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twenty-eight

GRIFFIN

“Wright, you’re on fire out there.” Coach Fry slaps me on the back, his face lit up with a pleased smile. “Whatever has you amped up tonight, keep that momentum going through the third period.”

“Thanks, Coach,” I say before downing some water and resting my sweaty head against the locker behind me.

We only have five more minutes before we have to be back on the ice for the last period of the game, and I’m exhausted, but I’m also hyped.

Because we’re at home, and my wife is in the family box with Isla and Lexi.

My wife . My gorgeous, sexy-as-sin wife, who spent the last week fussing over my sick ass because she cares .

“Doing all right?” Maddox flops his ass down beside me, bumping me with his shoulder.

“Yep. Doing good, man. You?” Graves is having just as good of a game as I am. Hell, we all are. The kind of synergy we have going on tonight is the shit of legends. If we can keep this up for the rest of the season, we have a real chance of going all the way.

“I’m feeling good. Want to hit Chasers after the game? It’s been too long since we all went out.”

I chuckle. “That’s what happens when you’re engaged, bro. You end up going home to your lady, and you don’t spend as much time with your boys.”

“From what I’ve heard, you haven’t been going out as much lately, either. Byrne won’t stop bitching about it.”

Shit.

“ What am I bitching about?” Logan stands in front of us with a scowl.

“Wright’s antisocial tendencies,” Maddox replies.

I shrug. “I’m just done with the whole scene, you know? It feels shallow. I’m too old to be going out and hooking up with random women every night.”

“Since when?” Logan says, one brow raised. “Seriously, you don’t have a brain tumor or something, right?”

“That’s not even funny,” Bash says, shaking his head.

Logan shrugs. “He’s being weird.”

“Who’s being weird?” Ryder asks.

“No one,” I say as Coach claps his hands and shouts at us to get geared back up and out on the ice. Saved by the bell, or whatever. “But yeah, I’ll go out tonight, as long as everyone’s there.”

“Isla’s already asking the girls,” Maddox says with a clap on my shoulder.

“Then, let’s go win this thing so we can celebrate.”

The guys all roar their agreement as we get back on the ice.

The whole bar cheers as we saunter in, high off a shutout. The crush of people chanting our names and crowding around us would have given me a thrill before, but now all it does is make me worry about Mira and the girls’ safety.

Maddox has Isla tucked into his side, a scowl on his grumpy face for anyone who gets too close. Ryder’s hand clutches Lexi’s, and even though he doesn’t look as menacing as my best friend, it’s clear that if anyone messes with his girlfriend, he won’t hesitate to fuck them up.

Then there’s me.

My fingers itch to wrap around Mira’s waist. I want to lay claim to her in front of every single man in this bar, so they know not to touch her.

Hell, I want them to know they shouldn’t so much as look at her.

But I can’t. I can’t, because Mira isn’t ready to tell everyone that she’s my wife.

So I do the only thing I really can do and glare at any dumb fucker who gets too close.

Sebastian chuckles next to me, but I ignore him.

We make it to the massive booth in the back that Chasers reserves for us on nights we’re playing at home, and I let out the breath I’ve been holding.

Everyone slides into the booth, and I can’t keep my fingers from skimming my wife’s lower back as I encourage her to slip in next to Bash.

I’m the last one in, leaving me on the outside seat.

I don’t want Mira fending off the fans. No way would I let her take the outside seat.

We order several pitchers of beer and enough appetizers for everyone.

The atmosphere is celebratory, and we’re garnering plenty of attention due to how loud and rowdy everyone is.

A few fans make their way over to congratulate Bash on the shutout and gush over the win, but for the most part, they leave us alone.

It’s one of the reasons we love this place.

The patrons are fans, but there’s an unspoken understanding that when we’re here, we’re largely off-limits.

And that’s the way it stays for the first hour.

We laugh and goof around. Mira smiles brightly beside me, just as much a part of the Rogues family as Isla and Lexi, even though none of them know she and I are together.

She’s Maddox’s little sister—not to mention, she’s cool as shit—but she’s also my roommate, and she’s not afraid to give the guys shit.

She’s laughing at something Sebastian says when I feel a tap on my shoulder. Turning, I prepare myself to smile at a middle-aged fan with a beer belly and glassy eyes. Except, that’s not who I see.

“Hi,” a bubbly blonde with curly hair and a low-cut top chirps.

Her lips curve in what I imagine she believes is a sultry smile, but it doesn’t do a thing for me.

There’s not a woman on this earth who can affect me the way my wife does, and I realize with total clarity that I don’t even notice women anymore.

Not the way I used to. Sure, I notice them as human beings, but that’s the extent of it.

There’s no hint of attraction, no bolt of lust, nothing.

I have eyes for one woman, and it’s the beautiful brunette sitting beside me, laughing her gorgeous ass off, uncaring of how loud she is or who may be watching her.

“Uh, hey,” I say, polite but dismissive. I immediately turn my attention back to the table, but the blonde is undeterred. She taps my shoulder again and flips her hair. “You’re that hockey player, right?”

My smile is tight. “Yes?”

The woman smiles brightly. “Ohmygod, I told my friends it was you.” She turns to a group of three women watching her intently and waves them over. They talk excitedly to each other as they stand from their table and saunter over. The blonde eyes Logan and Bash. “We are such big fans.”

“Thanks,” I say with a tight smile as I feel Mira stiffen beside me.

I press my knee to hers, hoping she takes it as the reassurance I mean it to be.

