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SARA

Lennox: You looked hot tonight. Take any of those hockey players for a ride?

Me: LOL. No!

Lennox: Ahhh, this job is such a waste on you. Surrounded by all that testosterone and those thick thighs and you’re probably sitting in your room wearing comfy pajamas watching Sweet Home Alabama again.

Me: Actually, it’s How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days and I’m wearing leggings and a Bolts shirt.

Me: And I’m not by myself. Brooks is with me.

Lennox: Now there’s a hockey player you should get under.

Lennox: Or on top of. Hell, maybe just sit on his face. Goalies are known for being good on their knees.

Lennox: Hellooo. Don’t just ignore me.

Lennox: Fine. I’m sorry. I know you have a boyfriend and you and Brooks are “just friends.”

Me: LOL. Sorry I was too busy laughing my ass off at your text. I showed it to Brooks and he went all quiet on me.

Lennox: Aww, we broke Saint Brooks. Tell him it’s okay, everyone loves a good boy.

Me: He’s not amused. I’m going back to the movie. Call you tomorrow.

Lennox: Night, bitch.

Me: Night, lover.

With a smile on my face, I set my phone face down next to me. I never know what kind of insanity Lennox will grace me with while I’m hanging with Brooks.

Lennox and I met in college, and I have no idea what I did with my life before she became my best friend. She’s the loud to my quiet, the funny to my awkward, and the most loyal person in existence.

She’s also stupid rich. The kind of rich that means she could never work a day in her life and still live in the lap of luxury. Instead, she’s been trying out different career paths almost biannually since graduation. Like leasing a car. She works until she’s sick of the job. Then she quits and moves on to something new. She could never waste her days away not working, and the idea of settling down and getting married is abhorrent to her. But she doesn’t mind sampling every type of man she encounters.

I, on the other hand, would love to settle down and have a family. I’d love to find that person I can come home to at the end of the day and fall into easy conversation with. A person who’s excited to see me. Who wouldn’t force me to hide our relationship.

At least I scored my dream job. As a member of the PR team for the Boston Bolts hockey team, I get to travel across the country, attending games and handling press conferences. And I have Brooks. The best friend a girl could ask for.

As he does after most games, Brooks showed up at my apartment with to-go bags filled with dinner and dessert. Langfield Corp, the organization that owns the Bolts, also owns the building, and the majority of the guys on the team live here, as well as many employees who work behind the scenes. For some, it’s a quiet place free of distraction where they can hunker down and stay focused during the season. For others like me, it’s home.

It’s just one more reason I love my job. Without the generosity of the Langfield family, I could never afford an apartment in Boston.

Sometimes, though, it feels a little like a college dorm. The older players and employees with families tend to live elsewhere, so the building is brimming with the younger guys and a few lucky staff like me.

“Puck bunnies hanging out on your floor again?” I tease.

Brooks’s only response is a roll of his eyes. There is absolutely no reason for the man to live in this building. He could easily afford a penthouse in one of the nicest high-rises in Boston, but he wants to be treated like any other person on the team. Even if his family owns the entire franchise. Because Brooks Langfield is a good guy. Practically a saint. Hence the team nickname: Saint Brooks.

And because he’s such a good guy, Brooks doesn’t spend his nights out at the bar picking up girls like so many of his teammates. The things those boys do in this building, or in their hotel rooms during away stretches––sometimes their shared hotel rooms––are the kinds of things I often have to find creative ways to cover up.

I know far too much about who the guys in this building have slept with. Normally, I’m the one tasked with presenting the NDA a day too late.

I’ve never had to do that with Brooks. It could be that he handles it on his own, or that his family keeps it under wraps. His sister-in-law is my boss, after all. So it’s possible she handles all Langfield transgressions to truly keep it in the family.

But somehow I don’t think that’s true.

Because more often than not, he can be found sitting with me, watching girlie rom-coms and making me smile.

“I can feel you watching me,” he murmurs without dragging his focus away from Andie Anderson. On screen, she’s walking up the steps wearing a yellow dress, giving Benjamin Barry a flirty smile.

With a grin, I throw a piece of popcorn at him. “You have such a crush on her. If she were single, you’d totally hit that, wouldn’t you?”

Brooks coughs out a laugh. “ Hit that ? What are we, fifteen?”

A burst of joy rushes through me. “I mean, we can’t all be old and distinguished like you.”

He dips his chin and cocks a brow. “I’m only three years older than you.”

“We’re in completely different decades! You’re in your thirties.” I shiver dramatically. “Ew!”

“That’s it.” He launches himself at me, taking me down to the floor. Before I have a chance to escape, he digs his fingers into my sides, where he knows I’m ticklish.

