One Pucking Destiny (Crane Hockey #4)

Chapter 2

CHAPTER

TWO

BASH

H attie and I exchange a grin as we pour the extra white cheese sauce we ordered over our steak chimichangas.

“Now this is what I’m talking about,” Hattie states as she dips her finger into the cheese and plops it in her mouth. Her eyes roll back in her head as she groans. “So good.”

My groan mirrors hers as I take a bite of my food. Leaning back in the multicolored booth, I place my hand on my stomach. “Divine.”

The way Hattie and I enjoy food is a bit alarming. We’re definitely extreme foodies. Thankfully, we are also blessed with great metabolisms because, as a pair, we can eat. “Was starving yourself all day worth it? ”

She shovels a large bite of chimichanga into her mouth and nods. Covering her mouth with her hand as she chews, she says, “Are you kidding? Uh, yeah. I’m finishing this whole thing.” The plated meal in front of her is huge, almost as big as her head, yet I have no doubt she’ll eat it all. “So tell me all the things. How are you? How are the guys? Dating anyone?”

Her question elicits a soft laugh. “You know all the things. We talk every day.”

“I know, but tell me anyway, in case you left anything out.”

“The guys are great. We’re practicing hard, determined to take the Cup this year.”

The sting of last season’s loss, only a few months ago, is still present. Going out in round one of the finals to Pittsburgh, a team we should’ve beaten, still hurts. It was an ugly game from the onset, ending with the injury of Beckett, one of our starting forwards, so no one on the team took the loss lightly. We’re all angry and determined for the upcoming season to be our best.

“Are Beckett and the hot doc still going strong?” she asks.

I shrug and put another forkful of food in my mouth. “As far as I know. I mean, they’re married and seem happy. It’s still hard to believe. That whole development happened so fast. The good news is Beckett’s knee is healed, and he’s resumed practice.”

“That’s real good news. Any other tea?” She takes a sip of her margarita between bites.

“I don’t think so. Cade and Iris are still sickeningly sweet and in love. Gunner is his normal grumpy self. Nothing new with any of the other guys. Beckett has been dragging his feet picking our bye week location, so Jaden and Max have been throwing out some off-the-wall suggestions.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, let’s see… Jaden suggested a remote cabin in Alaska.”

Hattie snickers. “In February? So you can freeze to death and get eaten by bears. No, thank you.”

“Exactly, and Max suggested LA.”

“Eh… Cali is nice and all, but the point of bye week is to get away from it all. LA has too many people.”

“Agreed.”

“My vote is for Fiji. You know those straw huts that sit over the crystal-clear water? Let’s do that.”

I grin. “I’ll put in the suggestion. Are you coming with us this year?”

Her shoulders rise and drop back down. “I’ll try, as always. Just depends on what I’m doing in my classes, and if I can afford to take a week off. ”

Hattie and I are similar in many ways, but whereas I knew from an early age that all I wanted to do with my life was play hockey, Hattie still doesn’t know what she wants to do with hers. She’s switched majors four times already. Currently, she’s attending Michigan State University to be a kindergarten teacher and seems confident that this course of study will stick. Whatever she decides, I only want her to be happy.

“Is Cookie Monster still going strong?” she asks of the ridiculous nickname I’ve been given simply because I can bake better than anyone else on the team.

I sigh and roll my eyes. “Yes, though it’s pretty much just Cookie at this point.”

She giggles. “It’s cute.”

“It’s stupid.”

“I like it. My suggestion is to own it.”

The server stops by to ask if we’d like another margarita, and we tell him to keep them coming.

“Hattie. No woman wants to date a guy named Cookie.”

My sister literally throws her head back in laughter. “Sebastian Calloway, get over yourself. You have never, in your life, had a hard time getting the girl. You’re ridiculously gorgeous, charming, and the starting center of a popular NHL team. Are you kidding me right now? Plus, believe me…women love a man who can cook. And a cookie-baking expert? Even better. ”

I pin her with a stare. “Fine. But it’s still dumb. And I’ll have you know that I was turned down at the bookstore today. Brutally shot down.”

She quirks a brow, frowning. “By the girl you gave my book away to?”

“Seriously? A copy is coming from Amazon in two days. Read one of the other ten I got you instead.”

Scraping off the last bit of her chimichanga from the plate, she takes a bite. “It’s fine. I’m busy with you this weekend anyway. I’m just saying.”

“Saying what? That you’re spoiled?”

She releases a gasp of mock offense. “Hey, is it my fault that my twenty-four-year-old brother is a millionaire and loves to shower me with gifts? No.”

“You’re too much,” I kid.

The server comes back with another round of margaritas and our bill. Once again, I try to get the recipe or even a few key ingredients for the white queso, but he doesn’t budge.

“He’s not going to tell you,” Hattie states. “They don’t want to give away their secret recipe. It’d be bad for business. Visit Grandma. The pair of you can figure it out.”

She’s right that all my skills in the kitchen came from our grandmother, but she wouldn’t be helpful with this one. “You know the one cuisine that Grandma always messes up is Mexican food. ”

“That’s true.” Hattie bobs her head. “She can’t handle any spice and botches the recipes.”

“Exactly, but don’t worry, I’ll figure it out.”

“I’m sure you will.” She nods toward my fresh margarita. “Drink up so we can get to the club.”