I want to ignore this woman and her friends, but everything we do has the potential to end up online, and each member of the team has had it hammered into our heads that we always treat our fans well.

The last thing the team wants is bad press because one of us was an asshole to some random man or woman on the street with a huge social media following.

Normally, that doesn’t bother me. But with my wife beside me—the wife no one knows is mine—and a gaggle of women with predatory expressions and way too much cleavage in front of me, I want nothing more than to tell them to fuck right off.

“You’re Griffin, right?” a short brunette asks.

I nod.

“And you’re Sebastian?” She looks at Bash, who pastes a fake-ass smile on his face and also nods.

Logan, never one to ignore pretty women who are obviously looking to hook up with a hockey player, perks up and sticks his hand out across the table with a salacious smile. “I’m Logan. What are your names, ladies?”

The women rattle off their names, but I’m not paying attention. Not to them. All my focus is on the woman beside me. The one who owns me, body and soul. The one bristling as the brunette rests a hand on my shoulder.

“We were at the game tonight. You played so well.”

“Thanks,” I grind out. Nothing about my tone says I want to continue this conversation, but the woman either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

“I have to say, though, my favorite part is the warm-ups.” Her cheeks flush.

Before Mira, I probably would have found it attractive, but now? I’m annoyed because I have a feeling I know what’s coming.

“It’s so hot when you guys stretch out your hips.” She giggles.

Jesus Christ .

If I thought Mira was stiff before, it’s got nothing on the absolute rigidity of her body now.

She’s practically vibrating with annoyance.

It shouldn’t make me happy, but I can’t help the pleasure I get from knowing she’s feeling territorial.

With my left hand beneath the table, I discreetly run my pinkie over her thigh.

I need her to know that she’s the only one I care about. The only one I want to touch.

A second blonde pops a hip out and offers up a sultry smile. Her gaze skips from me, to Sebastian, then to Logan. She’s after a night with a Rogue, and I get the impression she doesn’t care who takes her up on it. “You guys are so tall. You can’t really tell just how big you are from the seats.”

The woman’s eyes flick down my body when she says the word big , and Mira snorts beside me. It has my lips twitching, which is unfortunate, because the woman seems to take it as a sign that I’m interested.

“And you’re all so strong. You must have so much stamina to play professional hockey.”

“Oh my god,” Mira mutters under her breath. It’s low enough that only Navarro and I hear it. Bash chuckles, and I lightly pinch my wife’s leg.

“We were wondering if any of you guys would like to join us? The next round is on us.” The brunette flutters her false eyelashes at me, and not only do I not feel even the tiniest hint of attraction, but I’m actually disgusted.

It’s a struggle to keep my face from screwing up in a look of blatant distaste.

“Sure,” Logan says, running his eyes over the woman’s body. “We’d love to join you, wouldn’t we, Wright?”

I look at Mira, eyes wide, silently asking her to pipe up and say she’s tired and wants to go home, then ask me to take her. I want her to claim me. To tell these women to fuck off because I’m hers. But she doesn’t. She frowns, obviously unhappy, but she doesn’t say a thing.

Clearing my throat, I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”

“Come on, Wright, quit being such a stick in the mud. These gorgeous women want to buy us some drinks. Are you really going to deny them the pleasure of your company?”

I see Lexi roll her eyes, and Isla glances surreptitiously at Mira. Sebastian shakes his head.

“I’m good, man.” I turn to the women. “Thanks for the invite, ladies, but I’m going to pass.”

“Oh, come on,” the blonde with curly hair says. She runs her finger up my arm to my shoulder, and I shift away from her toward Mira. “I promise we’ll make it worth your while.”

Isla chokes on her beer, and Madds pats her back.

She mutters something about brazen bunnies to her fiancé and shakes her head.

Isla has dealt with her fair share of bullshit from female fans since she started dating Maddox, and so has Lexi.

Unfortunately, it seems to come with the territory when you’re dating a professional athlete.

It’s bullshit, plain and simple. Some people don’t understand boundaries or simply don’t respect them.

I clear my throat, increasingly uncomfortable, and shoot Mira another pleading look.

This time when I catch her eye, she frowns before peering down at the table.

I want to shake her. She’s finally claimed me in private, called me her husband, and we’ve had mind-blowing, intimate sex every day since, but she’s just sitting here silently, letting these women proposition me?

I want her to get mad, to tell them to get lost. I want her to be bothered .

A sharp pang of hurt spears through me, and I suck in a sharp breath.

Even after the last week, she still isn’t ready to admit who I am to her. Would she let me get up and walk away with one of these women without a single protest? Would she just let it happen? I thought we were making progress, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe she’ll always be embarrassed of me.

“Mira?” I say her name so quietly, I know she and Bash are the only ones who catch it. My friend frowns when she remains silent, and my stomach drops.

I guess we haven’t made as much progress as I thought, and it calls to mind all my previous girlfriends who were more than happy to give me their bodies but were never willing to give me their hearts.

The pain of that parallel is like a physical blow.

“You know what?” I press my palms on the table and move to stand. “I’m actually beat. I’m heading out.”

The blonde’s face lights up. “Oh, do you want some company?”

“Yeah,” I say, my voice tight, “I do. But not from you.”

And with that, I shoulder past our little fan club, ignoring the calls of my boys, ignoring Mira’s sharp inhalation, and walk out into the cold Minneapolis night.

I’m sure that little interaction will end up all over social media, but I can’t find it in me to give a single flying fuck.