Dirty Puck Buddies: Hamilton Steelhawks, #4

Chapter One

@HamiltonSteelhawks Happy birthday to our favorite goaltender, Gilly!! #GoHawksGo

@Eddie4prez Happy birthday. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do

@timmytank man, he sucks. We could have made the second round if he didn’t let in softies

@lilygilly Go be a fan of another team.

Port Carling, Ontario, June 30th

Lorelei Wescott would hardly qualify walking through a forest with a backpack slung over her shoulder as an adventure. Ontario cottage country was far too tame, and anyway this path was actually a driveway. The wildest thing she might run into was a raccoon or a deer or a local who had already downed a two-four.

Australia—now there was an adventure. Spiders larger than her own hand didn’t faze her. She’d just spent a year there, and every off day had served as a chance to explore the coast or hike in the Blue Mountains. Hell, she’d even driven through the Great Victoria Desert in a minivan.

Still, when she’d parked her Rent-a-Wreck next to some Mercedes, her nerves had jangled. Sure, she’d been invited to this party—same as every year, even when the birthday boy knew full well she was nowhere near Ontario—but she hadn’t exactly RSVPed or anything.

One, she’d had no idea ahead of time if she’d be in the area that day. She was more of a spur-of-the-moment type of gal. And two, when it turned out she could come… Well, why not make it a surprise?

Her oldest friend, Laurent Gill, wasn’t even aware she was back in Canada. She couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when she strolled into his party.

She hitched her bag up her shoulder and took a moment settle her breathing. Damn, why was she even nervous?

That time at the club in Hamilton. Yeah, not one of her favorite memories. She’d just been passing through, and Laurent had insisted on her joining the party. The Steelhawks had just finished the hockey season, narrowly missing a playoff spot, and were ready to tear it up. So, she’d found herself on a banquette with dance music throbbing through her bones, downing shot after shot as she watched Laurent and his impossibly bulky friends drink from five-hundred-dollar champagne bottles. Surrounded by Instagram-worthy girls, naturally. One of the guys had even sprayed champagne all over and shoved a random chick’s top down to lick the droplets from her breasts, right there in front of everyone.

Whatever. To each their own. But she’d hardly managed two words with Laurent all evening. He hadn’t blown her off exactly, but it was clear the entire team was just there to party hard. It had left a bitter taste in her mouth. Weirdly appropriate that she’d ended the night bent over the toilet bowl after one too many Jägerbombs.

She squared her shoulders and continued up the lane. This would be different. Sure, there would be girls, booze, and other substances—she had even brought her own supply of weed, in case the quality was lacking—but this wasn’t some club. This was Laurent’s house. Laurent’s birthday. Surely, he’d make time for an old friend, especially one bearing a gift.

Besides, unless he’d sustained a massive concussion in the past few months, his playlist was sure to be way better than your average club tripe.

The trees lining the lane ended abruptly, opening onto an already full parking area, and behind it, what she could only describe as a huge, angular slab of glass and steel. She stopped and stared for a moment. It took a massive pair to design that and called it a house.

She made her way between rows of even more shiny, obscenely expensive cars. An incredulous laugh bubbled up her throat. You didn’t become a starting goaltender in the pros without a huge salary to go with it, and all of this was probably par for the course in the league, but still. Seeing it face-to-face was jarring. She and Laurent had spent the better part of high school hanging out at her house, smoking out of a homemade bong—as long as he didn’t have a game or practice. But this… It was simply surreal, the dream of every young boy starting out on his first pair of skates. Few made it this far, but Laurent had.

At the front door, she paused, running a hand through her curls and giving her clothes a quick check. Music blared from somewhere inside the house. Probably useless to knock.

She pushed on the handle, and the door opened onto a sprawling high-ceilinged space, with stairs running to a mezzanine. Her gaze immediately latched on to the tall, colorful painting of a crouching goalie over the mantle. Holy shit.

The Dominator! she exclaimed out loud, almost giddily.

