by Elle Kennedy
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Mustering up my last ounce of patience, I ask, “Where’s the key?”
Her eyes flick down her body, and the dirty smile she gives me tells me everything I need to know.
No. Nope. Not dealing with this tonight.
Without a word, I stride across the room to the chaise where I left my coat, then grab my duffel from the floor.
“Where are you going?” the shocked puck bunny screeches.
“Away,” I answer tersely. I march toward the door, adding over my shoulder, “Don’t worry, I’ll let the front desk know you’re here.”
The last thing I hear before the door swings shut behind me is, “You come back here, John Logan!”
Un-fucking-real.
Out in the corridor, I release a string of expletives under my breath, then, bypassing the elevators, stomp toward Garrett’s room. I’m way too tired for this crap. The thought of going back downstairs and having to explain the situation to the front desk, then ask to see the manager, arrange for a new room, risk them calling Coach or someone at the franchise for a signature or some shit. Forget it. Too much effort, and it’ll cost me a solid hour of sleep.
“Are you stalking me?” Garrett grumbles as he opens the door to find me there. He’s shirtless, barefoot, and wearing a pair of plaid pants.
“I’m bunking with you tonight,” I mutter in lieu of explanation, then muscle my way into his room. I drop my stuff on a chair. “Let me just use the phone first.”
“Are you serious right now?”
I ignore his exclamation and reach for the phone, punching in the button for the front desk.
An overeager male voice slides into my ear. “What can we do for you, Mr. Graham?”
“Hi, this is actually John Logan, Garrett’s teammate. I’m supposed to be in room fifty-two-twelve, but there’s currently a naked woman handcuffed to my bed—”
Garrett barks in surprise, then releases a howl of laughter that he muffles with his forearm.
“Since the sole keycard is in my pocket,” I continue in a tight voice, “the only assumption I can make is that an employee gave her access to my room. Or she stole one, somehow. Either way, it doesn’t look good for you guys.”
On the edge of the bed, Garrett is doubled over in laughter.
“Oh boy,” the hotel clerk blurts out. “I am so sorry about this, Mr. Logan. We will send security to your room immediately and get you back in there as soon as—”
“It’s fine, I’ll be crashing here with Mr. Graham,” I cut in. “But yes, please send someone to my room. We have an early flight, so if security needs to talk to me about this, I’ll find them before we check out.”
I hang up without another word, which I know is rude, but now I’m tired and cranky, and I don’t want to talk anymore tonight. With anyone.
“You got an extra blanket in there?” I nod toward the closet as I kick off my shoes.
Garrett gets up to check. A moment later, he tosses me a duvet and a pillow, which I carry to the small couch under the window. My legs will be dangling off the side of that thing, but at this point, I don’t care. I just need to sleep.
“Swear to God, the puck bunnies in the pros are next level,” I gripe.
“Hey, it’s a rite of passage, dude. You’re not a pro hockey player until a crazy naked girl breaks into your hotel room.” A grinning Garrett watches me arrange my makeshift bed. “Welcome to the league.”
5
Grace
Does #Wesmie Have Some Competition?
New couple alert?!
OK, let’s not get our hopes up, ladies and gents, but could it be?? Do Ryan Wesley and Jamie Canning, Toronto’s beloved pair of married hockey hotties, have some competition?? Are Boston’s star forward Garrett Graham and breakout star John Logan HOOKING UP???!!
Check out these leaked photos from the San Jose Marriott and tell us what you think… Two friends innocently sharing a hotel room due to a mishap, or two teammates caught in a compromising position after Saturday night’s game between San Jose and the visiting Bostoners???
The official story is a crazed fan broke into John Logan’s room, but our source at the SJ Marriott hinted this could be a big, fat cover story to disguise the fact that GG and JL are indeed together.
“They were spotted in the elevator looking very cozy,” the anonymous source told Hockey Hotties. “Several guests reported seeing them.”
