Page 2 of Make the Play

“You okay?” Charlie tilts her head at me, eyes narrowing.

I gesture haphazardly towards the tables. “Yeah. Just… the flowers.”

Her gaze follows mine and softens when she sees them. She doesn’t ask, just nods. It’s my favorite thing about my best friend. Sometimes we don’t have to say a damn thing to know exactly what the other is thinking.

I clear my throat. “Anyway, shouldn’t you be off eating the cake you convinced Tamara she needed for her wedding day?”

Charlie’s eyes light up. “That’s where I’m heading right now.”

Jake predictably moves with her.

“You sticking to her like a shadow all night, Brooks?”

He doesn’t even blink. “Have youseenmy fiancée? She’s hot. And she’s having my kid.”

Charlie laughs, bumping her hip into him playfully. “Come find me later,” she says to me before heading toward the dessert table.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes as I watch Jake trail behind her. “Stay away from the chocolate brownies, you two!”

Charlie flips me off over her shoulder.

Delightful. So maternal.

“Think he’s always been like that, or has their engagement activated some kind of protective caveman gene?”

I turn to find Logan Miller, rookie defenseman and affectionately known as “Pookie,” sitting at a nearby table with Reid Hutchison, the Storm’s veteran goalie.

“God, I hope it’s not genetic,” Reid mutters. “Or we’re all screwed.”

Logan hums in agreement. “Concerning.”

“Why?” I frown. “Planning to settle down soon?”

“Hell no,” he says quickly, glancing at me. “I just don’t want to start following my future wife around like a lost puppy one day.”

Reid takes a sip of his drink. “Trust me, kid. It’s a privilege when they let you follow them around.”

I raise a brow, not expecting such a quip from the grumpiest man alive. “Hutchy, are you secretly a doomed romantic?”

He doesn’t deny it, just smirks and nods toward Logan, then the dance floor. “Speaking of doomed romantics…”

I follow his gaze to a beautiful blonde in soft blue chiffon, laughing as she half-dances, half-goofs around with one of the other bridesmaids. “That’s Tallulah, right?”

Logan blinks, then clears his throat. “Uh, yeah… Lulu. Eli’s sister. Bridesmaid.”

Lulu twirls dramatically, loses her footing, and drops into a chair with a theatrical laugh, her arms raised like she meant to do it. Logan’s eyes don’t leave her as several Storm players rush to help her anyway, elbowing for the chance.

Eli, sitting at the bridal table nearby, clocks the sheer number of them intent on steadying her with as much body contact as possible—and launches from his seat, face hilariously red and stern.

Logan exhales on a frown. “Jesus Christ.”

“She’s a beautiful…” I search for a word.

Logan doesn’t. “Problem.”

I snort. “Yeah, you’re screwed.”

“What?”

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