“Don’t tell me we lost the bet.” Walker skated up to Henny the moment he stepped onto the ice, punching him in the shoulder. “What the hell are you doing here? Thought you were on house arrest.”

Henny took a slug of Gatorade. He was cotton-mouthed and dizzy as hell, but after a failed attempt to work out at his home gym, he found himself driving over to the practice arena. Gallagher hadn’t really said one way or the other about practices during his suspension, so he’d decided to take the chance.

Forcing a grin, Henny said, “Guess I’m just a sucker for your love, Walker Dunn. Where’s Gallagher?”

“Conference call,” Dunn said. “Eva’s in charge.”

“You must love that,” Henny said.

“I let her have her way on the ice, she let’s me have my way in the bedroom. Win-win.”

Henny grunted. “Don’t let her hear you say that. You’ll be sleeping with the dog.”

“Speaking of having your way in the bedroom, how was your night, sunshine?”

“Fine.” Henny finished the Gatorade, then chucked the bottle into the trash.“I need to warm up. Catch you in a few.”

After a couple laps around the rink, Henny slid back into formation with Dunn and the rest of the guys, lining up for Eva’s power skating and edgework drill combos. Her particular brand of torture was exactly what Henny needed today. Something hard, painful, and punishing to blast the lingering booze from his system and obliterate all thoughts of Bex.

Naked.

Touching herself.

In her bed.

Next to him.

Jesus.

His dick bulged at the memory, even as his brain warned him to cut it out. He hadn’t even begun to process what had happened between them. The fact that neither of them could remember the details might’ve been a blessing… if only Henny hadn’t woken up to an eyeful of her sweet, creamy flesh…

Lock it down, asshole.

Refocusing on the ice, he watched as Eva demonstrated the newest drill, then launched himself toward the other end of the rink with the rest of the pack. The snap of cold air made his eyes water, but he pushed on, slashing over the ice, pumping harder and faster, getting himself into the zone.

The slash of blades, the hum of the ice machines, the shouts of his teammates, Eva’s shrill whistle… the sounds of the Tempest practice arena were familiar and comforting, but no matter how hard he worked, all thoughts led back to Bex.

How the fuck did we end up in bed last night?

He replayed everything he could recall, but things got real fuzzy after the tequila. Was there a kiss? He remembered looking at her mouth, remembered the shot of desire he’d felt when she licked the lime from his thumb. There were a few more shots after that, her laughter, the silky brush of her hair in his fingers, the taste of her skin… Did she climb into his lap? Had he grabbed her, pinned her against the wall as she begged for more, or was that a dream?

Fuck. Putting the pieces together was like trying to hold water.

“Feel free to join us any time, nineteen!” Eva shouted from the goal line. The rest of his team members were already lined up for another drill, leaving Henny in the dust. He’d completely missed the whistle.

When he got into the lineup, Dunn nudged him. “What the fuck happened last night? Looks like you went three rounds with a yeti and lost.”

“Smells like it to," Roscoe said. “Weren’t you with Bex last night?"

“So you're my secretary now?" Henny asked. "You need to know my schedule?"

Dunn and Roscoe exchanged a look, but before Henny could defend himself, Eva was shouting at him to get moving.

Whatever.

He took off down the ice. On the outside, he was all sharp turns and adrenaline, pushing himself faster and harder, keeping up with Eva's demands. But inside he was in knots. Guilt burned a hot path straight to his gut.

He’d gotten his best friend shitfaced, in all likelihood fucked her senseless, didn't remember a goddamn thing, then bailed on her before breakfast because he didn't have the balls to sit down and talk it out like a man. If some other asshole had done that to her, he’d make damn sure that guy wouldn't mess with her again. Hell, that guy wouldn’t even be able to walk.

But now that guy was him.

How the fuck was he supposed to kick his own ass?

He skated over to the bench and grabbed a water bottle, pouring it over his face and mouth. When he shook it off and opened his eyes, Dunn and Roscoe were standing in front of him, gaping.

