One Pucking Destiny (Crane Hockey #4)

Chapter 17

CHAPTER

SEVENTEEN

ARI

B ash went up to his room hours ago and hasn’t been back. The group dynamic is different without him. I didn’t realize how much light he brought until it was missing.

I move a piece of cornbread around my plate, lost in thought. Everyone around me is gushing over another fantastic catered meal, but all I can taste is the sourness of guilt, and it doesn’t sit well.

“You had quite the eventful day.” Mom sets a full plate of food on the table and takes a seat beside me.

“I know. It was crazy.”

“Marcela’s polvorones were a nice treat.” She grins. “She would be so proud to know her recipes have been passed down.”

“I did them justice?”

She nods. “Oh, yeah. They were incredible.”

“I used all the special tricks you taught me.”

“I can tell. They really were perfect.”

I put my fork down. “Though, I think Bash is really mad at me. I shouldn’t have held him to the bet. I feel really bad about it. It was stupid. I just got caught up in the fun of it all. You know?”

“Oh, I know. It’s hard not to get caught up in the fun around this group. They make it nearly impossible.” She waves her hand in front of her. “Don’t even give it a second thought. Believe me. These guys are always doing something idiotic. If it wasn’t you making a bet, it would’ve been someone else. Bash is the nicest guy on the team. I’m sure he’s not mad, and if he is, he’ll get over it in no time. Or maybe he’s not mad at all, just tired.”

“Yeah, that’s what he said. He mentioned that he didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Well, there you go.”

“I know, but I still got this feeling that he was annoyed with me or something.”

“Ari, I really wouldn’t worry about it. Bash isn’t one to hold anger. You’ll be back to being buds in no time.”

Buds. Pals. Friends.

That’s what I want after all, right ?

I dip my chin. “You’re probably right.”

Beckett comes up behind my mom and circles his arms around her shoulders. He presses his lips to her head. “How are my girls?”

Mom reaches up and squeezes his arm. “Good. Ari is worried that Bash is upset.”

Beckett laughs. “Are you kidding? This is the best thing to happen at a bye week in years. The story of the cookie tattoo will never get old. We’re going to talk about it for years.”

I huff out a breath. “Yeah, that’s exactly why I’m worried.”

“Seriously, Bash is the chillest dude ever. He doesn’t care,” Beckett says.

My mom tilts her head back, and Beckett peppers kisses against her lips with an obnoxious smacking sound.

“Seriously, you two. People are trying to eat.” I stand from the table, grabbing my plate.

“What?” Beckett feigns innocence. “Can I help that we’re in love?”

“Be in love in the privacy of your own room,” I retort.

“I’m sorry, but my love for your mother cannot be contained to one room.” He kisses her again.

I can’t help the smile that forms as I walk away. I scrape my leftover food into the garbage and place the plate in the dirty bin set out by the caterers.

If Bash isn’t coming to dinner, the least I can do is bring him a plate of food. I grab a clean plate from the stack and pile it high with a little bit of everything. After a quick stop at the refrigerator for a bottle of water, I head upstairs.

I tap my knuckles against Bash’s door and wait. When there’s no answer, I try the handle. The door creaks open, and I step in.

He lies atop his bed, stomach down, and I internally melt at the sight of him. His feet are on the bottom right, and his head is toward the top left as if he walked into the room, plopped down, and fell asleep immediately. Everything from his waist up is void of clothes. The sun-kissed muscles of his back invite me to touch them, and God, do I want to.

Both of his arms are bent and cocked under his pillow. He’s so pretty when he sleeps, and I know I shouldn’t wake him.

The selfish side of me wins, and I ignore my better judgment. “Bash.” I say his name hesitantly before repeating it with more volume. “Bash.”

He stirs and rolls over so he’s on his back. His eyes squint as they assess the situation. He drags his hands across his face. “Ari? What’s going on?” His voice is husky from sleep .

“Hey, sleepyhead. I brought you some dinner.” I step into the room and close the door.

His brows furrow in confusion before he shakes his head back and forth. “You know those naps that are so deep that you forget where you are or even who you are? Fuuck.” He presses the heels of his palms against his eyes before positioning a pillow against the headboard and sitting back against it. He wiggles his finger toward me, motioning forward. “Alright, let’s see it. Whatcha got for me?”

Inching farther into the room, I hand him the plate of food and bottle of water. He sets the plate on his lap and chugs half of the bottle of water. “This looks good.”

“Yeah, it was,” I answer, though I honestly don’t remember. I was too preoccupied thinking about him.

He pats the bed next to him. “Sit down. You aren’t going to make me eat by myself, are you?”

I let out a dry laugh. “I honestly wasn’t sure if you’d want to see me at all.”

He rolls his eyes. “Stop with that. I told you, I’m not mad.”

“But you aren’t happy.”

I don’t know why I’m so fixated on this, but I can’t deny that I am, and it’s pissing me off. Two days ago, Bash was just a guy I’d hooked up with months prior and never thought I’d see again, and I was completely fine with that. Now, I’m stressing over whether he’s mad at me. My emotions are so unstable they’re giving me a headache.

“Did you see me just now?” He grins. “I felt like I was waking up from a decade-long slumber. Look, this week has been exhausting. I’ve drunk way too much, slept too little, and dedicated energy that I didn’t have to a girl who has been very clear she doesn’t want me. I’m done with that now. It’s all good.”

“You’re all done with that now?” I keep my voice light despite the nagging pain in my chest.

He smacks his hands together in an all-finished motion. “Done. You won, which I know you’re happy about. It’s rare to meet someone who wants to win as much as I do.”

“So we’re just friends?” I question.

“Yeah. That’s what you want, right?”

I nod. “It is.”

He takes a bit of the steak. “So what have I missed the last decade I was out?”

