Page 41 of Of Pucking Course

Isurvey the state of my bedroom and look over at my brother-in-law, Shawn.

“You really think you can get this done in a week?” I ask, looking over the pile of ripped-up carpet along the wall.

Shawn wipes the sweat from his brow and nods. “Oh, yeah. Easy.”

I chuckle and shake my head. He turns to me, frowning.

“I just remember how long it took you to renovate the guest bathroom of your house, right before Caitlin had the twins,” I say.

Shawn rolls his eyes, but I can tell that he’s holding back a smile. “You always bring up that one time I was late. Dude, the twins came early. Being a dad took priority over a bathroom renovation. I got it done. Eventually.”

“I know. I’m just giving you shit,” I say.

When I moved into my townhouse, my brother-in-law offered to rip up the carpet and refinish the hardwood floor underneath it for free. The last room in the place he has left to work on is my bedroom.

“Feel free to take your time with this,” I say to Shawn. “I really appreciate you redoing the flooring in my place. It looks incredible.”

“It’s the least we could do after everything you did for the twins when they were born. Best uncle ever.”

“I’d do anything for those munchkins.”

“Oh, I almost forgot. Liam and Layla wanted me to give this to you.”

He pulls a small keychain from his pocket and hands it to me. It’s a glittery hockey stick.

“They went to an arcade for one of their friends’ birthday parties and saw it in the prize bin. They want you to have it. They say it’ll give you good luck when you play.”

I gaze down at the small keychain in my hand, grinning so wide my cheeks ache.

“I love it. Tell them thanks for me.”

Shawn grabs a rolled-up section of the carpet and hauls it over his shoulder. I move to grab a section too, but he stops me.

“Hell, no. You’ve got a game tonight—the last one before playoffs. You need to rest, not throw your back out,” he says.

He’s probably right. “You sure you can haul all of this to your truck on your own?”

“Positive. I do this every day for work, remember?”

He walks past me and out of the bedroom. I follow behind him so I can get the door for him.

“How are things with your new roommate going?” he asks.

“Fine,” I lie while thinking about last night.

That conversation I had with Dakota was not fine.

I think about how she aimed those big brown eyes at me, all sleepy from how adorably drunk she was, andblurted out, “So you’re pretty kinky,” while biting back a smile.

I think about how she said the words “threesomes,” “porn,” and “handcuffs” with a teasing smile, and how my skin heated instantly.

Dakota and I have been friends for years, so we talk about all sorts of things. But we’ve never, ever talked about bedroom stuff. That’s off-limits…even though part of me wanted to tell her what I’m like in the bedroom.

It’s that same part of me that wanted to kiss away that sad look on her face on her ruined reception day, the part of me that wanted to sink to my knees and make her writhe and moan.

That part of me wanted to tell her exactly how kinky I can be, just to see the expression on her pretty face.

But that part of me didn’t win out. Because I know better than to let my best friend’s little sister see that side of me. She never, ever will.

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