Joel scratched his belly, yawned, stretched in nothing but his boxers, then finally flopped into my little cream-colored armchair. He scrubbed a hand over his face as if he was trying to rearrange it, shook his head, then squinted blearily from Dante to me and back.

“You two look good together,” he blurted out. “Like, balanced. All curves and muscles and stuff.”

He slapped his face with his hands several times, then shook the last of the sleep off. Re-energized, he grinned at Dante.

“What’d you want to talk about?” he asked.

“It’s time to call a truce,” Dante said authoritatively, stroking my hair. “I’ll stop giving you shit, you stop acting like you’re the whole team on the ice, and we call off the stupid bet.”

Joel shot him a sideways glance. “Why? Are you afraid to lose?”

“Joel,” I sighed, exasperated.

“No, really, I’m asking. Yesterday it was ‘I don’t care what coach says, I’m wiping the floor with you’, and today you want to call a truce?”

Dante sighed and nuzzled my head. He really was affectionate when he wanted to be. I hoped that he would want to be for a very long time.

“We’ve been acting like kids,” Dante said. “I should have put a stop to the hazing before it started affecting your performance. I certainly shouldn’t have participated. I was pissed off because I thought you’d been handed the golden ticket without doing any work for it, and I let that get the better of me.”

Joel frowned thoughtfully and nodded, running a thumb along his jawline.

“I guess I should have been trying to learn from you instead of trying to outdo you,” he said. “Probably should have come to practice.”

“Yeah, you should have,” Dante said with just the slightest hint of frustration. “The only way you’re going to make it is if you have the team behind you. The whole team, respect and all. Can’t get that if everybody thinks you’re passed out, hungover in a gutter somewhere while they’re skating their asses off.”

“Yeah,” Joel said ruefully. “I mean, that makes sense. But…”

He shook his head and looked out the window, brushing a hand over his short crop of hair. Dante waited patiently for him to speak, absently running his hands over my shoulder and thigh, sending a curl of sleepy desire twisting in my belly.

“They’re going to hate me,” Joel finished finally. “They’ve been waiting for me to get kicked off the team for months. Longer than that, maybe. I don’t think anybody wanted me there to begin with, and I think I’ve kind of screwed it all the way up.”

“Doesn’t work that way,” Dante said, shaking his head. “When you’re part of the team, you’re part of the team. The Harriers are family. Beyond family. We’re a single living, breathing organism. You’re part of us for as long as you’re with us, period.

“It’s going to be a little awkward at first, and you’re going to get hassled. Be straight with them. Clear up the rumors they’ve been spreading around. Don’t take any shit from any of them. I’ll back you up.”

Joel whipped his head to look at Dante, surprise written all over his face.

“You will?”

“Yeah,” Dante said with a slightly uncomfortable shrug. “You’ve got the most potential of any player I’ve ever seen…apart from yours truly, of course. I would be betraying the Harriers and the game itself if I didn’t bring you up right.”

He spun his words with deflective, humorous pomposity, but his intentions were clear. Joel’s surprise faded into a pleased grin.

“Well, all right,” he said. “If I’ve got the legend at my back, I figure I can do pretty much anything.”

“Good,” Dante said with a satisfied nod. “So the bet is off.”

“Nah,” Joel said with an evil grin.

I snapped my head around to glare at him, words of fury ready to launch in my throat. He held a hand up quickly.

“Hold on, hold on,” he laughed. “Okay, the bedding bet is off. Bedding bet…that’s fun to say. Bedding, betting, bed bet. Anyway. Yeah, that’s done, that’s over, no bet. However…” He crossed his arms and lifted his chin, his eyes flashing a challenge at Dante. “I still say I can hit more goals than you can this season.”

“Oh, really?” Dante laughed, straightening his shoulders. “You’re on. Preferred terms?”

Joel started to shrug, then stopped.

“All right, here. Better than some humiliating forfeit thing. Loser buys lunch for the team.”

“Oh, come on—that’s not even an incentive,” Dante protested.

“At Thai Palace,” Joel finished.

“Ah,” Dante said, drawing the syllable out in understanding. “You’re after my spot on the wall!”

“Maybe,” Joel joked, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “Can you imagine the look on the poor guy’s face when he sees you come in, head hung in shame, with me marching ahead of you as the new reigning king?”

“Not gonna happen,” Dante shot back.

He unwound from me to crack his knuckles and neck, as if he were ready to prove himself right there and then. I never thought I would be glad that I didn’t have an ice rink in my building. I never thought I would be thinking about ice rinks in my building, for that matter. This article had turned all of my expectations upside down, and I was loving every second of it.

“Then we have a deal?” Joel asked, putting his hand out.

“Deal,” Dante agreed, shaking his hand.

They held the grip for a long minute, each of them turning darker shades of red with each passing moment.

“Oh for the love of God! Enough, enough,” I scolded, slapping their linked hands. “How are either of you going to play with a broken hand? Men, I swear.”

Dante laughed and kissed me, and Joel furtively massaged his aching hand. It occurred to me that I should probably feel self-conscious or something, hanging all over Dante with Joel right there, but I didn’t. Nor did either of them seem to expect me to. Maybe we had all miraculously managed to land on the same page.

I probably shouldn’t rock that boat, I thought. But I needed to know where, if anywhere, this was going. With both of them.

Before I could say anything, though, a powerful knock sounded on my door. Frowning and irritated at the thought that it might be Luis again, I walked to the door. Dante and Joel exchanged a look and followed me; something in the rhythm or force of it sounded like danger, and the two of them must have picked up on it as well.

“Livia Ramos?” a strange voice said from the other side.

“Yes?”

“Portland P.D., open the door please.”