Kiss and Don't Tell(70)

“Yup,” Hornsby says. “He doesn’t mess with our girl and get away with it.”

“Our girl?” I ask, brows raised.

“Yeah, our girl,” Hornsby says while leading Winnie back to the rock.

Ah, hell.





“I want to hear all of the embarrassing stories about Pacey,” Winnie says over the roar of the fire.

After the boys ganged up on me and had me down after three rounds, I sat out and watched them all peg each other, leaving Winnie the winner in the end. It was rather comical, watching her scream and run in a zigzag motion—her classic move—as the other guys booked it for the woods.

Stephan called us in to dinner and we all quickly changed out of our wet clothes and enjoyed some homemade pizza. It was fucking delicious. I found out Winnie really likes meat, which confuses me, because I keep thinking she’s a vegan because of her egg allergy. But no, she very much enjoys the meat. Once dinner was done, Taters brought out s’mores ingredients and we all headed to the firepit and roasted some homemade marshmallows. Our stomachs are absolutely full now, Winnie is curled against me, wearing one of my Agitators sweatshirts, which looks fucking amazing on her, and we’re all enjoying some fireside conversation while the stars overhead are sporadically blocked by rolling clouds.

“We don’t have to talk about me,” I suggest, squeezing Winnie tightly.

“No, I like that idea,” Posey says as he takes down one last marshmallow. I’ll never know how that man has a six-pack with the amount of crap he consumes. He has to be one of those lucky fucks with the good genes.

“Where do we even begin?” Taters asks, while tapping his chin.

From behind his book, Holmes says, “The skates interview.”

What the hell, Holmes?

“Nah, we’re good with that story,” I say, waving him off. “We don’t need to recount what happened.”

“Ooh, sounds good if Pacey doesn’t want it told,” Winnie says.

Taters and Hornsby are laughing behind their hands.

“Oh, it’s good,” Posey says. “Really freaking good.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“You know”—I yawn—“I’m getting tired and, wow, Winnie, you really need some sleep. It’s best that we leave right now.”

Ignoring this, Posey leans toward Winnie and says, “Last year, before the first home game of the season, they were awarding Lawes with the Vezina Trophy.”

“What’s that?” Winnie asks.

“An award for best goaltender of the season,” Hornsby answers. “Your boy has received it five times.”

Winnie turns to me in surprise. “Wow, seriously?”

I lean in and whisper, “Don’t look so surprised. I’m really fucking good at what I do.” At least I was before I got hit in the head.

“Anyway,” Posey continues, “it’s this big ceremony in front of tons of fans, and there was this guy on the team, Igor Novikov. He hated Lawes, because according to Novi, Lawes stole his girl one night.”

“Oh, is that right?” Winnie asks.

“No, he thought I did, but I didn’t. Dude was delusional, and he also was psychotic.”

“Facts,” Taters says. “He knew Pacey was getting his award out on the ice, so he put clear tape on the bottom of Pacey’s skates.”

“What does that do?” Winnie asks.

Hornsby chuckles. “Makes it impossible to skate on the ice. They called out his name to receive his award and Pacey comes flying off the bench and totally eats it in front of tens of thousands of people.”

Winnie covers her mouth and laughs.

“And because he’s a prideful man, he kept attempting to get up. After his third fall, he caught on and instead of skating, he tiptoed his way to the award ceremony, where he tripped one more time and landed face-first into the commissioner’s wife’s boobs.”

“Stop it.” Winnie laughs out loud. “He did not.”

Being the silent but deadly one—apparently—Holmes hands his phone over to Winnie, cued up and ready to show the award ceremony.

“Dude, what the hell?”

Holmes doesn’t say anything, just goes back to his book as Winnie presses play. Together, we watch as I crash and fall to the ice. Her hand goes to her mouth again as she silently chuckles. I tippy-toe across the ice, and then at the last minute, plummet straight into a set of breasts.

“Oh . . . my . . . God, that’s just—that has to be the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Seeing it in real life was particularly special,” Taters says. “I like to show it on the TV screens in the locker room every once in a while, you know, when we need a pick-me-up.”

Winnie watches it again, and because she’s having such a good time, I allow it, despite the laugh being had at my expense. “Is this Novi guy still on the team?” she asks.

“Nah, traded last season. He’s playing in New York now.”

“I might have to start following him on social media, if he has an account.”

“He does,” Taters says with a laugh. “And it’s a serious thirst trap. Dude only posts pictures of himself with his shirt off.”

“Ooh, my kind of account to follow, then.”