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What the fuck was that?
And I’m pretty sure I blinked first on top of it all.
CHAPTER 8
Luna
It's my brother's birthday.
That means the whole day is about him. People showing up to shower him with attention, affection, tell him how great he is, and give him gifts.
So it's pretty much like every other day in Crew McNeill’s life, except for the gifts.
I love my brother. I really do. He's a great guy. He's funny, charming, mostly laid-back, and, as much as I hate to admit it, he really is good at almost everything he does.
I pick up three cake plates from the table as more people come through the front door of my parent’s house, and Crew greets them loudly.
He’s standing in the foyer, his arm around my best friend, looking like a king greeting his subjects.
I roll my eyes. Nothing new about any of this.
I head for the kitchen with the plates. I just need a minute without a hockey player in my personal space.
I’ve felt that way, generally, for most of my life. They’re big, loud, and don’t always smell very good.
But for the past three months whenever I think of hockey, or hockey is mentioned, or ice is mentioned—and it’s winter in Chicago, so that’s a lot—I don’t think of my brother as the hockey guy.
Nope. It’s a whole other hockey guy.
And his bossy, kind-of-a-dick-but-God-he’s-hot best friend.
I’m used to being kind of ugh about hockey.
Lately, the whole thing has been making me horny instead.
It is very annoying.
It also isn’t getting any better, even though it’s been three months since my hook-up with Alexsei and Cameron.
I still don’t like hockey.
I also really don’t like getting all tingly when I hear the word.
Or the word stick. Or the worst one of all…puck.
This is all very strange. Awkward even. My family's life has revolved around hockey almost since this day twenty-three years ago that Crew came into the world.
Okay, maybe for the first six or seven years it was just about him in general. But then, he became a hockey prodigy.
I mean it. Really young, Crew showed signs of being one of the best hockey players ever.
He took to the ice as if he'd been born on skates.
From then on, my parent's lives revolved around him, and hockey practice, hockey games, travel hockey tournaments, extra hockey coaching, dealing with hockey injuries, hockey, hockey, hockey.
Hockey is a fine game. I'm convinced that I would like it if I was any other person.
But hockey is definitely not my favorite pastime.
