Joey

Filed under things I never thought I’d do is following my boyfriend’s family to our seats at Bridgestone Arena to watch him play a pre-season game

There’s so much nonsense in that sentence, I don’t know where to start.

But I know my heart’s in my throat. I know I’m terrified Zeus’s parents will hate me. I know I could royally fuck things up with Chase Jett today, when he’s about two steps from handing Weightless a quarter of a billion dollars.

Yeah.

More holy shit nonsense. I’m a kid from the sticks.

Since when is my business worth a quarter-billion-dollar investment? It’s worth every penny, but hearing the number—just fuck.

I also know Zeus isn’t having the best training camp of his life.

He’s off his game.

The only thing different from every other year of his hockey career?

“It’s just so amazing to see Zeus so serious about someone,” Ambrosia says to me as she offers me some kind of organic nut and fruit mix she pulled out of her purse while we wait for the teams to take the ice. “He sells himself short, you know? Like he lets being a big old ape define him, when we know he’s more. I’m not sure he’s ever been on a date with the same girl twice before you.”

Me.

I’m the one thing different from every other year of his hockey career.

Music rumbles through the arena.

Zeus’s family all leap to their feet.

The Predators are playing the Thrusters today, which means Zeus and Ares will both be on the ice. It’s literally a family affair. With a side order from me to Zeus to knock some royal ass into the boards every chance he gets, because something’s weird with Gracie, and I think I know what it is, but I haven’t been able to prove it yet.

Yeah.

I’m dating a hockey player and worrying my sister’s sending a prince her own special Pussookies.

My life is so weird right now.

The Thrusters roll out onto the ice. It’s not as easy as I’d expect to pick out Ares when all the guys are suited up.

“He’s double-zero,” Ambrosia tells me. “Crazy-ass. Says it’s as high as he can count.”

A few fans chant Force, Force, Force, and he lifts a gloved hand in acknowledgment.

Zeus gave Ares my phone number right after I surprised him in his apartment a couple weeks back, and I’ve been getting random text messages from him with nothing but gifs. I’ve been answering back in emojis, and I think we’re beginning to understand each other.

He’s actually pretty funny. The gif with faces painted on someone’s butt cheeks, so they kiss when the cheeks clenched—I laughed so hard Peach came running. I’m hoping that wasn’t a self-made gif.

I’m also hoping his texts mean he likes me. Or at least doesn’t disapprove.

Not for my sake.

For Zeus’s sake.

He’s so much more than the world gives him credit for, and the only people who seem to see it is his family. He needs them.

Me?

I’m optional.

I squelch the shiver in my chest as the introductions for the home team start. When Zeus takes the ice, he circles it while the crowd roars. The Brute, they call him.

On the ice?

Yeah.

Off the ice?

He’s a teddy bear.

With a big mouth, a brilliant mind for attention-grabbing pranks, and the occasional accident that requires a bathroom remodel, but no one’s perfect.

Zeus stops at the Thrusters’ bench and shares a fist bump with Ares.

“They’ll pretend to beat the shit out of each other at some point before the game’s over,” Ambrosia tells me.

“No rubber chickens?”

She laughs. “Never know what Ares has down his pants.”

“Didn’t need that visual,” Chase tells her.

Zeus doesn’t play in the first period, but he comes flying off the bench as soon as the second period starts. He’s a defender, but he’s in the thick of things everywhere. I know there’s some sense to where everyone is, and I’m watching numbers and checking the program to understand positions and plays and theory. Ares is a power forward—he already scored once in the first period, and when he makes a mad dash up the middle with the puck, my heart almost stops.

Because Zeus is charging him.

And if these two collide, I swear to dog the force will probably make the roof shake.

At the last second, Ares swerves, shoves the puck between Zeus’s legs, grabs it on the other side, and slams it past the goalie.

“Holy fuck,” Chase says while Ambrosia and their parents scream along with half the rest of the arena.

Zeus scowls at Ares.