“You two want my autograph?" he snapped.

Dunn kicked ice into his face. “You wanna tell us why you're being such a dick?”

"I’d rather just be a dick in peace. Keep the mystery alive.” He was about skate away, but Eva was gunning for them across the ice, her eyes lasering in on Henny.

Great.

“Are you ladies done chitchatting?” she asked. “Or do you need a few more minutes to powder your delicate asses?”

Henny cracked a smile—first real one all day. He took great joy in the fact that even though Eva was engaged to Dunn, she busted his balls just as hard as she busted everyone else’s.

“Thirty-eight, forty-six.” She thumbed toward center ice. “I want you two working on your edges. We’ve got a tough matchup with Carolina tonight, and we’re down a starter.” Then, glaring at Henny, “You should probably call it a day, nineteen. Gallagher’s heading over soon, and he’s in no mood for your shit.”

“Eva,” Henny began, but before he could say another word, she held up her hand, eyes blazing.

“I’m not in the mood for you, either,” she said. “In case that wasn’t clear.”

“Over the Fellino shit?” he asked. Yeah, it was a dick move on his part, putting the team in jeopardy by getting himself suspended. She had a right to be frustrated, but this seemed a little over the top, even for her. “I know I screwed up, but he attacked my boys. Even knowing the outcome, I wouldn't change a thing."

Eva said nothing, just continued to glower. “Are you leaving?”

“No. I need the workout.”

“Then get to work,” she snapped.

The knots in his gut tightened. “Eva, am I missing something here?”

“Don’t you pretend like you don’t know what’s going on,” she said, jabbing a finger into his chest.

“But… I don’t know what’s going on.”

Eva huffed. “Just for that you’re all getting another round of passing drills. And you, Walker Dunn, are sleeping with Bilbo Baggins tonight.”

Henny actually laughed at that one. Bilbo was her seven-year-old daughter Gracie’s St. Bernard, big fucking drool monster.

She skated away, leaving the air temperature about twenty degrees colder.

Roscoe followed, close on her heels. “Eva? What about me? Do you still like me?”

“Great,” Dunn said to Henny. “Thanks a lot, asshole.”

Henny kicked the ice, heart hammering in his chest as he finally figured it out. This wasn’t about Fellino and the boarding call at all.

“Fuck,” he said to Dunn, who stood by his side despite the evil glare from his fiancée. “I told you we shouldn’t have gotten those two together.”

“What two?”

“Eva and Bex,” Henny said. “They must’ve talked this morning. Christ.”

“What’s up with Bex? I thought—” Suddenly, Walker’s face fell. “Dude, did she see our texts last night? She knows we’re just fucking around, right? I never meant—”

“I think we fucking did it.”

“You… Wait.” Dunn pulled off his helmet, took a step closer. “What?”

“You need a drawing? Me and Bex. Pretty sure we had sex last night.”

“Pretty sure? Dude.”

Roscoe skated back over with three sticks and a puck. “Eva’s on a rampage. Better get—”

“Henny and Bex finally left the friend zone,” Dunn said, taking his stick from Roscoe. That motherfucker had the nerve to smirk.

Henny blew out a breath. “Now that we’re all caught up, I gotta go. Good talk.”

“But what’s this ‘pretty sure’ shit?” Dunn asked.

“I don’t remember it,” Henny said. “Neither does she. We were drinking, and then… who the fuck knows? We woke up in her bed this morning hungover as shit.”

He left out the rest of the details of that little wake-up call.

“Jesus,” Dunn said. “How much did you drink?”

“Don’t ask.”

“Let me get this straight,” Roscoe said. “You finally slept with Bex, making all of our dreams come true, and you don’t fucking remember it?” Roscoe grabbed a handful of Henny’s hair, gave him a good shake. “You sure you weren’t the one who got his bell rung against the boards?”

“Touch me like that again, and you’ll get your bell rung.” Henny jerked out of his grasp, a fresh wave of dizziness crashing over his head.

“Last chance, boys,” Eva shouted. “Passing drills. Now. Or you’re all getting written up.”