“Speaking of the club. Anthony isn’t going to be there, right?” The last person I want to hang out with is Hattie’s ex-boyfriend. The guy is a tool.

“I don’t think so, but you know, he’s not that bad.”

“Ugh,” I groan. “Please don’t tell me you’re thinking about getting back together with him?” There’s nothing blaringly wrong with the guy. He treats Hattie well. I can’t explain it. I just don’t like him.

“No.” She shakes her head and sits back in her seat. With the straw of her margarita between her lips, she says, “But sometimes we hook up.”

“What? Hattie, no.”

“Stop,” she whines. “I know you hate him.”

“I don’t hate him. I just think you can do better. You deserve the best.”

She reaches forward and squeezes my hand. “I know. Thank you. Don’t worry. I’m not getting back with him, but sometimes we sleep together—an exes-with-benefits type of thing.”

Bringing my hands to my ears, I cover them. “I can’t hear you. ”

Hattie laughs. “Oh, twinnie… you’re crazy. I’ve survived hearing about all your puck bunny sex-capades, so you can handle my hookups with Anthony. And…” She quirks a brow. “When you really think about it, this is a good thing. See, I’ve already been with Anthony. Doing the whole friends-with-benefits thing with him stops me from going out to hook up with other guys.”

“Maybe my little sister should worry less about random sex and more about…I don’t know…anything else.”

She scoffs. “Little? Please. Don’t forget, I’m two months older.”

She has me there although I can’t help but see her as a little sister. I have this inherent need to take care of her.

“You ready to go?” I ask after I’ve paid the bill and we’ve finished our drinks.

Hattie stands from the table and splays her hand across her stomach. “Maybe I should re-think the crop top, given I have a ten-pound burrito baby in here.”

My sister is drop-dead gorgeous with or without a belly full of Mexican food. Still, she makes me laugh. “You look great.”

“True. Still, let’s swing by my apartment for a fit check nonetheless. Plus, I want to brush my teeth.”

“Sounds good.”

The air is filled with the scent of cheap beer, even cheaper cologne, a faint smell of sweat, and the occasional whiff of a fruity cocktail made in a lab, usually one containing coconut and strawberries. Is there anything better than a club jam-packed with drunk twentysomethings in a college town? Well, yeah, actually. But still… this is pretty awesome.

The music is on point. The drinks are flowing, and I’m with my favorite person. Hattie and I have laughed so much tonight my ab muscles feel like they’ve been through a workout.

“Twin! We have a triplet,” Hattie yells over the music.

One hand up, the other holding a drink at my side, I sway in what I’m sure is a very sexy dance move. Before I can answer my sister, I’m jolted forward when someone knocks into me from behind. I fall into Hattie, thankfully spilling my drink onto the dance floor and not her. She pushes me back as I regain my balance. College towns, there’s nothing like ’em.

“What did you say?”

She holds up her hand. The underside of her wrist, where the butterfly tattoo resides, is toward my face. I have the same tattoo on the underside of my bicep. Our matching twin tattoos were our eighteenth birthday presents to ourselves. Hattie has always been obsessed with butterflies. My sister, the forever free spirit, looked up the meaning of butterflies when we were young and read somewhere that they represent freedom and are a reminder to release all burdens that come along. In addition, they supposedly represent fleeting moments and remind us to live in the present each day and embrace joy. I never questioned her take on their symbolism. I’m sure they represent all those things and more to different people. All that mattered to me was the fact that she loves them and getting our matching tattoo made her happy.

“I said we have a triplet!” She grins. It takes me a second to register what she’s saying. She points toward the bar behind us. “Look at her side.”

My gaze moves to a girl leaning against the bar top, talking to the bartender. She’s wearing a black mini tank top and short jean shorts. Long brunette hair falls to the middle of her back, and on the side of her midsection just below her ribs is a butterfly. And not just any butterfly tattoo, but the exact one that Hattie and I share. Its wings are made with multicolored smoke wisps in bright pinks, purples, and blues. It’s a unique butterfly, one I’ve only seen on my sister and me.

Ah, triplet .

Finally, my hazy brain catches up. I give my sister a thumbs-up.

“You should invite her to hang with us! She could be your destiny!” Hattie all but shrieks. The volume of her voice has kicked up another notch, fueled by an abundance of tequila.

My sister is the biggest romantic I’ve ever met. She’s certain that every person has a soulmate, and that signs pointing us toward the people we’re meant to be with are everywhere.

Which is all very ironic, seeing as she still fools around with Anthony, who is not her soulmate. I throw a glare behind me to the booth across the room where Anthony, who made his appearance about thirty minutes ago, and his friends are hanging out. Thankfully, he’s kept his distance.

I wave my hand through the space in front of me. “No, I’m hanging with you.”

A classic Eminem song comes on, one of my all-time favorites, and the crowd on the dance floor loses its shit. Hattie forgets about my maybe-soulmate as we start jumping up and down to the beat, singing along in perfect unison with my guy.

We’re dancing, singing, and laughing, and just as it always is with my sister—it’s pure joy. A feeling comes over me, and I have the urge to look toward the bar. When I do, I’m met with the doe-eyed gaze of the butterfly tattoo girl. Only she already has a name.

It’s Book Girl.

She’s at the club on her birthday and staring right at me.