Page 69 of The Big Puck

I snort. “What about me?”

“Don’t pretend you’re made of stone. How’s Lainey doing? How’s your relationship?” He watches me closely, and I push back from the desk, putting some distance between us in a tell-tale reflexive action. Shit.

“What relationship?”

“That bad? I could’ve sworn you two had a connection. That’s how it looks to me, anyway. She’s very attractive. Full of sass—”

“She’s not my type.”

“Beautiful, smart, and vivacious young women aren’t your type?”

“No. Especially the vivacious part. Plus, as you know, she’s very young—too young for an old guy like me.”

“Only if you’re going by the age of your soul. The rest of you seems in good shape.”

I snort a laugh and give him the finger. He grins.

“She’s too young, too innocent, too filled with hopeful rainbows. I’m a feet firmly planted on the ground kind of guy.”

He nods. I can see he’s unconvinced, and not because I need my great powers of observation to read him. He doesn’t hide it. A blind monkey could read him.

“Whatever you say. You’re the boss of you. But don’t let Gavonza bother you.”

“Easy for you to say. He didn’t threaten you with ruining reputations.”

Rafe frowns. “Whose reputation?”

“Lainey’s. Mine. Not that I’d let him get away with it. I’m working on dealing with him.”

“If you need help, let me know. I’m up for that mission. The guy’s garbage. I feel sorry for his daughter.”

I nod. “I know. That makes things tougher. Whatever happens with Gavonza, I wouldn’t want it to hurt Tina.”

He gives me a fist bump and stands.

“Good meeting. We’ll need to do it again.”

I laugh. It’s easy to do with Rafe, at the rink, in my office, here in my element where I feel I have a modicum of control and people of the same mindset around me. It’s easy to forget the capriciousness of life.

I’d move in and live here if I could get away with it.

But no matter how hard it is, I can’t stay away from my own home and Krissy.

I’m tough enough to deal with two women, even when one of them is Lainey Hall, the untouchable temptress. Maybe if I bore them with talk about nothing but hockey, they’ll leave me alone.

* * *

Three weeks into the season, we’re still holding onto a winning record, but we’re well behind the division-leading Boston Brawlers. Arriving home at seven for dessert because Aunt Hildie told me it was a command performance—Lainey’s birthday—I grab the gift-wrapped box and mentally prepare myself to remain professionally distant yet pleasant. Sure. Good luck with that.

Opening the back door to step inside my kitchen shouldn’t give me trepidation or the kind of anticipation I’m feeling—the kind I have no business allowing where my dick is involved. But I can’t help looking forward to watching her open her gift.

I push the door open and stop, looking around, stunned and wondering who did the decorating. There are balloons and streamers everywhere. A big colorful Happy Birthday Lainey sign and the overwhelmingly decadent scent of chocolate cake. At the center of the kitchen table sits a giant three-layer chocolate frosted cake that looks homemade and is covered in candles.

Around the table sit three grinning faces, all staring at me as if it’s my birthday.

“Who did all this?”

“Spencer,” my Aunt says in a disappointed voice.