“I mean…” Denny says with a shake of his head. “If you invited a chick to poker night, that would just be weird. Wait—is that terrible? Am I being an asshole?”
“No, no,” Kenji says, looking relieved. “I had the same thought. So maybe I’m an asshole, too. But poker night has a vibe, you know? I mean—I love women.”
“So do I,” Denny insists. “Almost anywhere, anytime.”
“But not poker night,” CJ agrees. “Phew.”
And now I have emotional whiplash.
“So who is this guy?” Denny demands. “Where’d you meet him?”
“At my bar, of course. He was a regular.”
Kenji grins. “And then one night you took him home after work?”
“Aww, our little Forest is thawing out,” coos Denny.
“Well no,” I admit. “He asked me out, and I said no.”
“Of course you did,” CJ scoffs. “Who’s surprised?”
Nobody raises a hand.
“But then we were short a goalie for one of our games,” I add. “And guess who’s a goalie?”
They all crack up. “No way,” Kenji says. “He seduced you with his moves in the crease?”
“Something like that.”
They roar as Denny shoes us into the great room, where the poker table lives.
“Tell us more,” Kenji demands. “Can’t wait to see what kind of guy is Forest’s type.”
“He’s…” How do I even describe Beck? “Well, he’s younger than I am.” That’ll be the first thing anyone will notice. “And more fun. But we both have crazy schedules, so we don’t get to see much of each other. And this week he bailed me out twice. Picked up Charlie from hockey and then tutored him for an hour. And then Ruby gave him a hard time.”
There’s a collective groan—the same one we make whenever someone mentions their ex.
“He play poker?” Denny asks. “That’s all that really matters here.”
“Of course,” I say.
The doorbell rings, and everyone turns toward the front of the house with matching curious grins. They’re practically salivating. Kenji even rubs his hands together.
How do I get into these situations?
I move toward the door, but Kenji leaps forward, winning the race. He swings open the door with a flourish. “Hey, man! You must be Forest’s date. We could not be more curious.”
“Thanks, I think.”
I find myself smiling. Typical Beck.
He looks good, unzipping his parka to reveal a blue button-down shirt with little white flowers all over it. It’s dapper in a way that catches me off-guard. And dark jeans that fit like they were tailored just for his strong body.
“I’m Kenji, and you are…?”
“Becker James?” yells Denny with obvious disbelief. He actually shoves me out of the way for a better view. “The Ice Cats’ goalie?”
“Yup,” says Beck, shifting a box under one arm so he can shake hands all around. “Some of the time, anyway.”