And hotel security cameras show the couple (omg!!!!) sharing a romantic drink in the lobby bar late that night.
Oh, and did we mention they were also “roommates” in college?!
All we know is, we are shipping this SO HARD!!! How about you??! Comment below with your thoughts!!!!
I don’t think I’ve ever rolled my eyes this hard. HockeyHotties.com isn’t exactly a paragon of journalistic excellence, but I feel like their content just gets more and more ridiculous. I click on the photos accompanying the article and laugh out loud when I see them.
There’s two grainy shots of Logan and Garrett in an elevator, standing about three feet apart. And a few shots of them in a lobby bar—clinking beer bottles in a toast. Sipping their drinks. Brows furrowed as they discuss something. Garrett grinning at whatever Logan just said.
In other words, not at all scandalous.
Meanwhile, on the huge flat screen in our living room, the Boston-New York game is in progress. I glance up from my phone to see my boyfriend skate across the screen. As always, he looks sexy as hell in his uniform.
My phone beeps with another incoming message. Our girls’ group chat has been lighting up ever since Hannah texted me a link to that hilarious article.
ALLIE: Why does this writer use so many question and exclamation marks? It’s!! So!? Annoying!!!?? And this is coming from a girl who loves exclamation marks.
I laugh at that. Allie is dating Logan’s former teammate Dean, and as a tiny, blonde tornado of energy, she does tend to use a lot of exclamation marks in her texts.
SABRINA: I think the more important question is—what are Hannah and Grace gonna do now that we know their boyfriends are secretly banging in elevators?
HANNAH: I feel so betrayed.
ME: For real. They’ve been sleeping together this whole time and haven’t even let us watch??!?
HANNAH: !!!
SABRINA: !!?!!
ALLIE: !!!??
My gaze strays back to the TV. It’s still so surreal seeing Logan on television. Like, that’s the man I love, right there on the big screen for everyone to see. A few more games like tonight, and it’ll be Logan’s name on the signs all those women are holding up. GARRETT I’M YOURS! is the one currently being showcased by the crowd camera.
Logan scored his third goal of the season during the team’s last power play. Now he’s once again on the ice, charging the net. My heart jumps to my throat as I watch his stick slap the puck at the net. The goalie makes the save. Ugh. New York then secures the rebound and zips off with it.
HANNAH: All seriousness, G told me about the girl who snuck into Logan’s room. That shit is the worst. Last time it happened to us, I was actually IN THE ROOM when the hockey stalker snuck in. It was that weekend in NYC—remember, Allie? We went to that restaurant with your dad.
SABRINA: “Last time”? How many times have random crazies broken into Garrett’s hotel rooms?
HANNAH: We’re on #3. Which isn’t terrible. Shane Lukov’s wife said they’re almost at a baker’s dozen.
ALLIE: Holy shit. Bitches be cray.
I have to admit, when Logan called me the morning after the San Jose game to give me the heads-up about his intruder, I wasn’t thrilled to hear it. I’m not typically a jealous person, but the thought of some other woman naked in my boyfriend’s bed makes me a bit…homicidal. Hearing from Hannah that it’s not an uncommon occurrence does bring some comfort, I suppose.
ME: I don’t know… Can we even be sure there WAS a hotel stalker? I mean, according to HockeyHottie
s.com, it’s a cover for G&L’s sordid affair.
HANNAH: Good point.
ALLIE: !!?!!!!
I tap out a quick goodbye to the group chat before tucking my phone away and reaching for my laptop. My psych professor sent us a list of the readings for next semester, so I figured I’d get a head start over the holiday break. It’s been getting harder and harder to juggle my course load and work responsibilities this year. I can’t wait until graduation.
I glance at the TV to check the score, but the rest of the game isn’t very competitive. Boston is kicking ass. Logan takes a scary-looking hit in the third period, but he hops right back up and skates away, which tells me he’s all right.