When Laurent had signed his extension three years before with the Hawks, he’d bought this house. A pretty big place, he’d told Lorelei. And now that she had finally gotten the chance to make it all the way to Port Carling, she could see for herself how damn big it was. Still, she’d painted Dominik Hasek on a large canvas for him, as a housewarming gift, because there was truly nothing worse than bare, white walls. Laurent had talked her ear off about the Dominator all through high school, and she’d had fun working on that red and white mask. But she’d expected the painting to end up in a bedroom or a home office, not right above the mantle where everyone could see it.

Nice legs and she knows who Hasek is. Where have you been all my life?

Several guys sprawled on a large couch. The one who had addressed her, his words weighed under a heavy Russian accent, pulled on a joint, and two of his friends stopped scrolling on their phones to look her over. A fourth remained bent over to finish rolling a blunt, wavy tawny blond hair shielding his face.

Still impossibly bulky. Still giving off the vibe that they’d nail pretty much anyone with tits. But their size and their swagger didn’t impress her. Their brains would probably short-circuit once they realized she didn’t give a shit about mingling with pro hockey players.

Well, except one.

I’m looking for Laurent—I mean, Gilly.

That was what his teammates called him. Much easier to pronounce in English, Laurent had once told her. Plus from what she understood, hockey players went by nicknames. She supposed it was better than Larry or something.

What do you need him for when I’m right here, baby? the Russian replied.

She tilted her head. It’s his birthday, isn’t it?

The guy grinned. Maybe it’s my birthday, too. You got a little present for me?

Imagine so. She smiled and flipped him off. Here you go.

To his credit, he simply burst out laughing, along with his friends.

The blond guy finally looked up and blinked at her. You’ll have to excuse Kovy, he said. Weed doesn’t help his conversational skills.

Blow me, Presto.

Maybe later. You’re not my type, Presto replied evenly. Gilly’s out back on the patio.

She dropped her backpack by the door. Thanks.

She crossed the living space past an open kitchen. French doors opened onto a stone patio. A pair of speakers blasted AC/DC. Good choice. With a grin, she stepped outside.

Tall and lanky, with close-cropped dark hair, Laurent manned a grill on the far side of the patio, his back toward the window. Narrow hips swayed to the rhythm of The Jack as he waved his spatula.

Luc, get your ass over here and get me a shot! he called. Grouille ton cul. Plus vite, tabarnak!

Oh, the sound of him cursing in French still rolled over her same as always. She plucked a clean shot glass off the table strewn with bottles and half-empty drinks and poured a measure of vodka.

She tiptoed up to him and laid a hand on his arm. Quick enough for ya?

He turned, and his blue-green eyes widened in shock for a moment before his mouth stretched into a wide grin. Lorelei! Tabarnak!

He gave a loud whoop, and she handed him the shot. Happy birthday. Miss me?

Holy fucking shit.

Laurent never knew what to expect at his annual lake house party. Booze, girls, weed, those were a given. But beyond that, there was no telling where the night would end. Or rather the weekend. No telling how many puck bunnies a guy might rotate over forty-eight hours, or what sort of happy pills popped up, or who passed out buck naked on a deck chair at some point. Well, the answer to that last one was probably Rocky, if the previous years were anything to go by. Still, the night would bring its share of surprises.

Only he’d never imagined one of those surprises to be Lorelei. Here, in the flesh. God, he hadn’t seen her in over two years.

It was almost hard to believe that she was really standing there, grinning up at him, rust-colored hair framing her face in wild curls and dark eyes twinkling, as if she’d just pulled off the most elaborate prank. She wasn’t wrong. Christ, when he’d sent that invite, he’d been sure she was still in Australia.

He took the shot glass and tossed it back before pulling her into a hug so tight that her feet left the ground.

Oh my God, Laurent! she yelled. Put me down!

Not a chance, Wescott. It’s been too long. You get the full bear hug.

She pretended to struggle against him, but laughter burst from her lips. Raspy and deeper than most women. He’d forgotten how much he liked her voice. It just wasn’t the same on the rare occasions that they Facetimed.

Hey Lorelei, what’s up? I didn’t know you’d be coming! Laurent’s little brother stepped onto the patio, and he reluctantly set her on the ground, so Luc could greet her properly, with a kiss on both cheeks.

