Page 17 of Slap Shot (Blades Hockey #5)

Weston

¨I promise this will be as painless as possible,〃 Gwen tells me and Daisy as we ride the elevator up to the tenth floor of the John Hancock building. ¨And for whatever itˇs worth, Iˇll be glued to your side from start to finish. If they ask anything shady, Iˇll put that shit to bed so fast their heads will spin.〃

Daisy laughs. ¨That sounds pleasant.〃

¨Doesnˇt it?〃 The elevator dings open and Gwen waves us past her. ¨All right, game faces on. Also, hold hands, please.〃

Holding hands with Daisy isnˇt a problem. The same, however, canˇt be said for our new living arrangements.

Youˇre a filthy fucking liar .

Fine, living with Daisy isnˇt a problem either. In the two weeks since getting married at the courthouse, weˇve entered the land of domesticity with the same ease that weˇve handled everything else in our almost decade-long friendship. We donˇt bicker about doing the laundry or cooking dinneralthough the latter might be because Daisy canˇt cook for shit. Sheˇs now happily partaking in the meal service that Iˇve been subscribed to for the last few years. Honestly, playing house with my best friend feels too easy.

Except, of course, for when we linger awkwardly in the hallway each night before bed.

¨You okay?〃 Daisy asks as she slides her hand into mine. ¨You look . . . something.〃

Something pretty much sums up the state of confusion Iˇve been living in since she moved into my place and officially filed paperwork to take my surname.

I send her a reassuring grin. ¨All good. Letˇs just get this over with.〃

Up ahead, Gwen ushers us beyond a set of double doors and into the offices of Bar Down, a sports-centric media company that covers everything from trade deals to athleteˇs announcing their upcoming nuptials. Although Iˇve never had a reason to visit Bar Downˇs headquarters, they usually have one or two content creators present at all of our home games. More often than not, theyˇre shoving tiny microphones in our faces and asking obscure trivia questions about our fellow teammateslike whether or not Henri Bordeaux had a pet parrot as a kid.

The answer is no, but his parents did give him a plushy version when he was seven. Apparently, he spent the next five years bringing it to every one of his games for good luck. We teased him mercilessly about it for months afterward.

Before Daisy and I can take a seat in the waiting area, a tall woman enters the office from a connecting hallway. Her brown hair is tied back in a severe knot, and she immediately moves in for a handshake, pumping my arm up and down with the sort of vigorous enthusiasm that threatens a dislocated shoulder. ¨Iˇm Jenna. Jenna Burke,〃 she says before turning on Daisy and latching onto her hand for an equally firm greeting. ¨And youˇre Daisy. Weˇve met once beforeIˇm sure you donˇt remember. It was years ago now. Worldˇs?〃

Looking visibly flustered, Daisy produces a smile that doesnˇt quite reach her eyes. ¨Wow. Itˇs been a really long time.〃

¨You can say that again. Hope the leg is okay these days?〃

Daisyˇs smile wavers. ¨Itˇs fine, thank you for asking.〃

¨All part of the gig.〃 Turning on her heel, Jenna motions for us to follow her down the hall. ¨When you have a job like mine, you tend to remember way too much about way too many people. For example, I canˇt tell you my nieceˇs birthday, but I can recite every time you made it to the Frozen Four, Weston.〃 She flashes me a quick look over her shoulder. ¨That was a jokeUConn only made it once while you were there.〃

I donˇt even crack a smile.

Undaunted, Jenna chatters away about her predictions for this yearˇs Division 1 finalsshe has her heart set on Cornell, apparentlyuntil sheˇs pushing open one final door and letting us into a big, empty space with floor-to-ceiling windows and gray, concrete floors. There are a slew of staff already present, some of them working with camera equipment while others sort through racks of clothing. The arrangement of studio lighting around a raised platform carves out a designated area for our interview.

¨Makeup. Clothes. Photos. Questions. In that order.〃 Jenna wheels around to face us with her arms linked across her chest. ¨Itˇs going to be a time crunch. We have less than five hours to get everything done unless . . .〃 She shoots Gwen a hopeful glance. ¨What do you say? Think that we can have an extra hour maybe?〃

Gwen, bless her heart, doesnˇt budge from the plan to get us in and out of here as fast as possible. ¨Wish we could, Jenna. Really. But weˇve got another interview lined up in Medford after this, and you know weˇre going to get caught in traffic if I donˇt get us out of here on time.〃

¨Fuck. Traffic,〃 Jenna mutters. ¨All right, letˇs get cracking then. Hey, Nathaniel! Get these two into something pretty, will you?〃

It says a lot about my current state of mind that it doesnˇt even occur to me that they expect newlyweds to feel comfortable disrobing around each other until Daisy and I are standing in a makeshift dressing room forty minutes later with only a curtain to separate us from the crew.

She shifts her weight.

I stare at the clothes theyˇve left out for us.

¨Should I just〃

¨Yeah,〃 I rush out, ¨yeah, that works.〃

Her eyes narrow. ¨You donˇt even know what I was going to say.〃

Fuck.

