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An hour later, now that the party has kicked off and old friends and local teammates from my youth have been trickling in, my spirits are lifted. And by the time I catch a glimpse of Brandon and Ryan cruising by the house in Ryan’s BMW trying to find a place to park, I go running to the front door. Ryan had better have held up his end of the bet to arrive at my cup party in a bikini.

They’re halfway up the front walk when I burst out the door.

Okay, I know I said I needed to find a wife, but this is not what I meant. Even if Ryan’s legs are quite shapely in that bathing suit.

“Hey, Ryan!” I call out to him from the front steps. “Nice legs!”

He juts one of his legs out and shakes his hip toward me. “Laugh it up! This is going to be you next year in St. Louis!”

Leave it to Ryan to be a little bit extra about it. Which is one of the things I’ve always liked about him. He’s not afraid to take things over the line. Unlike my brother, who is standing beside him looking absolutely miserable.

Laughing, I run down the steps to meet them. “I can’t believe you got Brandon into one of these. You look ridiculous.”

“Oh. You think?” Brandon snipes. I can see the gears in his head turning as he looks around, trying to see if there’s anyone else around looking at him. He’s fine. The party is confined to the back of the house where the cup, food, drinks, and DJ are.

Ryan gives him a subtle pat on the butt. It sends an odd feeling through me that I can’t quite pinpoint. I mean, for fuck’s sake, I’ve been around Gavin and Connor nonstop for the last six months. You’d think I’d be used to this. But it’s strange seeing my brother be on the receiving end of something so affectionate. Even stranger to see it coming from Ryan, who up until a few weeks ago, I had only ever seen as a friend and former billet brother.

“You did what you needed to,” Ryan says to him. “Go get changed.”

“Thank Christ,” Brandon says, stomping up the stairs to our parents’ house, instantly making him look like the little brother he will always be.

“Baby! Where are you going?” Danton, Roysy, Clemmers, and O’Shea, their Mules teammates, who I’m only realizing right now are here, yell out after him. Like Ryan and Brandon, they are also wearing bikinis.

I burst out laughing as I watch my brother flip them all off as he heads inside, presumably to go change. This is the best surprise. The bet I made before game seven of the Stanley Cup finals was with Ryan and Ryan only. The fact he got not only my brother but also this many of his teammates to join him is a testament to how tight the Mules are as a team.

I’m taking in the sight of them when another set of long, lean, blond furry legs comes into view. I rake my eyes up to see who they’re attached to and I’m shocked when I find myself staring at Nikolai Ivanov, the Mules goalie, who if it wasn’t for one crucial goal, could easily have stolen the Stanley Cup from the Blizzards.

I’ve only ever seen him in his gear. So to see him now, standing before me in only a speedo is quite the shock. He’s tall. Almost the same height as me. Limber and lean. And as he looks at me with expectation written across his face, I can’t help but notice how put together he is despite being practically naked on my parents’ front lawn. His green eyes are rich. His blond hair is perfectly in place, and his smile is effortless.

It’s disarming. Hockey players are never supposed to look this… I don’t want to say attractive, but I can’t quite seem to think of another word.

“This where you grew up?” he asks, his voice deep and his Russian accent thick.

“Uhh… yeah…” I say, taking him all in again. I’d give anything to be able to ask Ryan right now why Ivanov, of all people, is here. He has to have someplace better to be than Green Bay, Wisconsin. Don’t all the European players go home for the offseason? Why is he with them? And more importantly, why is he staring at my childhood home like it’s some sort of cozy cottage?

“Is cute,” he says, looking over my shoulder before his eyes meet mine. His gleam is dismissive. “Small like your brother.”

I rub the back of my neck. “Yeah, it is small, but it’s nice, you know?” My heart rate kicks up a little as he continues to stare at me. Ivanov and I have never formally met. I mean, we’ve played against each other, but that hardly counts, and he’s been bounced around so much from team to team that I don’t really know anyone who’s gotten to know him personally. But apparently he’s fitting in well enough with the Mules to show up at my cup party in a, well, not a bikini like the rest, but a tight black speedo with less coverage than what poor Ryan is wearing. Despite which, Nikolai stands here looking completely unbothered. It’s disorienting to say the least.

I drop my hand from my neck and gesture up the stairs. “Do you want a tour?”

“Yes,” he says, nodding his head. “I think your mother would like to see me, no?”

I swallow. “She’s going to be shocked to see you.” Almost as shocked as I am.

Nikolai Ivanov

“Nikolai! Is that you?”

I turn around in the Bouchards’ tiny front entrance to see Momma B walking towards me.

“Brandon didn’t mention you were coming,” she says as she pulls me into a forceful hug that I still can’t decide if I enjoy or not. I think I do. I know I should. But it is strange being around someone who is so overtly affectionate with everyone they come across.

“Yes. It was last minute decision,” I say when she lets me go and looks up at me. It’s not like I had anything else to do. I’ve spent most of the offseason so far staying in Danton’s spare room. It’s temporary, I keep telling myself. My lease on my apartment expired in July and I’ve been stalling about signing another one while my agent, Sofia, is working on negotiating my next contract with the GM of the Mules.

It would be just my luck to sign a new lease, or worse, get cocky enough to purchase a house, only for the GM to decide he’d rather trade me than offer me a contract extension. After all, it is my fault we’re here at Ander’s cup party instead of celebrating having won the cup ourselves.

I’m the reason we lost. It was me that Connor Kennedy slipped that goal past. No wonder our GM is dragging his feet in making his decision about what to do with me. Not that he has a lot of options. I’d already been shipped out of four other NHL teams before landing in St. Louis a season and a half ago.