make out of it. It’s really not my son’s fault; musical talent does not run in the family. My mom put me in piano as a kid and it was torture.

“It’s ‘Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door,’” Penn says as he tosses in his ante.

We all pause and listen. Sure enough.

“I’ll be damned.” Dad grins.

“How in the hell did you know that?” I ask Penn.

He shrugs. “I tried to learn guitar one summer to impress a girl.”

A surprised laugh escapes my lips. “You did?”

A small smirk lifts one side of his mouth.

“How’d that go?” I ask.

“Turns out she was more into jocks.”

“And?” I wait for the end of the story.

“So I asked my mom to sign me up for hockey camp.”

Penn taking up hockey for a girl is as surprising as anything I’ve heard.

As long as I’ve known him, he’s dated almost as infrequently as me.

A few hookups but even those felt more like the girl fell in his lap then him making any effort.

Lucky for him, he doesn’t have a meddling father who refuses to keep his nose out of his business.

“God bless women.” Travis lifts his beer.

“Here, here.” Dad lifts his as well.

Shep does, too, absently without a word. D-Low and I exchange a look but join in.

“Speaking of women,” Dad starts.

“Here we go,” I mutter.

“I mean, she’s out there all on her own. Would it kill you to invite her to play?”

“What makes you think she wants to play poker with us?”

“Better than sitting out there by herself,” he fires back.

“Debatable.”

For a few moments, the table is quiet as we look at our cards and start playing. Shep is the first one to break the silence.

He puts in his ante and says, “What kind of questions are you answering for a romance author?”

“Hockey stuff. The character in her book was a baseball player and her publisher asked her to change it to hockey.”

“Interesting,” he says in a way that makes me believe he really does find it fascinating.

“Hockey romance is big,” D-Low says.

We all look to him.

“What? I follow BookTok.” He shrugs it off.

“Of course you do,” Penn says.

“What’s her name?” D-Low asks.

“Ruby Madison.” I shift uncomfortably.

“I haven’t heard of her.”

“She’s a big deal,” Dad pipes in. “A New York Times bestseller.”

“Impressive,” Travis says.

“Mhmmm.” My dad purrs his agreement.

“Maybe she is more your type,” Travis says to me, a frown tugging the corners of his lips down.

I don’t ask why he thinks that, but I do question the relief I feel at his statement.