As the post-game interviews waft out of the surround sound, I alternate between staring at my laptop and absently scrolling through my Insta feed to see what my mother is up to. Mom spends her days painting in her studio, traveling when she’s not feeling creative, and constantly posting photos of her adventures. I really hoped she’d be able to come home for Christmas, but she had a gallery opening scheduled that week. So now I won’t be seeing her until after graduation, when I visit her in Paris for a couple of months.
How sad is it that my life is so hectic I need to learn about my mother’s escapades via social media? I make a mental note to give her a call tomorrow. With the time difference, it’s too late to call now.
Just after midnight, Logan stumbles through the door. My favorite part about home games is seeing him return at a semi-normal hour.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he says when he spots me on the couch. He went out for drinks with some teammates after the game and his hazy expression tells me he’s buzzed.
“Hey.” I click the remote to shut off the TV, which had been playing Friends reruns. “How’s your arm? That hit in the third looked painful.”
Logan flexes his sculpted forearm, then rotates his wrist. “All good,” he assures me. “I’m invincible.” He walks over to kiss me. As always, my heart sings the moment our lips touch.
I love this guy so frickin’ much. I promised myself I wouldn’t be that clingy, whiny girlfriend who bitched and complained about how often her boyfriend travels. And don’t get me wrong, I don’t complain. I understand his schedule is brutal, I really do. But that doesn’t mean I don’t hate every second we’re apart.
“How was your night?” he asks, flopping down beside me.
“Boring. All I did was study.” I grin at him. “Although it did pick up after Hannah told me about your forbidden love affair with Garrett.”
Logan snorts. “You saw that stupid blog post, eh? Lukov showed it to us in the locker room after the game, and everyone had a great time ragging on us for it. Our D-man Hawkins kept asking when the wedding is. Grygor offered to officiate.”
“That was sweet of him.”
“Had to break his heart and tell him there won’t be a wedding, no matter how good G’s BJs are.”
“Wow. Garrett takes the time to pleasure you with blowjobs, and you won’t even marry the guy? Heartless, Johnny. Heartless.”
He falls backward with laughter, leaning on his elbows. “Yeah, sorry. But I’m already planning on marrying someone else.”
“Oh really?”
“Really.” He smirks. “It’s you, by the way.”
“Oh really,” I say again.
“Really.” Those deep blue eyes gleam with intensity. “I told you a long time ago—you’re it for me, Gracie Elizabeth. I’m going to marry you one day.”
Pleasure heats my cheeks. Logan’s not the most romantic man on the planet, but when he does express his feelings, he doesn’t do it halfway.
“Who says I want to marry you?” I tip my head in challenge.
“Don’t you dare pretend we’re not forever.”
A smile breaks free. He’s right. I’m not that good of an actress. “We’re definitely forever,” I say firmly. “But don’t forget—when we get married, we’re eloping.”
“Perfect. That way my mom doesn’t wind up in jail for murdering my father, and we get to spend all the wedding money on a sick honeymoon.”
“For what it’s worth, the other day Daisy was also saying we should get married.”
“Yeah? And what’d you tell her?”
“That even if we wanted to, it’d be a miracle if we could find the time,” I confess, offering a self-deprecating smile.
“Aww. There’ll be time. I promise. Now c’mere and tell me how your day was,” he says, tugging me toward him.
I rest my head on his broad chest as we lie on the couch and chat about our respective days. His was obviously more exciting than mine, but Logan listens to me describe the news radio show I’m producing as if I’m regaling him with tales of exploration and wonder. He’s overcompensating, I know this. And I know he feels like shit about being gone all the time, being too exhausted to pay attention sometimes when I tell him about school or work.
“You’re not working tomorrow night, right?” he says, cutting me off midsentence.
“Nope, the station’s closed on New Year’s Eve. Don’t need to go back until Friday.”
“Perfect.” There’s satisfaction in his voice.
I sit up and study his face. “Why are you so interested in my schedule?”
Logan’s not great at hiding his emotions. I can tell he’s fighting a huge grin.
“What’s going on?” I ask suspiciously.