Ares grins and takes a fist bump from Manning.

“Zeus’ll get him back,” Ambrosia says.

Not anytime soon. He’s heading back to the bench.

A woman behind us leans forward. “Ohmygod, are you the Brute’s girlfriend?”

So fucking weird. “Yes.”

“Does he really make weird monkey calls when he…you know…”

Ambrosia chokes on her dried fruit and nuts.

I shift in my seat and look at the woman asking. She’s around fifty, draped in a Predators jersey, with librarian glasses perched on her nose, an oversized locket around her neck, and a wedding ring on her left finger. And she’s watching me expectantly like she wants a play-by-play of my sex life.

“Did you see the video we made?” I ask.

And now Ambrosia’s possibly dying.

The woman’s blue eyes go so round they could double as hockey pucks. She digs her phone out of her pocket like she’s going to look it up right now. “No.”

“That’s because there isn’t one. It’s none of your fucking business.”

She sniffs as I turn back to face forward. “His other puck bunnies say he does.”

Mrs. Berger stands now.

Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Berger are anywhere near as tall as their sons, but she’s mildly terrifying. “Are you badmouthing my firstborn?” she demands.

“I—”

“Do you want me to ask about your children’s night-night lives?”

Chase is ducking his head, shoulders shaking while he bangs on Ambrosia’s back. She’s spewing fruit chunks all over the cowboy hat on the guy in front of her.

“My—” the woman starts.

“If you don’t stop being vulgar, I’ll have security escort you out. And by security, I mean my son’s girlfriend. She’s a lean, mean, airplane-flying machine, and none of us need your baloney. Is that understood?”

“I have to go to the bathroom,” the woman says.

Mrs. Berger leans over and holds out a fist. “Well-handled, Joey. I like you.”

I bump, and I’m pretty sure we just bonded.

Zeus is watching us from the bench, which is just a few rows down. He’s got an intense game face on, but when his gaze locks with mine, something warm flickers in his eyes.

Can’t take you anywhere, Fireball.

I blow him a kiss.

His eyes widen—Who the fuck are you, and what did you do with my girlfriend?—and I smirk.

Go kick some ass, I telegraph.

Five minutes later, he’s back in the game. And when I say back in the game, I mean he’s fucking back in the game.

He’s flying over the ice. Stealing the puck. Slamming Ares into the boards. Fighting with Manning.

Earning himself a penalty.

While Zeus takes himself into the penalty box, Manning pulls his helmet off, grins, and salutes me.

I can’t decide if I like him or hate him.

It’s like he caught a cheerful rash and just can’t shake it. Even bleeding from the nose.

Like he’s not royalty at all, but just some guy who loves hockey and happiness.

Add that to the list of things that I never thought I’d encounter in my life.

If he has something going on with my sister, I’m going to have to kill him.

Not because that security check I blackmailed an old friend into running didn’t check out—it did, and he’s clean as a royal whistle. But because he’s only here for a year. Then it’s back to his home country. To his duties and responsibilities.

And Gracie’s not moving overseas.

She can’t.

She can’t leave me any more than I can leave her.

Which means the only thing she’d get from Manning is heartbreak. And I don’t know if I can live through that either.

Gracie isn’t allowed to hurt.

Ever.

The Predators keep the Thrusters from scoring again while Zeus is in time-out. When he breaks out of the box, there’s something charged about him.

And I’m not surprised when he steals the puck and takes off on his own down the ice. Charging the goal. The defenders try to stop him, but you can’t stop a bull train on skates.

You just can’t.

Physics says so.

He’s about to crash into the goal when he swerves, swings around the back of it, and taps the puck into the net from the other side.

I’m on my feet cheering. Fists in the air. Feet not even touching the ground.

Dog, he needed that.

He rolls over the wall to climb back onto the bench while a fresh string takes over.

Once again, his gaze locks with mine.

This time, he blows the kiss.

And for the first time in my adult life, I go red.

He notices.

I can tell by his gotcha back smirk.