Good Boy (WAGs #1)(22)

By the locker next to mine, Wesley strips out of his sweaty jersey and pads and flops down on the bench wearing nothing but his hockey pants. His chest has a sheen of sweat, and his hair is a mess as he drags one hand through it. It’s his left hand, and I burst out laughing when I notice his ring finger.

“Dude, when’d you get that done?” I grab his hand and pinch just under the knuckle, where he now has a wedding ring tattooed on his skin.

“Ouch,” he gripes, shoving my hand away. “It’s still sore, motherfucker. Got it done last night.”

“Too cool to wear an actual ring?”

“No, I was tired of having to take it off for practice, and I can’t keep it on ’cause I don’t like the way it feels when I’m wearing my gloves.”

“Bad move, dude,” Eriksson calls from the other side of me. I turn to see the horrified look on his face. “You got a permanent wedding ring? Jesus! Have fun explaining that to whoever you date after the divorce.”

My jaw drops. “Bro,” I say in warning. I mean, that was really uncalled for. I get that Eriksson is going through a rough time, but Wesley and his man are still newlyweds. Did the fucker just hex their marriage?

But Wesley is unfazed. “That word doesn’t exist in my vocab,” he says cheerfully. “Canning and I are forever.” He strips out of his pants and disappears bare-assed into the shower area.

I scowl at Eriksson. “So not cool.”

“I know.” He has the decency to look repentant, rubbing one hand over his overgrown beard. Has he not shaved since the wedding? Sure looks like it. “Fuck. I’ll go apologize. It’s just…Kara filed for sole custody this morning.”

Shit.

“Shit,” I say aloud.

“I get it, all right? My schedule doesn’t really let me be a full-time dad, but sole custody? We could’ve had joint custody. The girls could’ve stayed with me when…” He stops to think, and I might be a wee bit slow, but I can see his thought process clear as day.

When would his twin girls stay with him? A couple nights a week when he doesn’t have games? Or when the team is playing at home? Maybe, but that’d mean leaving them with a sitter those evenings he’s at the arena. Off-season, then? A few weeks in the summer?

I hate to say it, but maybe his soon-to-be ex-wife has a point about the sole-custody thing.

“Whatever,” he says abruptly. “My lawyer will deal with it. I need to shower. I stink.”

He charges off before I can respond. Man, I feel bad for him. Can’t be easy dealing with a divorce at the start of the season. It’s still pre-season, though, so maybe he’ll get his head on straight before October.

“Really? Nobody has the balls to tag that? Well, I will,” a smug voice drawls from the other side of the room. “The girl is smokin’. Like, fuckable to a whole other level.”

“Quit it with that,” someone else mutters.

“Lemming hears you and you’ll have his fist in your jaw,” our captain Luko warns, referring to our other teammate who’s also going through a breakup right now. “Exes are off-limits, newbie.”

The newbie—Will O’Connor—just scoffs. “I’m not gonna keep my mouth shut just because of some archaic bro code. I fucked two of my teammates’ exes in Nashville and look—” He pats his chiseled jaw. “—still in one piece.”

Yeah, then why aren’t you still in Nashville? I want to call out. But I keep my trap shut, because I’ve already had several run-ins with the fucker, and they all almost ended with my clocking him a good one. Me, a pacifist! I don’t hit peeps off the ice. I don’t even think about hitting them.

But this guy… This guy. O’Connor is young, cocky and a total pain in the ass. He says shit without thinking, and that’s gonna get him in big trouble one day. Hell, it already has. There’s a reason he keeps getting traded, and it’s not because his former teams are collecting draft picks.

“Back me up, Riley,” O’Connor says when he catches my eye. “Lemming’s ex. You’d tap that, right?”

“Nah, I like my nose where it is—on my pretty face.”

The dark-haired newbie rolls his eyes. “Whatever. You guys are all pussies.” He strides past and ducks into the showers.

Luko and I exchange a grim look. “Trouble,” our captain murmurs. “Got a lot of growing up to do, that one. Keep an eye on him, will ya?”

Damn. I knew I shouldn’t have accepted that assistant captain patch. Seems like O Captain My Captain is always giving me the shit tasks.

I make my way to the showers, smack Wesley’s ass as I come up beside him and dunk my head under the hot spray. O’Connor is across the steam-filled space, soaping up his dick and ignoring everyone. I guess he’s pissed that nobody wants to tag-team Lemming’s ex with him. Christ, I hope he doesn’t make a move. Claire and my teammate were together for two years before she left him. Lemming will shit a brick if our newest manwhore puts his grubby hands on her.

“What are we having for din-din tonight?” I ask Wes. One of the perks of being his upstairs neighbor is that I never have to eat alone. All I gotta do is ride the elevator down five floors and I’ve got two willing dinner companions waiting for me.

Well, maybe they’re not always willing. Sometimes they’re reluctant. Sometimes they try to kick me out, but it’s all in good fun. Wes and Jamie would cry buckets if I stopped being their friend.