Page 110 of Unrivaled

Maxwasthat thirsty, but he didn’t have to advertise it to anyone but Grady. He slipped on a pair of loose exercise shorts—looser on him than on Grady, because Max’s metabolism made keeping an ass like that impossible—and a T-shirt, and went to go find his boyfriend.

Maybe he should’ve borrowed a swimsuit instead, since everyone was gathered around the pool, with the sliding doors open to let in a breeze.

Picking out Jess was easy, since he’d seen her at the NHL Awards, but given enough time Max would have recognized her anyway. She looked a lot like Grady, with the same serious face, dark hair, and blue-green eyes. She had a starfish-patterned towel wrapped around her hips over a red two-piece swimsuit, and her hair was wet.

The other two women were still in the pool, batting a beach ball back and forth. Max assumed the taller, blond one with the broad shoulders was Amanda—she had a hockey player’s musculature—which made the redhead standing in the shallow end Polly.

Grady was sitting in the shade near the door with his phone in his lap. He glanced up and smiled when Max walked out. “Hey. You’re up.”

“Looks like I’m late to the party. And overdressed.” He perched on the end of Grady’s lounge chair.

“You could always take your shirt off,” Grady said sweetly, like he didn’t know Max’s nipples were currently not safe for public consumption. He rearranged his feet on either side of the lounger to give Max room.

“Oh no. My delicate East Coast princess skin needs time to adjust to the climate.” He turned toward Grady’s visitors. Now or never. “I’m Max, by the way. Hi.”

“Oh my God,” Amanda said quietly. “Seriously, Jess?”

Across the pool, Jess threw up her hands. “It wasn’t my place to tell you.”

Amanda must have recognized Max as Grady’s archnemesis. “Surprise?”

Polly and Amanda waved and introduced themselves. Then Grady cleared his throat and Jess stood up from the other side of the pool and walked over.

She held out her hand. “Hi. I’m Jess.”

Max stood to shake it. She was a tall woman, not quite eye level with him, and she had a firm grip that said she’d dealt with a lot of men having handshake pissing contests in her life. “Nice to meet you in person. I don’t think that phone call counts.”

Polly and Amanda had climbed out of the pool, and now Polly glanced over. “Phone call?”

Jess cleared her throat as her demeanor went from aloof older sister to chagrined girlfriend who really didn’t want him to elaborate. “Ah, yeah. Thanks… for that, by the way.”

Max grinned. “Any time.”

When the breeze picked up, they went inside. Grady and Polly headed toward the open-concept kitchen to discuss a late lunch, and Jess and Amanda cornered Max in the living area.

“So.” Amanda propped her chin on her hand on the edge of the sofa. “How long has this been going on?”

“What’s ‘this’ exactly? The official relationship? When we started banging?” Maybe they wanted to know how long since Grady picked out Max’s dishwasher?

“That’s the wrong question anyway.” Jess tucked her legs up on the couch. “The real question is, are you ready to play against him again the day after tomorrow?”

Max snorted. “I don’t know if you know this, but I’ve played against your brother a few times this season. He got traded in the middle of the last game, though, so that sucked.” Not to mention the whole breakup thing.

“At least we’re past the trade deadline?”

True. “Anyway, believe it or not, I’m actually good at leaving the game on the ice.”

With a glance toward the kitchen, Jess said, “That’s not what I was worried about.” At first Max thought she meant Grady—which, fair enough; Grady wasn’t the most graceful loser Max had played against. But then she said, “I meant the media circus that’s going to happen because the internet isn’t sure if Grady’s in love with you or in love with the idea of punching you in the face.”

Grady carried over a tray of sandwiches. “I mean, it’s both.” Behind him, Polly had a stack of cups and a pitcher of iced tea.

Max blinked. He’d forgotten all about that. His phone had been a social-media-free zone since the trade.

Grady set down the tray and put his hand on Max’s shoulder.

“Right.” Jess cleared her throat like she was somehow trying to draw attention from Max’s vulnerable moment. “So anyway, yeah, have your agents not been in touch about how you want to handle that? Because Grades, no offense, but subtlety isn’t your strong suit and the media is definitely going to ask for Max’s take on your comments.”

Unfortunately, she was right. Max had mostly escaped having to talk to the media as the newest Piranha so far because he hadn’t been scoring much. The questions had focused on how he was adapting and then, last night, how it felt to finally get that first goal in his new uniform. But hockey reporters loved rivalries. Instead of the same bland answers and feigned respect—you could never say anything that would get you characterized as arrogant when the entire hockey fanbase expected players to act humble, even if the other team objectively sucked—rivalries brought out sound bites likethey hate us as much as we hate themandif my sister dated a Monster? I’d probably disown her.

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