“I think the real question is—who’s going where?”
“What does that even mean?” This guy is so exasperating sometimes with his random acronyms and cryptic riddles.
His happy smile breaks free. “It means we’re going away tomorrow,” he announces, sitting up. “I’m stealing you away for two days.”
I stare at him in surprise. “For reals?”
“For fucking reals.”
“Where are we going?” I demand.
“That’s for me to know and for you to find out.” Logan pauses. “Well, actually, it’s not a secret. We’re going skiing in Vermont.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Oh, are we?”
His smile falters. “Trust me, I’d much rather whisk you away to an island where you could wear a string bikini and I could eye-fuck you all day long, but the team’s flying out to Houston on Friday. So two days in Vermont is all I can—”
“Two days in Vermont is perfect!” I interrupt, throwing my arms around him.
He nuzzles my neck, placing a soft kiss there. “I found us a bed-and-breakfast near Killington. It’s super isolated and rustic, but it looks cozy. Oh, and there’s a private ski hill we can use at a nearby resort.”
“Sounds awesome.” When my hand moves to his face, Logan presses his cheek to my palm and rubs against it like a happy cat.
My fingertips travel to his lips, and he gives them a teasing nip. “It’s not fancy,” he admits. “I couldn’t find anything better on such short notice, but it’s got a bed and a fireplace, which is all we really need, right?”
“Bed and fireplace—the staples of life,” I agree solemnly. Then I beam at him. “This is such a terrific surprise.”
“You sure?” He anxiously searches my expression as if evaluating my honesty.
“I’m positive.” I run my fingers through his close-cropped hair and gaze at him reassuringly. “I can’t wait.”
6
Logan
I’m excited for this trip. Sure, it’s not a tropical beach, but the change of scenery will do us good, and I’m looking forward to escaping my obligations for two whole days. No morning skates, no backbreaking games and sore ribs. Just me and Grace for forty-eight stress-free hours, without anyone or anything getting in the way.
When I was in college, I drove a beat-up truck that I fixed up myself. Hell, I rebuilt the entire engine on that old thing—twice. Nowadays I’m driving a brand-new Mercedes. My rookie salary isn’t even that much compared to what other players are raking in, and yet it’s still more money than most people make in a decade.
But this new vehicle lacks the charm of my old one. The engine barely makes a sound, and when we’re off the highway and driving on an uneven, unpaved road, the suspension proves just as efficient. The SUV barely moves as it coasts over various potholes.
Despite the peak performance of my new ride, I let out a wistful sigh. “I miss my pickup.”
Grace looks over. “Aww, really?”
“I really do.” I couldn’t even bear to sell it, so it’s currently sitting in my older brother’s garage. We both know I’ll have to get rid of it eventually because it’s just taking up space, but I’m not ready to say goodbye yet.
“Your truck didn’t have butt warmers,” Grace points out. “Butt warmers are the best.”
“They are the best,” I agree.
A notification appears on the screen at my dashboard. Since my phone’s hooked up to the car, my text messages are synced to it. “Text from Dean,” Grace tells me.
“Ignore it.” I make a grumbling noise. “He and Tuck are terrorizing me and G in the group chat about the blog post.”
“And you expect me to ignore that?” Her eager hand snaps forward. After she taps a button on the screen, Siri begins reciting Dean’s words.
“I just don’t get it. We were all roommates in college. I never even suspected you two were boning!”
Grace chortles happily. “It’s even better hearing it from Siri. Ooh. There’s one from Tucker.” She taps “next message.”
“I always had a feeling. They kept trying so hard to act like they were platonic.”
“Because we were platonic!” I growl.
“Were?” my girlfriend says sweetly.
“Are,” I correct. “We were and are platonic.”
Another message from Dean comes in.
“Sneaky bastards.”
I hit a button on the screen. “Siri, send text to Best Buds Forever chat.”
“Best Buds Forever?” Grace howls. “That’s the name of your group chat?”
