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“One of my old roommates dared me to join her book club a few years ago. They were reading Fifty Shades of Grey.”

Owen, whose jaw is now dragging on the floor, folds his arms. “And you liked it?”

“Lord, no,” Tripp chokes. “I hated it. Gave it a terrible review.”

“Did they kick you out?” Owen asks.

“They invited me to stay.” Tripp turns Pride and Prejudice over in his hands. “This was the second book we read.”

Owen’s eyebrows rise. “You stayed because of the women.”

“No, Clarke. I stayed because I liked reading the books.” Tripp pauses. “The wine and cheese were strong supporting characters, but they weren’t responsible for the plot. I also think in another life, I could have taught English Lit.”

Owen looks at the display again, as if the books may have changed while he wasn’t watching.

An idea begins to form. This is occasionally dangerous.

In another life, a few months back, it’s how I ended up with a thriving subscription-box business, a national small-business award, and a hockey player who now carries a power drill into my store without being asked. So…

I glance toward the back room. The old game still plays on the television, although the sound has been mostly swallowed by Liam’s ongoing analysis of defensive coverage and now a chat about books.

I pull my eyes from the empty space and look at the guys. “You know, if you wanted to start another book club, you could meet here.”

All three men turn toward me.

“A hockey book club?” Liam asks.

“Not a hockey book club specifically,” I laugh. “A book club consisting of the three of you who also happen to be hockey players. You can ask others to join you, and the books do not have to be about hockey.”

“What would we read?” Owen asks.

I walk over to Owen and place a hand on his shoulder. “I believe that is something members generally decide.”

Tripp places Pride and Prejudice against Owen’s chest. “We’ve already selected our first book.”

Owen shakes his head. “We have not.”

“I’m in,” Liam agrees, standing next to Tripp. “Unanimous decision.”

“How?” Owen asks. “You’re the only other person who voted so far.”

“Owen.” Tripp makes a tsk-tsk sound with his tongue. “You’re choosing hostility.”

“Well, I’m being serious.” I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. “I’ve been eyeing the back room for Thanksgiving, but you could take it over one night a month. I already have my regular group and a mystery book club coming through. Someone is starting a romance club next month, and yesterday a woman asked if she could organize one that reads biographies and memoirs.”

Liam glances toward the back. “Could we come at night? After practice?”

“Of course. I’ll even let you guys come when it’s closed so it’s more private.”

Owen’s eyes light up. “With food?”

“You can bring food,” I say with a chuckle. I reach beneath the counter for the clipboard where I keep the book-club calendar. “How does the first Monday of every month sound?”

“Depends,” Owen says. “What’s our book club’s name?”

I take the pen from the clipboard. “Pucks and Prose.”

“No,” Owen says.