I’m not trying to be better than my brother at hockey. It’s a fool’s errand. I’m trying to be better at life after hockey, because without the NHL, I’m not sure even Roman knows who he is. And at the end of the day, we’re allone bad injury away from spending the rest of our days on the bench.
It’s why I’m learning finance. I’m teaching myself the logistics of long-term capital; I want to know how to structure a sustainable endowment that can turn a one-time donation into a decade of free ice time for kids currently priced out of the game.
I’ve already started the paperwork for the Stick Together trademark. It’s ambitious, maybe even delusional for a college kid with a 3.5 GPA, but I gotta hope for something. If I can ever pull it off, this foundation will be my first real win that doesn’t require a scoreboard.
Another glance at my text from Artemis proves it was worth it. I’ve finally gotten his attention.
Goal Daddy: Your place?
Artemis: Edith Lucielle’s.
I can’t help smiling.
Goal Daddy: I hope you’re not fucking with me, Arte. I’m already getting dressed.
Artemis: I’m already in the car.
Goal Daddy: Foregoing the shower.
Goal Daddy: On my way!
I get there in record time, and he’s already ordered and is sipping an Americano while flicking through more paperwork. His whole life is documentation. Part of me itches to scatter all the loose pages over the floor and tell him to just leave it all for an hour.
My pulse trips at how strikingly gorgeous this man is, how criminally handsome his features are, from the slight bend in his nose from a couple bad blows over the years to the razor-sharp edge of his jaw.
He’s got a sexy as hell smolder going on right now, but the deep crevice between his brows smooths out when he sees me, though I can’t say he goes so far as to smile. I’ll take it.
“Morning.” He slides the seat out with his foot like he did at his mom’s restaurant. He’s picked a bigger table this time, a four-seater, so we won’t look quite as comically cramped as we probably did last night.
“Twice in two days. To what do I owe the pleasure?” My stomach does a flip as I take the seat and pull it toward the table. “Need more help getting your company in line?”
He slides his pages into a pile and tucks them all into a backpack at his feet. “Actually, I just wanted to see you.” His dark, chocolate eyes swirl with hesitation? Insecurity? Something that’s not quite his usual composed nature. “Is that okay?”
I grin at him, trying to offer some warm assurance. “Absolutely. I woke up regretting not taking you home with me last night.”
He drops his eyes to his mug as he fingers the edge of the saucer. Must admit, it’s nice to see one of the league’s toughest enforcers a little off kilter.
“Why are you pursuing me?” His voice is low, and he looks to both sides like he’s expecting someone to randomly appear.
“Better question, Smolder Soldier, why are you resisting me pursuing you?”
His lips twitch, and now I can’t stop looking at them.
The server comes and takes our order. Since I haven’t bothered to look at the menu, I just order whatever he’s having. Could be disgusting, could be something I’m allergicto, could be jumping into a cavern of fire, and I’ll follow Boardroom Batman to my demise.
Christ, I’m pathetic.
“I can’t afford to have any distractions this year.” He winces. “I’ve got shit to do. Like finish college.”
My confidence falters. I lean into him, bumping my hand against his and enjoying the rush of color into his face. “I could be a fun distraction though, your favorite distraction even.” I wink at him, but before he can answer, we’re interrupted by the server, and the arrival of Artemis’s brothers who slide onto the seats next to us.
Oh shit. This wasn’t in the plan. Or was it? Did he do this? A quick inspection of Artemis’s face tells me thisdefinitelywasn’t in the plan.
Ares helps himself to a slice of bacon. “We’re going to need a lot more food.” He directs his words to the server, but he doesn’t take his eyes off his brother’s sizzling cheeks.
Ares and Apollo give their really long orders to the server, while I keep my eyes on their brother who is probably shitting a brick right now.
I obsessively realign the heavy pewter silverware on the paper placemat, the cold steel a stark contrast to the heat rising in my face as the brothers squeeze into our booth, making the wooden bench groan under the sudden weight.