The three of them geared up again and started their punishment drills.

“So what happens now?" Dunn asked, passing the puck to Henny. “Friends with benefits, or…?”

Henny slapped it over to Roscoe. ”You think I'd let it happen again?"

“Why not?” Dunn asked. “You two are tight as hell. You’re both adults. You’re obviously into each other. Why does it have to be some big fucking deal?”

Henny laughed. “So you’re the relationship expert now, Dr. Ruth? As I recall, you got your panties in quite a bunch over your little ice princess there, crying into your whiskey on Christmas while Roscoe and I consoled your weepy ass.”

“I can vouch for that,” Roscoe said. He banked the puck around the corner, sending Dunn chasing after it. Dunn nailed it back in Henny’s direction.

“She's not into it,” Henny said. “Neither am I. Last night never should've happened."

Dunn and Roscoe exchanged another one of their special little looks, then Roscoe said, “Dude. Pretty sure last night was years in the making."

Henny shook his head. It was pointless to explain—they wouldn't understand. No one did. Just because Bex was smart and funny and knew almost all of his secrets… Just because she’d been there for him in all the ways that mattered… And yeah, just because she was fucking beautiful… So what? That didn't mean he wanted to fuck her. Didn't mean he wanted their friendship to be anything more than that—friendship.

Did he?

Did she?

Oh, fuck. What if she had feelings for him, and he’d just been too dumb to see it all these years? What if she thought he had feelings? What if all this shit had already wrecked their friendship?

His head was spinning again.

“Well apparently Bex told your fiancée the whole story, so if anyone knows anything, it’s Eva.” Henny slapped the puck over to Dunn as they made their way back toward the rest of the group. He hated himself for what he was about to ask, but he was at a total fucking loss, grasping at straws. ”Maybe you could talk to Eva, find out where Bex’s head is at?"

“Noooo.” Dunn barked out a laugh, slamming the puck down to the blue line where second-line forward Lance Fahey was waiting to scoop it up. “There’s not enough room in that dog house for both of us, my friend.”

“Plus,” Roscoe chimed in, “Dunn’s a cuddler. Kind of invasive if you’re not into it.”

“Look," Dunn said, “I’m the last guy to advocate talking about your feelings. But maybe you should, you know, talk about your feelings. Sit her down, lay it on the line, see if there's more to this than friendship."

“There isn’t,” Henny insisted. “I don’t have feelings for her—not like that. We’re—”

“Incoming!” Out of nowhere, a blue-and-silver burst shot across the ice, crashing into Henny from the side.

Just one of the guys fucking around, but today was not the day. Henny twisted around and grabbed the guy’s jersey, slamming him against the boards.

The guy was laughing his stupid ass off.

“I come to check you out,” he said, his damn Russian accent like a jackhammer to Henny’s skull.

Kuznetsov.

Russian hockey players are my Kryptonite…

He tightened his grip on the jersey, shoving Kooz harder against the boards.

Eva blew her whistle.

Fuck. Henny was losing his shit. Backing off, he released Kooz, smoothed out the wrinkles in his jersey. “Sorry. Bad day.”

“Hey! Don’t turn into mush on me, nineteen.” Kooz flashed him a smile that left no doubt as to why Bex had a thing for the Russian goalie.

Asshole.

“Just friends, huh?” Dunn shook his head, skating away with a smirk the size of Texas plastered across his smug face.

“One question.” Roscoe clapped Henny on the back. “When can we start calling you guys Benny? No? How about Hex?”

If this shit wasn’t so supremely fucked, Henny might’ve laughed at that one. “Whenever you want your ass beat. That’d be a good time.”

“Rain check? I’ve got drills to finish.” Still laughing, Roscoe skated off.

Henny let him go. Didn’t matter what the guys thought. Playing it cool was the only way to go here. The only way to not make things worse.

So as confused and—unfortunately—turned on as Henny was, that’s what he’d do. Play it cool. Move on with his life. And forget this whole mess had ever happened.