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Brayden groans. “Fuck off, Marco. This is all your fault. There will be hell to pay, know that.”
Marc holds his hands up. “Hey, I didn’t record or post the videos online.”
Brayden doesn’t seem to care about that. This has seriously soured his mood. I mean, I’m sure it’s not exciting to know that experience is online, but he seems to be overreacting a bit. Then again, if I was as private of a person as Brayden is, I’d probably be rocking in a corner from panic right now. He seems pretty close to that level.
“Let’s see the dance again,” Bruiser pushes like an idiot.
Brayden decides to ignore the guys.
“Are you bringing her to the BBQ?” Rossy asks.
Brayden tenses, so I’m taking that as a no. They keep peppering him with questions, but he stays silent. This will all be forgotten about soon, I’m sure. I forget about it the moment I step out of the building and head to my car. There are a few texts from Sylvia, so I check them as I walk.
Sylvia: There’s dinner here if you’re hungry after the game.
Sylvia: I told Lizzy.
Sylvia: What the hell is Brayden doing singing karaoke?
“Scotty!”
I turn around at the sound of the rough tone and see one of our new teammates, Sergey Orlovsky. “What’s up, Serge?” I ask.
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“Where’s good place for food?” Sergey is still learning his way around, obviously.
“What are you in the mood for?” He just shrugs and pats his stomach. “My wife already has dinner ready if you want to follow me to my house.” When he frowns, I add, “It’s fine and I promise the food will be good.”
“Okay.”
I text Sylvia to give her a heads-up. He follows me to my house. I expect Sylvia to greet us, but it’s Stella and Stephanie who rush over. They skid to a stop and glance back and forth between me and our visitor.
“Hey, this is one of the new guys on the team, Sergey Orlovsky. Serge, these are my daughters, Stella and Stephanie.”
“What position do you play?” Stella asks.
“I’m winger,” he answers.
“Hey, where’s Momma?”
“In here,” she shouts from the kitchen. “Go sit in the dining room.”
Sergey follows me, the girls follow him, and I tell him to sit. The girls start to show off the nails they apparently had done while I see if Sylvia needs help. She’s coming out of the kitchen with two plates loaded with food, though, so I walk by her to grab a couple of bottles of water from the fridge.
“Are you dating anyone?” I hear her ask when I reenter the room.
“Sylvie, stop. He’s still trying to learn his way to and from the arena and everything. He doesn’t need you trying to set him up.”
“I’m married,” Sergey gruffly tells her. Sylvia’s eyes widen and I know she wants to ask why he’s not at home eating food his own wife cooked instead, but Sergey adds, “Thanks for food.”
“Of course.”
Stella asks where he’s from. While she’s distracting him, I grab Sylvia’s wrist and pull her over to me to kiss her real quick. She looks better than usual. Happier. Less burdened. At ease. That’s the best term. She doesn’t seem so anxious anymore.
“Quit ogling me and eat your food,” she whispers before giving me another kiss and then turning to our daughters. “Stella, there will be plenty of time to talk to Sergey later. Let him eat in peace.”
“She’s fine,” he tells her.
