Page 21 of Lucky Shot (Moonshot Hockey #1)

RUBY

Nick’s house is quiet as I pad up the back steps. I try to walk softly but not like I’m creeping up on them. If at all possible, I’d also love to come and go unannounced.

Several extra vehicles are in the driveway like maybe they’re having a party. Except all I can hear is Aidan’s guitar.

I step into the kitchen, relieved to find it empty.

The song ends and I freeze but there’s no movement.

He’s probably switching between songs. Quickly, I go to the sink and check under the counter, that’s where I keep my cleaning supplies, but come up empty.

I try the cabinet to the right of it and then the next.

Pretty soon I’ve opened and closed every single cabinet and I’m getting more frustrated and perplexed with each one.

“How is a girl supposed to stress clean?” I ask to the empty kitchen.

“Dad keeps all that stuff up high, so I don’t accidentally drink it.”

I whirl around to find Aidan standing across the kitchen staring at me. I’m not sure how long he’s been there.

“Hi,” I say breathlessly. I angle my body and point to the upper cabinets.

“That one.” He motions to the one on the far left.

As promised, the cleaning supplies are here. Bottles of all kinds, lined up with their labels facing out. I pull down the multi-purpose bottle and turn back to Aidan. “Do you often try to drink cleaner?”

A shy smile tips up the corners of his mouth. He looks so much like his dad, but this smile is one I have not seen from his father. “He worries.”

“Good. Parents are supposed to worry.” I hold up the bottle. “Is it okay if I borrow this?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “I guess so.”

“Thanks.” I huff a small laugh, then note the guitar hanging off his shoulder. “How long have you been playing?”

“Not long.” He glances down at his feet and shuffles. “I’m not very good. My dad and grandpa wear earplugs. They think I don’t notice, but they aren’t very good at hiding it.”

“Being good at things takes practice.”

“I guess so, but I don’t want to annoy them all the time while I practice.”

I get that. I used to make my family read everything I wrote. Poems, short stories, plays, eulogies—those didn’t always go over very well, oops.

I was so passionate about writing. I lived for the laughs, the smiles, the joy I could see on their faces.

When I could get a real, genuine laugh out of my dad, I would buzz with excitement the rest of the day.

Tears from my mom? A rush of adrenaline that lasted hours.

And anything Olivia reread or asked to keep meant I had struck gold.

I learned a lot during that phase of writing, including that you can’t force anyone else to feel the way you do about art.

Something that brought me immense pleasure, didn’t always do the same for them.

If my parents were busy or my sister was in a bad mood, then I was almost guaranteed to be disappointed by their response to read something I’d written.

I never learned an instrument so at least my practice could always be done in silence.

“If your dad is okay with it, you can come practice at the cabin any time you like,” I say to him.

His eyes widen and a dimple appears in his cheek as he smiles. “Really?”

“Yeah.” I find myself smiling back at him as I nod.

He tips his head to the side as if considering my offer. “And you won’t wear earplugs?”

I let out a small laugh. “Of course not.”

He gives me a strange look like he doesn’t believe me.

“Were you always good at hockey?” I ask him.

He thinks for a moment. Those green eyes lift and his mouth twists in concentration. “No, I guess not. My slap shot used to be pretty bad.”

I have no idea what that means but I think I’m still making my point. “And now?”

“Much better.”

“Because you practiced?”

“Every day for months.”

“See? You just need to keep practicing.”

“Even if it forces them to wear earplugs?” His cheeks tinge red.

“Even then.”

He doesn’t look convinced. And I don’t blame him.

Other people’s opinions can be loud and hard to ignore—even the ones offered with the best of intentions.

We have a deep understanding of the people closest to us, which means we can tell when they don’t love something.

But the only way to get better is to push through the crap. It’s a good reminder for myself.

“You’ll get the hang of it, and I love to listen to music while I work.”

“Even really bad guitar?”

“Especially that.” I smile at him and his grin returns.

“Okay. I’ll ask him.”

Laughter from downstairs draws our attention.

“I should get back. I didn’t mean to interrupt your party,” I say.

“It’s their weekly poker game.”

“Sounds fun.”

“I’m sure they’d let you join if you want.”

I hadn’t really meant that it sounded fun, more that it was nice that they had a weekly thing. It’s only been six days, but I miss my family, our dinners and hanging out. I miss socializing.

“They were talking about you earlier,” Aidan says with a sheepish grin.

