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“Ever since you got hitched, you’ve become boring, old man,” Jordan grumbled good-naturedly. “And fatherhood has just added to your—” he strangled out the word “—domesticity.”
“Dahlia is brilliant,” Cole countered. “Did I tell you she rolled over the other day?”
“No, but she clearly takes after Marisa. Beauty and brains.”
Cole just smiled rather than giving as good as he got—and that was the problem. Jordan wished for the old days. It was as if his brother didn’t even miss hockey. What was the world coming to?
“The only reason I’m here at the Puck & Shoot is because of Marisa,” Cole said. “She’s the one who encouraged me to come keep your sorry butt company.”
“You owe me one. More than one. You might not be wallowing in wedded bliss if it weren’t for me.”
“Yeah, how can I forget.” Cole’s voice dripped sarcasm. “Lucky for you, it all ended well. Otherwise, you could have been sporting a broken nose.”
Jordan grinned because this was a spark of the old Cole he was used to. “Luck had nothing to do with it. You and Marisa were destined to be together. And for the record, a broken nose would have just added to my sex appeal.”
Jordan had seen how unhappy his older brother had been when his reconciliation with Marisa had headed south, so he’d fibbed and told Cole that Marisa was looking for him—sending his unsuspecting brother to her apartment. Jordan had hoped that once the two were alone, they’d have a chance to talk and patch things up. They’d realize they were made for each other. In fact, Cole and Marisa hadn’t made up then, but shortly afterward. And in the aftermath, they’d invited everyone to an engagement party that had turned out to be a surprise wedding.
Sera had been at the event, of course, looking sexy and tempting. He’d only discovered at a fund-raiser a short time before that she was Marisa’s relative; there he’d recognized the attractive waitress from the Puck & Shoot whom he’d never had a chance to speak with and who always seemed to avoid him. The physical resemblance when she was side by side with her cousin had been unmistakable.
He’d gone slack-jawed, however, at Sera’s transformation from waitress to temptress in a blue satin halter-top cocktail dress. Makeup had enhanced her unique and arresting features—full lips, bold eyes and fine cheekbones that any model would have wept for. And the halter top on her dress had emphasized her shoulders and toned arms before skimming down over testosterone-fueling curves to endless legs encased in strappy, high-heeled sandals. Seeing an opportunity to make his move, he’d approached the two women, but Sera had swatted him away like a pesky fly that night...
Cole slapped him on the back. “You look pensive. Buck up. It’s not all doom and gloom.”
Jordan didn’t think his thoughts were showing, but maybe he was wrong. “Since you got married and gave up the mantle to become nauseatingly cheery, someone has to take over the role. And now both you and Rick are fathers.”
Cole’s face broke into a grin. “Yup.”
“Someone has to uphold the family reputation.”
“What reputation are you referring to? Being depressed and down?”
“No. Sexy and single.” If he wasn’t a professional hockey player and all-around chick magnet, who was he? He gave an inward shudder. Best not contemplate the abyss.
“All right, but from the looks of you, I’ve got to ask. What’s throwing shade on sexy and single?”
Jordan waved his beer. “The obvious.”
His latest injury had kept him off the ice for the end of the season, and his corporate partners—with contracts for endorsement deals—were starting to get restless. Not to mention his injury didn’t put him in a great position to negotiate his next contract with the Razors. Everyone knew that one Serenghetti had already had a career-ending ACL injury.
“I’m proof there is life after the game,” Cole said quietly.
“Yeah, I know, but if I can get over this injury, I should have a few more good seasons left.” He was on the wrong side of thirty, but he was still at the top of his game. Or rather, he had been. In the last couple of years, he’d shifted position from right wing to center and had had some of his best seasons ever. The one that had recently ended might have been just as good, except it had ended abruptly for him with a knee injury. Still, at thirty-one, he figured he could squeeze out another half decade at the top—if he had better luck than in the past weeks.
“Speaking of injury,” Cole said, nodding to the crutches that Jordan had propped against the bar, “what’s your game plan for this one?”
Jordan took a swig of his beer. Fortunately, since it was his left knee that had needed surgery, he’d been able to start driving again this week. “I’m doing physical therapy.”
Cole took a swallow of his own beer without glancing at him. “Yup, I’ve heard. Sera. So you weren’t joking when you mentioned it might be her you’d see at Astra...”
“News travels fast,” Jordan murmured. “I was just in to see her yesterday.”
“And I’m supposed to be here to convince you not to see her.”
Jordan tossed his brother a quick look. “Wow, so this is what it feels like.”
“What?”
“The first time a woman has tried not to meet me.”