I didn’t know I’d be coming either, she admitted. Figured it out kinda last minute.

No surprise there. Laurent raised an eyebrow. What, you just hopped on a plane from Australia on a whim?

She swatted his shoulder. Shut up. I’d already planned on coming back to Canada. I’m not like you guys, I don’t just jet off first class halfway across the world whenever I feel like it.

Luc shook his head and shot his brother a look. Calisse. What the hell have you been telling her?

Only the best parts, obviously. Lore, you know Luc plays for Los Angeles now, right?

Yeah. She said that in her funny Nova Scotia way that sounded like she was sucking in a breath more than speaking. When he’d played there in juniors, it had taken him forever to figure out what that meant. You told me. Who knew one of the Gill brothers would make it all the way to Hollywood? So what’s life in California like?

As his brother chattered on, Laurent turned his attention back to the grill. The burgers were done to perfection, and just when the guys would be getting hungry too, after spending the afternoon swimming in the lake or trying to score. Or both.

He glanced toward the beach at his teammates. Jayden and Colby had both set their sights on clear targets, and Max had just gotten back together with his girlfriend. Three vets, all of them major players, out of the running. Which in the normal order of things left Rocky and himself in a friendly but ruthless competition for the hottest chicks, who would soon be arriving by the carload.

But Lorelei had just sent the normal order of things spinning on its head. Despite the time they’d spent apart, she was still his oldest friend. His best friend. And he couldn’t imagine ditching her to spend the night with a random bunny.

Unless she ditched him first. As far as he knew she was single, and she’d certainly picked the right place if she wanted a casual hook-up.

Since it’s your birthday, I’ll spare you the lecture on eating red meat. Lorelei turned back to him, and his gaze flicked over her body. She was wearing gladiator sandals, cut-offs and a white crop top. Simple and understated, but more than enough to show off her generous curves. Fuck, she looked good.

He snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her against him as he flipped the patties. You know, if you told me you were coming, I’d have cooked up something special for you.

I landed in Toronto two days ago, and I was supposed to go straight to Cape Breton to see my stepsisters, but I wasn’t up to another flight right away.

Aw, so you came to see me?

Her head sank onto his shoulder. Well… Yeah. I mean, you invite me every year. Figured I’d show up at least once. Plus, I wanted to see how the Dominator was doing.

He grinned. Living his best life above the mantel, where everyone can see him.

I may have brought another surprise. A smaller one, this time. Though you’ll have to take your apron off first. She read the print in front and snorted. "Tails I get head, heads I get tail. Classy."

The guys started to filter onto the patio, asking for burgers. Laurent managed to serve them with one hand, keeping Lorelei close to him with the other. As if she’d simply fly off again if he let go. Which made no damn sense, but it comforted him nonetheless to feel her there, tucked in his arm, her warm body relaxed against his.

She’s leaving tomorrow. You know her. Never too long in the same place. Yeah, that was Lorelei, and he’d learned a long time ago that it was no use trying to change her. No, that only got you burned.

But she was here now. One night only. So he had better make it one to remember.

Chapter Two

@ParlezQuebecois Remember, kids, tabarnak is a bad word in French, so never, ever use it.

So now that everyone is fed, do I get my present before all hell breaks loose? Laurent blew out a puff of smoke and handed the joint to Lorelei.

She inhaled and passed it back. They were lolling on a bench on his deck while the sunset turned the gentle waves to shades of grayish blue and soft pink. The easy lap of water on the shoreline nearly overcame the buzz of conversation coming from the house. With most of the other guests inside, it was easy to feel as if they were hanging out—just like old times.

She smiled and sipped at her drink. The mix of rum and curaçao slid down her throat, spicy and smooth. I left it in my bag next to the front door. Be right back.

Before she could push herself off the bench, Laurent’s warm palm met her bare thigh, just above her tattoo, a swirling design of red roses done in an old school style. No rush. Let’s just chill a while. What do you think of the view?

