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The one sport her dad hadn’t watched was hockey, so moving in across from Blake had opened her eyes to a whole new world in terms of sports. Not that she’d been an easy convert. Erika preferred rom com movies and reading mysteries to watching any sporting event, but that didn’t stop Blake from trying to show her the error of her ways during those early days.
She had to admit, he’d worn her down, and she’d found herself tuning in to watch him play whenever she wasn’t at work. And even when she did miss a game, she always watched either the replay or highlights reel the next day.
Erika never ceased to be amazed by his talent—his speed on the ice, his puck handling, even his incredible force when he checked someone into the glass. He was the most graceful brute she’d ever seen…and while she would never tell him, she understood why puck bunnies existed. There was nothing hotter than a guy on skates throwing a punch in defense of a teammate done wrong during the game.
“Poor Coulton is going to have a hell of a bruise on the side of his neck,” Blake continued, describing a rather nasty hit the Rays’ goalie had taken in a pileup in front of the net. “He stopped them from scoring, but damn if he didn’t get his bell rung.”
“I thought the goalie’s helmet covered practically everything.”
“It’s no protection when you’ve got your head turned, watching the puck, and some dumbass blindsides you because he’s coming in too fast and hard. Tank taught the guy a lesson—which he should have—but it set Tampa up to score on the power play. Whole night was just one fucking dumpster fire,” Blake grumbled, taking the last swig of his beer.
“You’ll get them next time,” she said, pulling from her repertoire of pep talks. She used to really try to console Blake after a loss, but time and experience had taught her there was nothing short of a good night’s sleep that would end his brooding.
While Blake was down tonight, by morning, he’d be back to his optimistic, competitive self. It was probably one of the best things about him. He didn’t dwell on bad things for long.
“What the hell?”
They both glanced up as Tank walked over to their table, taking in their mostly empty plates. He put his hands on his hips. “How long have you two been here?”
Blake was quick to lift his hand in surrender. “Erik and I just stopped in for a quick dinner because she was too busy in the ER to eat tonight. We were going to say good night to you guys on our way out.”
“What’s up, Doc?” Tank—the affable giant—asked, giving her a friendly smile along with his standard Bugs Bunny greeting. She’d hung out with Blake and his teammates quite a lot over the past few years, and somewhere along the line, she’d become a part of their gang, invited to all the happy hours, pizza nights, and the monthly video game competitions Tank hosted at his place.
“Same old, same old. Listening to this one grumble and groan about losing tonight,” she joked, jerking her thumb in Blake’s direction. “Trust me when I say I’ve been taking one for the team, entertaining him alone rather than crashing your party back there.” She gestured toward the back of the pub, where Tank had been sitting.
“Damn, you’re a good person to take that on, because he’s the sorest loser on the planet,” Tank said, piling on.
Blake snorted. “That’s funny, because I’m pretty sure I wasn’t the one who punched his locker tonight after the game.”
Erika’s gaze slid to Tank’s hand, spotting his bruised knuckles, before raising her eyebrows in a “really?” expression.
Tank caught her staring and grimaced as he tried to hide the evidence by shoving his hands in his pockets. “I took one too many bad calls tonight, then I got in a fight.”
Erika noticed the dark bruise on Tank’s chin. “Blake told me.”
He lifted a shoulder casually. “Losing was the last straw, so I sort of lost my shit in the end.”
She laughed softly. “You two are birds of a feather.”
“You should have joined us back there because it’s a regular pity party. We’re all in the same funk. Misery loves company and all that shit.” Tank tilted his head toward the table of teammates and puck bunnies.
“Yeah, well, I was trying to avoid?—”
Before Blake could complete his thought, Mindy walked over, sliding into the booth next to him, wrapping her arm around his shoulder and squeeing loudly.
“Blake!” Mindy said. “You came!”
Tank shot Blake an apologetic grimace, obviously aware of exactly who his best friend had been avoiding. Once again, Erika wondered why he didn’t want to see Mindy. Sure, he had those stupid hookup rules, but he really was down in the dumps and for all her faults, Mindy seemed very adept at making Blake happy…in bed.
“Just stopped in for dinner. We’re actually about to head out,” Blake said, clearly trying to move Mindy back out of the booth.
His use of the word we had Mindy glancing across the table at Erika.
“Oh. Hey, Eva.” Mindy’s tone was considerably less friendly than the one she’d used for Blake.
“Erika,” Blake corrected, while she rolled her eyes when he chastised the other woman for getting it wrong. After all, he continually insisted on calling her Erik. The stupid nickname had driven her crazy at first, but—like hockey—damn if it hadn’t grown on her.
Erika had long since stopped trying to tell Mindy her name. Originally, she thought the other woman just couldn’t remember it, but now she was starting to wonder if she was calling her the wrong name on purpose.