I kick and squirm and try to fight back, but it’s no use. The man is a six-five, two-hundred-and-twenty-pound beast. I don’t stand a chance of stopping him.

I close my eyes and take the dead fish approach, letting my arms and legs go limp. It’s a technique I always used with my brother. It never failed to make him laugh, and apparently it’s just confusing enough to cause Brooks to pause.

“Sar?”

Rather than reply, I hold my breath and remain perfectly still.

“Oh fuck. Did I hurt you? Shit, shit, shit.” He pushes off me, then he presses his fingers to my pulse point.

Unable to hold it in anymore, I burst out laughing.

“Asshole,” he grumbles.

I open my eyes just as he’s wiping a palm down his face and letting out a long breath.

“Aw, don’t be mad at me, Brookie.”

He scowls, rights himself, and leans back against the couch, his legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at his ankles. He’s not a fan of that nickname. “Bet ya Kate would appreciate me,” he grumbles.

“Thought her name was Andie,” I taunt.

He shakes his head and cups his mouth with a hand to hide his laughter, but his eyes dance over that meaty paw. His hands are so freaking big and strong. Really, everything about him is.

I settle on the floor beside him again and snag a handful of popcorn. “You know, Lennox is single.”

He eyes me without turning his head. “And?”

“You’re single,” I sing, tossing a piece of popcorn into my mouth.

“Ah, stop the presses. It’s breaking news,” he teases, his lips lifting adorably on one side.

“Come on. Don’t you want that? Don’t you see how happy your brother is now that he has a wife?”

Brooks’s brother Beckett married my boss last year. I never thought I’d see the day when the grumpy guy would finally smile, but now that Liv is wearing his ring, he’s genuinely happy all the time.

He dips his chin and picks at an invisible speck on his sweatpants. “Liv is special. Of course Beckett’s happy.”

“And Lennox isn’t special? You got a problem with my best friend?”

Beside me, Brooks tenses. “No. It’s just…” He sighs. “She’s not who I’m interested in.”

Oh. Things just got interesting. Even during the offseason, I never saw him with a woman. It’s common knowledge that he doesn’t date during the season, but from what I can tell, he doesn’t date period.

Oddly, I find that comforting. He feels a bit like mine, and now I’m feeling stupidly territorial. If he has his sights set on a woman, then there’s a good chance he won’t be hanging around much.

My stomach sinks. We spend the majority of our free time together and I’m not looking forward to giving that up.

Without him, the loneliness would be all-consuming. Especially since my boyfriend rarely has the time for me and insists our relationship remain a big, fat secret.

But if anyone deserves to be happy, it’s Brooks.

I fold my legs and turn to face him. “Tell me about her. What’s she like?” I edge closer and grip his bicep. “Do I know her? Is she nice? Will she like me?” When he doesn’t reply fast enough, I duck my chin and whisper, “Does she like Lake?”

This is a trick question.

If she doesn’t like Lake Paige, then we can’t be friends. Because who doesn’t like Lake? She’s like the queen of pop. I live my life by the songs she writes. Not long ago, she caught her boyfriend cheating on her with her tour manager, so she dumped his ass. Then she got even by fucking his dad. Basically, she’s my idol.

But—and this is a huge but—if she likes Lake, then this thing between Brooks and me, this friendship whose foundation was built around a mutual love of Lake Paige, will no longer be special. Because he’ll share that love with this other woman as well.

Dramatic, maybe, but that’s who I am. Deal with it.

My phone buzzes beside me, catching my attention.

SL: Just getting back. Come over.

When I look up, flipping the phone so it’s face down on the rug, Brooks is zeroed in on it.

He clears his throat, and a flush works its way up his cheeks. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to look. I’ve gotta go.”

I grasp his arm and squeeze softly. “Wait, you never answered my question.”

He drops his chin and blinks at our connection, so I release him.

“Yeah, you’d like her.” He shakes his head and stands. “But it’s nothing,” he says, his shoulders slumped and his tone full of defeat. “She doesn’t know I exist.”

“Impossible,” I say, picking the bowl of popcorn up off the floor and placing it beside the television.

Andie and Ben are now singing to one another. This scene always sucks me in.

It takes me a moment to pull my focus away from the screen. When I do, Brooks is already at the door, slipping his shoes on. “You’re the best guy I know, Brooks Langfield,” I remind him. “And my bestest friend.”

He chuckles, his head lowered. “Yeah, after Lennox.”

I roll my eyes. “Eh, you took me to see Lake Paige. And introduced me. You are totally winning the best friend contest.”

Brooks beams as he opens the door. “Night, Sar.”

“Night, Brookie.”