It was a friendly gesture. Natural. Casual. The type of interaction they’d always had. An easy touch, but then for as long as she’d known him, Laurent had never hesitated to express himself with his body. Just watching him move, she could tell he had none of the reserve or hang-ups or hesitations a lot of other guys had. Laurent simply flowed.

So why did her stomach flip at the contact? Bollocks, half a joint, two drinks, and she was already a little loopy. She’d grabbed a few chips and a couple of burger buns—sans the burger—to avoid drinking on an empty stomach, but that would hardly last an entire evening.

It’s right beautiful, she replied. Australia’s got its share of jaw-dropping sights, but lakes, you know? It makes me feel… at peace. Serene. Like I could just look at the water for hours.

You sure that’s not the weed?

She elbowed him. Shut up. Way to ruin my point.

He nudged her back with his shoulder. "I do know. That’s why I bought a house here."

She snorted. "You call that a house? More like a goddamn fucking mansion. Seriously, why do you even need all that space?"

Helps me clear my head. He shrugged and passed her the joint again. Oh, and host awesome parties.

Yeah, that too. Glad I’m finally seeing one in the making. When you say all hell breaks loose, what do you mean, exactly?

But Laurent didn’t answer. His blue-green eyes were fixed on her upper arm. You got a new tattoo, didn’t you?

His finger grazed her skin at the edge of her sleeve. A shiver ran down her spine. Jesus, she was definitely loopy.

That? I’ve had it for ‘bout a year.

He lifted the hem to reveal a seascape of tropical fish done in bold lines and bright blue, orange and pink hues. Holy shit, that must have hurt like hell. Gorgeous, though.

His finger traced the shape of an inked starfish, and it took her a moment to find her words. Get a hold of yourself, Wescott. Um, thanks. How about you? Still no ink?

Laurent dropped his hand. Nope. But I’m open to suggestions. What do you think I should get? He grinned. "And more importantly, where?"

Damn, was he actually flirting with her? No, this was just Laurent being Laurent. Taking the piss and expecting her to reply in kind. Right?

She raised an eyebrow. Well, that all depends…

"Gilly! There you are!" Heels clicked on the patio. A brunette with long, silky curls bouncing on her shoulders headed toward them, decked out in a dress so tight and skimpy a single sneeze would make her breasts pop out. Far be it for Lorelei to wag her finger at someone wearing revealing clothes, but there was sexy, and then there was my-skirt-is-so-short-I-can’t-sit-down.

Oh, hey… Peyton, right? Laurent said. Nice of you to drop by.

She came to a stop in front him, hands on her hips. From that angle, Laurent could probably see up her skirt if he bent his neck a little. Wouldn’t miss it. We had so much fun last year. Leena’s here, too.

Something in the girl’s tone told Lorelei that the fun she was talking about wasn’t busting out a game of Clue. Twister, more like.

The more the merrier, Laurent simply said, and took a drag of the joint. Only two rules in this house. No public posts on social media and no music released after 2010.

Lorelei smirked. I’d take an earlier cut-off point, but that’s just me.

Two other girls strolled onto the patio, dressed in similar attire, followed closely by Luc and Kovy, beers in hand.

How about introducing us, bro? Luc said. These lovely ladies said they’re friends of yours.

Yeah, then maybe we can play some three on three, Kovy added.

Lorelei got up. Right, I’ll leave you to it.

Laurent grasped her wrist. Hey, where are you off to?

I need to go get your present. And get away, because an uncomfortable feeling stirred in the pit of her stomach. This seemed to be gearing up to be a repeat of that time at the club, though no one had brought out the champagne yet. Where I can stow my bag?

Put it in my study. Ground floor, third door on the right.

Good God, how many rooms did this place even have? She’d have to ask Laurent for a tour. If he wasn’t too busy with Peyton and Leena and whoever else wanted to blow his candles.

What the hell did you expect?

She shook her head as she made her way back inside and across the living space, where Laurent’s bulky friends, polo shirts tight on their muscular chests, were sizing up the handful of girls who’d arrived while RnB pumped from the sound system. She was here now, and it was no use feeling sorry for herself if she didn’t quite fit in. She couldn’t just show up unannounced at Laurent’s doorstep and think