Well, that’s ominous. Nothing good, I’m sure.

“I have things to do, but thanks.”

He eyes the bottle in my hands as if calling my bluff.

I backpedal. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not.” He steps forward and takes my hand, then pulls me with him.

I barely have time to do anything except glance down at myself.

I’m still wearing my swimsuit from sitting out by the lake earlier, but I managed to put on a tube top and shorts with flip-flops before I walked over for cleaning supplies.

Which I realize I’m still holding in one hand as Aidan hurries down the stairs, tugging me along by the other.

Six men are seated around a circle table in the middle of the room and all eyes turn to me. Aidan drops my hand and runs to his dad’s side. Nick scoots back to let his son on his lap while not taking his gaze off me.

“Hi!” I lift a hand in a wave. The rag whips through the air with my fingers. “I came by for cleaning supplies. Thought I’d do a deep clean of the cabin.”

No one says anything and I shift awkwardly.

“Cleaning on a Saturday night?” Mike asks finally, then scoffs. “Take a seat, darling. We’re not much company, but we’re better than what you have planned. You like poker?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve never played.” I don’t move because Nick is shooting red lasers out of his eyeballs. They seem to be directed at the inches of bare skin at my midsection, like he’s never seen a belly button ring before.

“Grab a chair and pull it up. I’ll show you.” Travis motions at me, then picks up his cards.

“The only thing he can show you is how to lose,” another guy mutters, then gives me a sly smile. His arms are covered in tattoos, including his hands.

“That’s Danny,” Travis tells me. “But everybody calls him D-Low. You can’t trust anything he says while sitting around the poker table.”

“All’s fair in poker and hockey.” Danny grins at me.

“I don’t think that’s how the saying goes,” the guy to his right says. He looks at me with a shy smile. Holy mother of…hotness. “I’m Conrad. Nice to meet you.”

Conrad is possibly the most attractive man I’ve ever seen in real life.

Like stunningly so. Very pretty boy type, which isn’t really something I’d normally be into, but it’s really hard to tear my gaze away from him.

And his face just gets redder the longer I stare.

For his sake, I force myself to look away but OMG.

“And that’s August Penn but we just call him Penn,” Travis says, tipping his head to the only man at the table not staring in my direction.

At his name he briefly glances up. He wears a polite, if not bored expression. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

He’s broad and sits taller than the others.

A black baseball cap is pulled down low on his face.

Light brown hair sticks out on the sides and in the back.

He’s wearing a faded Moonshot hockey T-shirt that pulls at his arm muscles.

He and Nick are competing for grumpiest man alive, and I can’t tell who’s winning.

They are a lot to take in. I scan the circle of hockey players and Mike before my gaze lands back on Nick. I’m not sure what it says that among this group of extremely hot men, he’s the one I feel most drawn to.

“Does the rest of your team look like this?” I ask.

“Like what?” Danny asks.

I open my mouth but then close it when I can’t figure out how to politely ask them to rate the hot factor of the rest of their teammates.

“Never mind,” I mumble.

They all look to me expectantly.

Mike finally breaks the silence. “What do you say, darling? Want to be my good luck charm? I haven’t won a hand all night.”

“Dad,” Nick says in a pained tone. “I seriously doubt she wants to spend her Saturday night playing cards with us.”

Mike scoffs. “Why not? I’m great company.”

“Same,” Travis agrees, grinning.

“Does that mean you don’t want me to play?” I ask him. I can’t read him and frankly, I’m tired of guessing.

“Of course he does,” Aidan says. “Right, Dad?”

Nick’s jaw ticks as he nods slowly. He lifts Aidan and stands, then walks over to the corner to grab another chair. He sets it between him and Penn. He grunts what might be an invitation.

Part of me would like to tell him to shove that chair up his grumpy ass, but then I think how much fun it’ll be to annoy him all night.

I set the cleaner and rag down on a side table next to a giant sectional that looks as if it could easily seat twelve.

Interesting choice for a man who seems to only like a handful of people.

The whole downstairs space has a real man cave vibe.

Big screen TV, leather furniture, framed memorabilia on the wall, plus the poker table in the center.

Aidan moves to the couch with his guitar as I take my seat. I smile at the giant named Penn to my left.

“I’m Ruby,” I say to him, realizing I hadn’t introduced myself.

He tips his chin at me. I can’t decide if he’s shy or anti-social. “I know.”

I wince. “Uh oh. What’d you hear?”