“You owe us steak.”

Hands clutching to my steering wheel, I send a quick, get-the-fuck-out-of-my-car glare at Harrison and Beaumont. “Yeah, I heard you two the first time—thirty minutes ago. Get out of my truck.”

When Gwen called, we were at a Brazilian steakhouse after landing at Logan International Airport from our game against Toronto. No matter the day of the week, Gwen James trumps steak. Always.

Andre leans forward in the back seat, dropping his elbows to the center console and somehow—miraculously—shoving his massive shoulders between the two front seats. “Harrison,” he draws out in a sing-song tone that makes me want to punch him, “we can’t fault him. His fair lady has finally called. He’s ready to make a fool of himself and come in two seconds flat. If anything, we should be giving him steak. He’s going to need it when he embarrasses himself.”

Teeth clenched, I mutter, “I hate you assholes.”

“You don’t.” Duke pats me on the shoulder in an aren’t-you-special kind of way. “But you do owe me a steak.”

I furrow my brow, frustration getting the best of me. “You had steak last night with Jackson in Toronto.”

“It was mediocre. Can’t compare to good Boston steak. The fact that you made us leave after we already put in our order has got to be illegal somewhere.”

I’ve already pointed out that they could have easily taken an Uber home from the North End, but I secretly think they wanted to spend the drive back to Beaumont’s house just giving me shit. If I were in their position, I’d probably do the same. But since I’m the one on a time constraint, they’ve got to go.

“Got it,” I grunt, flicking the locks in my truck so they’ll get the hint. Click, click, click. “Now get the hell out of my truck so I can beat Gwen back to my house.”

Beaumont’s brows shoot inward as his phone goes off. “Give me a sec,” he says, raising one finger up. My head drops back and I stare at the ceiling of my truck. Six years after meeting Gwen James and I finally get my shot with her, and there’s a solid chance it’s going to be blown to smithereens because my teammates are the worst jerks on the planet who don’t realize that trash-talk can be toned down off the ice.

“Hey baby,” Andre practically coos into the phone. On the ice, Andre is King Sin Bin, aka the toughest son of a gun there is in the NHL. Around us, his teammates, he still toes the line of perpetual bastard—it’s in his DNA. Around his fiancée, Zoe, he’s nothing but a pile of mush. “Oh, yeah,” he goes on, glancing out the window to their shared Colonial-style house, “we’re sitting in the driveway . . . Nah, we’re just having a little talk with Hunt here about sex . . . Yes, with Gwen. Yeah . . . yeah”—he taps me on the shoulder and I glance back—“Zo wants to talk to you.”

Jesus Christ.

I motion for the phone but Beaumont only pulls it away from his ear and taps on the screen.

“Hello?” Zoe’s sweet voice comes in loud and tinny. “Hunt?”

Someone just put me out of my misery. “I’m here, Zoe.”

Next to me, Harrison chuckles quietly before drawing out his own phone and tapping away.

“Oh, hey!” If I squint hard enough, I can see Zoe standing in the window of her living room waving at me. The curtain is pulled wide and her shadow is illuminated by the living-room light behind her. “Listen, I’m so glad you’ve decided to give my girl a chance. She really likes you.”

“That’s . . .” Good, I finish in my head. But “good” doesn’t even begin to cover how I’m feeling right now. Fucking anxious does a better job of it, and, even more appropriate—I feel shocked that Zoe knows something like that. Gwen is notoriously tight-lipped when it comes to her emotions, but I do think I’m slowly knocking down those steel walls around her.

Finally.

“Hello?”

My hands inadvertently squeeze the steering wheel at the newcomer’s voice—Charlie Denton’s voice.

I jerk my gaze to my teammate. Harrison only shrugs and palms his phone to his opposite hand. “I thought she’d feel left out if we didn’t include her. She’s known Gwen the longest.”

“That’s right!” Charlie says, and I have a feeling she’s pointing at the phone. “I have known her the longest, and I think we can all agree that our Gwenny has come a long way, and if you break her heart I will break your dick, Hunt.”

Well, things just escalated quickly.

Straightening in my seat, I bite out, “I have no plans to break her heart.”

“We’re honestly more worried he’ll forget how to have sex he’s so excited.”

There is only one thing keeping me from punching Andre and it’s the fact that we have ladies present. “I think I’ll be okay, guys. Now can you please, for the love all things holy, get the fu—”

“Wear a condom,” Charlie tells me, followed by Zoe piping up, “She’s on birth control because of lady issues but best not to get sloppy on the first go-round. Strap up, Hunt.”

“Out.”

My two teammates erupt into laughter as they grab their duffel bags by their feet.

“We’re being dismissed,” Harrison tells his girl as he pops his door open. “I think Hunt is on the verge of coming undone.”

“I see what you did there,” Charlie answers with a robust laugh. “Is he red in the face?”

Harrison pulls his duffel strap over his head and then eyes me. “Red as a damn fire truck.”

I’m going to murder them all.

I honk my horn, not even caring who I might be disturbing in the neighborhood. “Out! I have places to go, people to—”

“Bang?” I hear Zoe shout from Beaumont’s phone. It’s possible I’m also hearing an echo, considering the fact that she’s standing less than fifty feet away. “You better make it an amazing banging experience, Hunt. I know where you sleep and Gwen deserves the best.”

With another obnoxious honk of my horn, my teammates slam their doors shut and then scatter onto Beaumont’s front lawn. I turn up the radio volume to drown out their laughter as I peel out of the driveway.

I can’t get back to my house quickly enough.