Trouble : Boston Bolts Hockey

A cuter town in America does not exist. The streets are decked out in red, white, and blue—a patriotic tribute with the perfect amount of charm. Antique streetlamps decorated with holly light up the winter evening. Townspeople sporting Charles Dickens–style dresses stroll the cobblestone in front of the fire station, singing Christmas carols.

Don’t even get me started on the firefighters standing outside the firehouse, suspenders holding up black pants that no doubt hide beautifully thick thighs. And holy arm porn. Muscles upon muscles strain under white T-shirts with a simple BFD printed on the sleeve.

Yes, a girl could get used to a town like Bristol. It seems like the perfect place to start over. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll find my voice again here. Find my music.

I grip Lake’s arm as I suck in an exaggerated breath. “Holy shit, who are those hotties?”

Lake is laughing at me as two of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen walk toward us, their swagger making my girlie bits flutter. Hmm… Instantly, I’m running through ways I can get one of them to play with me.

The dark-haired man tilts closer to the other guy—the one wearing a backward blue Bolts hat. Hello, new kink unlocked. In response, hat guy grips his friend’s forearm and throws his head back and laughs.

That simple touch ignites a small fire in my belly. “Can you imagine being lucky enough to have boyfriends who were boyfriends? Talk about hot.”

Lake’s next comment throws a whole batch of kindling on my fire. “That’s your new roommate, the fire chief, Declan Everhart.”

Ford leans across her and whispers, “And that’s his best friend, Cade Fitzgerald, goalie coach of the Boston Bolts.”

“Damn, you weren’t kidding when you said the chief was sexy.” I fan my face. “Hello, hotties,” I mumble under my breath. “My name is Mel, and I’ll be your sexy catnip for the night.”

“Hate to break it to you, Mel,” Lake replies, her lips barely moving, “but the chief doesn’t seem like that kind of guy.” As the duo gets close, she breaks into a bright smile. “Chief, Coach,” she says. “It’s so good to see you both.”

As happens when people see my best friend, both men blink like cartoon characters.

The grumpier one swallows audibly and nods. “Lake, Ford, good to see you.”

When he turns to me, his gaze is like the snick of a lighter against my skin. It burns, the way I instantly and irrationally want this man. He’s not pretty. Not even a little. But the ruggedness is what draws me in. His chin is covered in a layer of scruff that looks like an afterthought. Like some days, he shaves and others, he’s too busy to worry about it. If I had to guess, it’s been a few since he bothered. It’s grown wild. Like it would burn between my thighs.

I’d relish every second.

While his jawline is hard and his cheekbones defined, his eyes hold a warmth I’m not expecting. They’re the color of milk chocolate, and they ooze empathy.

The moment that emotion registers, the fire that’s started to rage in my core is extinguished. This man is looking at me with pity. Like I’m an obligation. A woman he has to watch out for—because my stupid past is coming back to bite me in the ass.

As if his friend can sense the shift in my mood, he grins. “You must be Mel.” A flirtatious wink and a dimple pop round out the boyish charm that has me instantly forgetting why I was sad. “I’m Cade Fitzgerald, but everyone calls me Fitz.”

“The hockey coach,” I say with pizzazz in my tone.

He waggles his brows, making his ball cap shift slightly. “You been stalking me?”

Huffing, the chief nudges him in the side. “Maybe don’t mention stalkers,” he grumbles so quietly he probably thinks no one but his friend can hear him.

What he doesn’t know is that I grew up with a grandmother who constantly corrected my behavior in Portuguese, but she’d do it under her breath, so I have exceptionally good hearing.

“Bossman! Look, I found Uncle Dec,” a child shouts nearby. The ear-piercing noise is accompanied by a bundle of energy running straight for the chief. “Uncle Dec!”

Without missing a beat, Declan holds his arms out and lifts the boy into the air. Then he pulls him against his chest for a hearty hug. “You found me, Finn.”

I don’t know much about kids, but if I had to guess, this one is about seven or eight, with wild brown hair and a big, blue puffy jacket.

“Holy shit, he smiles,” Fitz says, his eyes going wide as he watches Declan and the little boy.

With a grimace at his friend, Declan gently sets the kid on his feet.

Finn taps his left foot and peers over his shoulder at the family walking up behind him. Beckett Langfield is part of the pack. I’ve met him several times, since he’s Ford’s best friend, but even if I hadn’t, I would have recognized him. He’s routinely seen in magazines and on television, since his family owns pretty much all of Boston sports. Beside him is his wife, Liv, and a parade of children.

The oldest of the four girls is almost as tall as her mother. Another is smaller than Finn. Maybe five? And in the double stroller Beckett is pushing are two babies. Twins, if memory serves.

“Bossman, Fitz owes me a thousand dollars.”

“Watch your language in front of the kids,” he says to the hockey coach, scowling. Then he lowers his focus to the kid. “Swear jar is only for the family, Huck. You can’t go collecting money from every person you meet.”

Finn—Huck? I’m thoroughly confused about what the kid’s name is—twists his lips in thought and then sighs. “Fine. But if he does it again, I’m telling Uncle Gav to take it out of his salary.”

“What is happening here?” I mutter, leaning into Lake.

Her smile is warm. “Uncle Gav is Gavin Langfield, the head coach of the Bolts and Fitz’s boss.”

Fitz grins at me. “Guilty.” Then he kneels in front of the kid. “Sorry, Finn. I’ll watch my words.”

“The twins say that only people who are intellectually lacking use bad words.”

I glance over at the babies in the stroller. “Those twins said that?”

Liv giggles. “No. He’s referring to my friend’s twins. They’re ten.”

“Bossman calls them the Shining Twins because they’re wicked smart,” Finn tells me, his chin tipped up with pride.

“Something like that,” Beckett mutters, holding out his hand to Declan. “Thanks for helping us out. I gave Mel’s stuff to one of your guys. They said they’d put it up in your office.”

With the reminder of my situation, my giddy mood evaporates. I just want to focus on the hot firefighters and the hot coach who keeps eyeing me like he’s going to have lots of fun making me forget tonight.This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

And you know what? I think I’ll let him. I can worry tomorrow.