Page 77 of On the Breakaway

The doorbell rings.

Sloane lights up. “Oh my God, people are here.”

Wyatt groans. “Here we fucking go.”

People show up in groups. It’s mostly guys from the team at first, but before long, bodies crowd every room. People are packed shoulder-to-shoulder around the kitchen island, spilling out onto the back patio beneath hanging string lights. Someone turned a basketball game on in the living room even though nobody’s watching it.

Wyatt looks one social interaction away from disappearing into his bedroom and never coming back out.

“This is exactly why I didn’t want a party,” he mutters beside me in the kitchen while watching some winger from our second line almost fall into his television, holding a vodka soda.

“You’re being dramatic.” I slide another tray of food onto the already overcrowded counter.

“I have randoms pissing in my bathroom.”

Across the kitchen, Sloane pops up onto the counter beside Wesley while Liam argues with Nathan about playoff statistics loud enough for three separate conversations to stop and listen.

When Wesley got here, I thought maybe Avery would be with her, but after an hour of watching the door, I’m starting to think she won’t show up.

Not that it matters.

Nathan points with his beer bottle. “I’m telling you right now, Toronto’s defense collapses under pressure.”

“And I’m telling you,” Liam fires back, “that you say that every single season before they somehow beat us anyway.”

“They’re for sure going to beat our ass without Nathan on the ice,” Wyatt adds.

“I am pretty fucking amazing.” Nathan shrugs.

“Pretty sure we have Wesley to thank for that, considering she kicked your ass into gear when she trained you all winter,” Wyatt chirps.

Wesley nearly chokes laughing, and instead of arguing otherwise, Nathan’s eyes go soft looking at her.

The front door opens again, letting in another wave of people. Avery’s not with them.

Before I can banish her from my mind, Sloane hops off the counter.

“Oh, Avery texted me,” she says while checking her phone. “Her Uber is pulling in.”

“You and Avery got close fast,” I say casually, twisting the top off my beer.

Wyatt snorts. “Yeah, you’ve known her for like a week.”

“And yet I’d trust her with my life.”

“That feels irresponsible,” I mutter.

Sloane ignores me. “She’s hilarious and hot. I want to be her when I grow up.”

Wesley laughs into her drink. “You’re only like five years younger than us.”

“Good. That just means that I don’t have to wait too long for hot one-night stands and the best orgasms of my life.”

Every thought in my head stops cold.

Nathan nearly spits out his beer. Wyatt’s eyes focus on the floor, hands dragging down his face.

“Unfortunately, that special Avery skill doesn’t come with age,” Wesley adds, laughing.