Page 45 of Big Rucking Disaster

Both Axel and Ed had been sober for almost a decade, so no booze or pot tonight. Just good old-fashionedfun.

Mickey chuckled. “You have no idea what you’re in for.”

“Nope. Not a clue.”

When Yardley and I stepped into the house late that night, my feet ached, I was a little woozy from lack of sleep—we’d had an early practice this morning—and on a natural high from just having had so fucking much fun.

“You’re okay with me staying the night?” I could’ve gone home. My car sat parked in his driveway since we’d gone together in his SUV so as to not take up an extra parking spot at Ed and Thornton’s house—where the celebration had taken place. Their extensive estate had easily accommodated the band, roadies, partners, and Hugo’s family.

Axel didn’t have any blood relatives—just the members of his band.

“Why didn’t Hugo have more teaching friends?” He’d only brought Yardley and two others. I toed off my shoes since my host hadn’t said anything about me not staying. The twenty-minute drive home felt insurmountable. God, I was exhausted.

“They wanted to keep the gathering intimate.” Yardley bent over to untie his laces, affording me the most awesome view of his ass.

After Hugo had cockblocked us last weekend, we hadn’t started up where we’d left off.

I’d called Roger, who’d looped in Isaiah and Jason, and the four of us gathered for drinks at Jacks to strategize how I’d survive the shitstorm.

In the end, doing nothing had been the answer.

As Pauletta said, things had just…blown over.

Carly wasn’t as hot shit as she thought she was, and even her five-hundred thousand followers weren’t all that sympathetic to her clear attempts to take me down.

My seventy-five thousand followers rallied around me and offered support.

The local media hadn’t even poked their heads above the parapet in interest. Now, if I’d been a Canuck or a Lion, things would’ve been very different. Pro hockey and football were next level. Soccer too.

Pauletta hadn’t been wrong, though, when she suggested rugby was picking up traction in Vancouver and elsewhere in Canada.

“Did you know Grindstone’s manager suggested the band record an anthem for my team?” I hung my suit jacket on the coatrack. The thing was a little worse for wear and would require dry cleaning. Oh well, having toddler Mia’s chocolate-covered fingerprints all over the thing was totally worth it.

That child had zero fear of strangers, and when she decided she really liked my man bun, that had been that. She’d spent about ten minutes trying to pull it free.

I brushed the hair from my eyes now.

God only knew what’d happened to the elastic after she threw it off into the plants in the garden where we’d taken a stroll.

To get some fresh air and to get away from the chaos of the party.

She’s appeared to enjoy herself—in her yellow frilly dress.

“I think that’s an awesome idea.” Yardley rubbed his eyes. “But I don’t know how that would happen.”

“Me either—but I gave her the name of our publicity director. I’m certain she could’ve found it herself, but I wanted to seem like I was helping, you know?”

“Because it’s a great opportunity?” He hung his suit jacket over the back of a kitchen chair. “Okay, I want a shower and then to crawl into bed and sleep for a month.”

“Sounds good. You mind if I use your guest bathroom?”

“Nope. Have at it. And if we’re quick, there should be enough hot water. I keep meaning to get an on-demand system, but it’s never a priority. My downstairs tenant has her own tank, so I never have to worry.”

“I can be quick.” For the first time in a week, I ventured into his personal space. I snagged him around the waist and pulled him close. “Kiss?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

I cocked my head. “Why didn’t you say something?”

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