“Well, seeing that you were MIA, Logan took your position on the team, and with his help, the Cranes won the Cup.”

Bash gasps, half choking. He hits his chest as he coughs, his eyes watering. “Please.” He laughs.

“It could happen.” I shrug.

“When hell freezes over, maybe. What has everyone been talking about? Don’t say the tattoo. Don’t say the tattoo,” he says the last part in a pleading whisper.

I chuckle. “Pretty much the tattoo.”

“Great.”

“Yeah, Beckett says that it will be talked about for years.”

“Well, at least I’m leaving a legacy behind, and I have you to thank for that, my friend.” He leans toward me, tapping my side with his before he continues eating.

I hate the way “friend” rolls off his tongue. “Yeah, I guess you do.”

“Well, I don’t know if you plan to come to future bye weeks, but even if you don’t, at least you know stories of your triumph will be here in spirit. The butter cookie that took down the king of cookies.”

“Yeah, about that…” I sigh. The entire ordeal has been eating me up all afternoon. I could go home with this secret hidden, but I was responsible for Bash marking his body for life. The least I can do is be honest. “I kind of cheated.”

He turns to me. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I don’t know if it was cheating exactly, but the odds were stacked in my favor.”

“Go on,” he urges.

“While I was growing up, my mom had this cook, Marcela, who she was really close with. Marcela was like a surrogate mother to her. Her own mother had passed, and her dad wasn’t in the picture. According to Mom, Marcela was nothing but love and helped raise Mom as if she were one of her own. That included teaching her all these recipes passed down through her family over generations in Mexico. So the cookies I made are called polvorones. Marcela had all these special things she did while making them that made them turn out so good.”

“They were delicious. You didn’t expect they would be because they look so plain. But after taking a bite, you craved another,” he says.

“Exactly. Anyway, when I came home over Christmas, my mom had made a batch of them. We had a long conversation with Beckett over this plate of cookies about how meaningful they were to us, and I might have mentioned that they are the only cookie I knew how to bake. So I knew I was guaranteed three votes—mine, my mom’s, and Beckett’s. Seeing that Beckett threw the poker game so I could win, I knew he’d vote for me. I figured that you and Iris would, of course, vote for yourselves and a couple of the other guys would vote for themselves. So really there were only a few votes up for grabs when you think about it that way. That’s why I felt so confident in making that bet… because I had an edge, and I knew it.”

Bash is silent as he takes in my words, and I feel nauseous. Maybe I shouldn’t have told him, but the guilt was eating me alive.

Finally, he throws his head back and laughs. “You little nepo baby you, using your advantages against me. You play dirty.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was brilliant. If I wasn’t so bogged down with my own ego, I would’ve realized you had an advantage before I made that bet. Look, I was bound to get a cookie tattoo at some point. I mean, my fate is sealed with that one. Would I have chosen a different location? Yeah, probably. But whatever, it’s really not a big deal.”

A wave of relief lifts, leaving me lighter and happier.

“However,” he continues, “Beckett is another situation, the prick. I can deal with him cheating with the volleyball coin toss and throwing the poker game. But just because he’s married to the team doctor doesn’t give him the right to unfair advantages. I mean, he defiled the sanctity of the cookie competition. How dare he?”

Chuckling, I smack Bash’s thigh playfully. “Yeah, as a pair, they’ve got it bad, the love bug.”

“Look, I’m a huge fan of love. I love love. Love is great. The more love in this world, the better, but we have to draw the line before it gets out of control. ”

“Let me guess. The bye week annual cookie competition is that line?”

“Hell yeah, it is. I mean, when will the madness stop? What’s next?”

I shake my head, the pair of us laughing. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to get back at him.”

“Oh, that’s a guarantee.” He pauses a beat. “Wow. Well, thanks for bringing that to my attention. While I still technically lost, I don’t feel so bad about it now.”

“Good.”

He sets his plate on the bedside table. “I don’t really feel like hanging out downstairs. Do you want to watch a movie?”

“Sure. What do you want to watch?”

Remote in hand, he clicks on the big screen television at the foot of his bed and starts flipping through the channels. “Oh my God, it’s Endgame !” he exclaims.

I stare up at him as his disheveled blond hair flops against his face, and his mouth beams in a smile.

“Are you a Marvel fan?” he asks.

“Not really, but I’ll watch it.”

He twists to face me. “What Marvel movies have you seen?”

“None of them.”

“None of them?” he gasps.

I laugh. “No, Mom and I were CW girls. We watched Gilmore Girls , Vampire Diaries , The 100 … shows like that. We never got into superheroes.”

“But they’re superheroes.”

“I know, but they’re just not my thing.”

His brows rise. “How do you know if you’ve never watched them?”

“I guess I don’t.”

He shakes his head. “Okay, well, we can’t start with Endgame for obvious reasons. We need to start at the beginning.”

“I’m fine just watching Endgame . I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.”

“I’m not worried about you not enjoying it. But you can’t fully appreciate it unless you know the back story of the characters. Take your favorite book series, for example. Would you recommend it to a friend but tell them to read the last book first?”

“Well, no.”

“There you go. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”

I bite my lip. “But aren’t there a bunch of movies? That would take hours.”

He nods. “Seventy-five hours to be exact.”

I throw my head back and laugh. “Bash, we’re not watching seventy-five hours of TV right now!”

He rolls his eyes. “Of course not. But we can start, and we have to do this right. So do you want to grab some movie snacks and drinks while I set up Captain America ?”

“Sure.” I hop off the bed. “Hand me your plate.” Bash hands me the plate with the rest of his uneaten dinner, and I head down to the kitchen.

After I revealed the subtle treachery that resulted in my win, I wasn't sure how it'd go, but Bash took it well. And now, we’re back to being friends.

Friends.

Just friends.