Page 10 of Secret Pucking Unicorn

“That’s heartbreaking.” Daphne sniffles into a napkin she snagged from the holder on the counter. “Stupid hormones make me cry at everything. But I love you, Birdie.” She pats her belly. Logan is a golden eagle shifter and, since they don’t know the sex of the baby yet, they have taken to calling it Birdie.

“Everyone good with spaghetti?” Bless Stone Waller for changing the subject.

“Sounds great,” I say.

“Sure,” Kennie says distractedly. “Randi went to boarding school? I mean, I know where she went to high school, but I didn’t realize she was there as a boarder.”

She turns to Carter. “Did you know that?”

He shakes his head.

“She went to a bunch of them,” I say. “Her parents traveled all over the world for work, and they put her in boarding schools.”

They look surprised. They are her closest friends. They’ve known her for six years. How do they not know these basic things about her?

Coach claps me on the shoulder again. “Let’s save the interrogation for another time. We have all season and lots of time on planes and buses to poke around in their business. Who wants to play pool?”

“I will,” Stone says. “Let me get the water started for the pasta and go check the sauce I have in the slow cooker. Be right back.”

Taking a swig of my beer, I accept the pool stick Brick hands me.

She winks. “I can’t wait to watch this unfold. So many items for the betting pool. This is going to be great. And hopefully profitable.”

I can’t wait for something else to distract everyone. Maybe we can get Carter a girlfriend. He’s always good for some drama.

6

MIRANDA

It is either the smell of bacon cooking or the insistence of my bladder waking me. Whichever one it is, I roll out of bed and stumble to the bathroom.

“Oh,” I cry. Declan is shirtless at the second sink, brushing his teeth. His surprised blue eyes swing to me, and his toothbrush hangs out of his mouth.

“Morning,” he mumbles around his toothbrush as he goes back to his business. Needing to take care of mine, I go into the toilet room and close the door, locking it to be safe. I’m not sure if he can hear me pee, so I wait until he runs the faucet before letting loose. I didn’t consider this when I thought it wouldn’t be a big deal sharing a bathroom. I’ve shared bathrooms with other females, but never a man. A man I’m attracted to. Well, this will probably kill any crush I have on him.

Of course, walking in to find him shirtless was a wonderful surprise. He’s huge. I looked up his bio on the team website before I fell asleep last night and saw from the official stats he’s a few inches shy of seven feet tall and two hundred eighty pounds. But that’s all muscle. I’m seeing miles of smooth skin and not an ounce of fat. Stupid bladder. If it hadn’t been insistent about its need to be emptied, I would have had more time to enjoy the view. Instead, I mumbled good morning and rushed in here like a crazy woman.

I flush and come out, going to the other sink to wash my hands. He’s still at his sink, shaving now. I’m surprised he doesn’t use canned shaving cream. He has a tin with soap in it and a brush he wets and rubs over the soap, then he rubs on his face to get a lather. I watch, fascinated, as he takes the razor and scrapes it over his square jaw. His gaze flicks to mine as he rinses the foam and whiskers off in the sink.

“Did you sleep well?” His accent is the softer tone of his Irish side than the stronger Scottish brogue he had yesterday. Like mine, his accent absorbs what he is around. My Irish lilt is practically non-existent when I’m in America. When traces slip through, the assumption is I’m either from the southern US or sometimes Canada.

Nodding, I try to keep my gaze above his neck and not follow the drop of water trailing down his neck and between his pecs.

Swallowing my drool before it drips out of my mouth, I say, “I did. The sheets were perfect. Thank you for sharing.”

“I’ll share my sheets with you anytime. All you have to do is ask.”

It’s fascinating to see when he realizes how suggestive that sounds and watch the red flush stream up from his chest, up his neck, to the one shaved cheek visible and to both ears. It’s like a cartoon thermometer with the red rushing up the tube and exploding out the top.

My giggle sets off his laughter, and the sounds of our merriment echo off the tiles of the bathroom.

He’s the first to regain his composure. “Stop making me laugh or I’ll slit my throat and that would be a terrible start to the day.”

I can’t resist. I need to touch him. Before he resumes shaving his other cheek, I pat his biceps. His warm, hard, huge biceps I want to squeeze. But don’t. Because that would be creepy, and Declan is my friend.

“We can’t have that. I’m going to get dressed. Can I hitch a ride with you to the rink?”

“Aye. Whichever one of us gets to the table first, we’ll save bacon for the other, yeah?”

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