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“I’m not just a pretty face, you know?” I flash him my best smile as I grab Shutzie from the floor, then place him into his crate. He climbs into the bed I put in there for him and curls up with a rolled-up ball of socks. He loves them. Don’t ask me why. After I close the latch, I step into a pair of crispy black and white sneakers.

“We share a locker room with him,” Gavin says. “This can’t be that big of a surprise to you.”

“To be honest, I never look.” Connor smirks at me and gives me a wink before he says to Gavin, “Maybe I should start.”

“Oh, no,” I say, putting my hands up in defense. “I pride myself on being one of the only people in the league Gavin hasn’t knocked out. I like you, Connor, but I’m not spending a few weeks in concussion protocol for you.”

Connor turns and presses his palm against Gavin’s cheek. His grumpy demeanor melts away at that simple touch. “I’m only joking,” he says, then slides his hand down Gavin’s neck and across his chest before he settles his hand on Gavin’s left pec. “You have a much better chest than he has anyway.” He keeps his palm where it is but gives me a quick glance. “No offense.”

“None taken,” I say. “We all know that Gavin has the best tits in Buffalo.”

“Damn, Bouch,” Gavin says to me, laughing. “Has it been that long since you’ve gotten any that you’re admiring the other side?”

“You wish!” I laugh as I grab my keys and head out the door.

Nikolai

I check my watch as we walk toward the restaurant, which isn’t far from our hotel. Late. We are almost ten minutes late, and it is Brandon and Ryan’s fault. The two of them have formed a very bad habit of not waking from their naps on time.

“We are late,” I remind them.

“We know,” Ryan says. “You told us when you knocked on our room.”

“And when we made it to the lobby of the hotel,” Brandon says.

“And again when we left the hotel and you decided to try to sprint here.”

“You can’t be that excited to see my brother.”

“It is not that.” I pull the restaurant door open and hold it for them. “I just hate being late.”

“Yeah, well,” Ryan says. “Get used to it if you’re going to continue to hang out with Bouchards.” He pauses and pats Brandon on the head. “Baby or Regular.”

Brandon’s face scrunches up and he pulls his head away from Ryan. “Don’t blame me. You’re the one who wanted a quick blow⁠—”

I wave my arms at him. “This is nice place. Do not speak about such things.”

“What?” Brandon leans in conspiratorially, then says quietly, “Blow jobs.”

“Yes.” I glare at him. “But that does explain why you look like shit. Ryan, dress him better.”

Ryan claps me on the shoulder as we follow the hostess through the restaurant. “It’s a lost cause,” he says, then points at Brandon in front of us. “And you can’t convince me that his ass doesn’t look great in those warm-up pants.”

Brandon holds up his middle finger at us as he continues to walk forward. Like all hockey players, he has the signature full back side. Though even I have to admit it does look a little rounder than most.

“I do not care for such things. You can look at his ass at home.”

“I mean, I could,” Ryan says. “And I do… often. But also, this is just him. He’s happier this way. But I’ll make sure he wears a nice suit to the game tomorrow night for you.”

“And a good tie,” I say.

“You might want to consider lowering your expectations on what constitutes a good tie,” Ryan says.

“Hey.” Brandon turns around. His face is serious. “I like my tie.”

“I know you do,” Ryan says, stepping forward so he can sling his arm around Brandon’s waist. I can’t help but notice that the two of them, Ryan in particular, have become much more comfortable with these types of gestures lately.

It’s nice to see them at ease in public, even if what they’re doing isn’t an overt acknowledgement of their relationship. They owe no one that. Not even the Mules, but I am glad they told us.