This shouldnˇt be a big deal. Itˇs not a big deal. After spending half my life in locker rooms, Iˇm not one to feel embarrassed about getting naked in front of an audience. A body is a body, and Iˇve never really cared to dwell on the details. Plus, friends change in front of each other, donˇt they? Itˇs a thing that happens. Sort of like how Iˇve seen Daisy in a bikini more times than I can possibly count. The girl practically lives at Revere Beach during the summer.

Only, the jittery feeling in my gut says that this is something new. Just like our wedding kiss was new. Just like how every night before bed, I canˇt help but wonder what it might be like if we ditched our separate rooms to

Donˇt dwell on it.

Donˇt even think about it .

¨Iˇm just going to . . .〃 Daisy snatches the lavender dress from where itˇs hanging on the portable rack. With the material clutched in her fist, she spins around to give me her back. ¨Donˇt look or whatever.〃

Sheˇs wrongly assumed that I have even a shred of morality in my bones. Because instead of waiting to make sure that I am, in fact, not looking, she promptly kicks off her Doc Martens and loose-fitting jeans, leaving her toned legs bare to my gazeand I canˇt look away. Not when she slides that lavender dress all the way up to her hips. Not when she pulls her sweater over her head, moving carefully to avoid messing up her hair. Despite the cold day outside, sheˇs not wearing a T-shirt or tank top underneath. After tossing her sweater onto a nearby chair, she slips her fingers under her crooked bra straps to lay them flat over her shoulders, and then she tugs the bodice of the dress up and over her chest.

Though the back gapes open, she doesnˇt ask for help with the zipper, and II canˇt tear my gaze away from the new tattoo peeking out from under the band of her bra.

When did she get that?

Down at my sides, my fingers twitch with the sudden craving to trace the flowerˇs delicate petals.

¨You two almost ready in there?〃 Gwen asks from the other side of the curtain.

¨Almost!〃 Daisy calls back.

The reminder that we arenˇt alone is a much-needed kick in the ass. With a rough swallow, I wrench my gaze away from Daisyˇs tattoo and start stripping, first my jeans and then my Henley. Iˇm not sure whatˇs so important about switching out one pair of Leviˇs for another, but I learned a long time ago that itˇs best to not question the professionals.

By the time Iˇm shoving my feet into a pair of brown Oxfords, Iˇve done so much mental gymnastics to try and forget the sight of Daisyˇs inked skin that it feels like my brain is one giant fucking cramp. And yet, all it takes is one glimpse of her face to bring the flood of craving back.

Oblivious to my inner turmoil, Daisy thrusts out her arm for me to take. ¨Ready?〃

I nod. ¨Yeah, letˇs get it done.〃

Over the next two hours, we return to that makeshift dressing room three more times.

They dress Daisy in high-waisted shorts and knee-high boots. They put her in a skirt so fucking short, you can see the curve of her ass every time she so much as breathes. They doll her up and dress her down, and my heart should be racing when the photographer tells me to place my hand on Daisyˇs bare stomach for a picture. Hell, it should be running a goddamn marathon every time Jenna instructs me to pull Daisy closer or sink my fingers into her hair; to press my lips to her temple, and close my eyes, and look ¨in love.〃

Under all the lights, I barely break a sweat.

But then we decamp for another outfit change, and like the flick of a switch, my palms grow clammy with the nervous anticipation of being alone with my best friendas if we havenˇt spent years together, just the two of us. This marriage, that first and last kiss. Her tattoo . Iˇm twisted inside out, making something out of nothing.

Itˇs a total mindfuck.

Burying the feelings deep, I donˇt let myself look at Daisy again, not when weˇre alone behind that curtain. I keep my gaze respectfully averted and go through the motions of switching out jeans for slacks and then slacks for a pair of comfortable, drawstring shorts and an exclusive, Bar Down-created Boston Blades hoodie.

¨Oh, I love this.〃

Before I can second-guess myself, I turn around to see Daisy twisting this way and that in an attempt to peer over her shoulder. Sheˇs wearing a matching Blades sweatshirt with my name and number plastered across the back.

Cain.

73.

Her wedding ring peeks out from under her left sleeve.

Eagerly, she meets my gaze. ¨Weˇre matching, look.〃 And then she lifts the hoodie up to reveal a nearly identical pair of navy-blue shorts that cling to her hips.

Between the oversized sweatshirt and those drawstring shorts, which just barely brush the tops of her knees, thereˇs nothing remotely provocative about the outfitand yet, my heart is cranking into overdrive all over again, pounding so goddamn hard that I can hear the blood whooshing in my ears.

It feels intimate, this quiet moment with Daisy.

It feels like it belongs to only us .

¨You look good in my name,〃 I hear myself rasp.

¨Youˇd look even better in mine,〃 she quips with a teasing wriggle of her brows. ¨Come on, letˇs go expose all of your deepest, darkest secrets.〃

¨I donˇt have any secrets.〃 Before today, before our one and only kiss, it would have been the truthbut as I follow Daisy back to where Jenna and Gwen are waiting to get the interview underway, I struggle to come to grips with the fact that I may have just lied to my best friend for the first time in my life.