Page 2 of Scoring a Sweet Thing

“We are.” This time, it’s him who rolls his eyes as he turns on his heel and heads toward the door. I follow him out to the car and climb into the passenger seat.

“You’re one of a kind, Remi,” he murmurs.

I grin proudly. “Obvs! There’s only one of me.”

“Technically, there’s three of you. The clue is in your name. Remington McRae the Third.”

“Technically,” I mock, “only in name. My Grampy and dad aren’t as cool as I am. I’m rare. Like a unicorn. Limited edition.”

“But unicorns aren’t real.”

“Maybe we’re not real,” I argue. “You ever thought about that?”

His brows furrow, and he casts me a quick, confused glance out the corner of his eye. “What are you talking about?”

“How do you know we’re not currently starring in some alien’s dream?” I slap his bicep with the back of my hand. “Or we could be in a reality show!”

“Uhh… Do you know how dumb that sounds?”

I make a pfft sound. Smitty lacks imagination. Sometimes I feel sorry for the dude. “You sound dumb.”

By the time we arrive at the practice facility twenty minutes later, I’ve finished my hot chocolate, and I’m energized for practice thanks to Babs. I head to the gym to do my pre-skate warm-up.

This is my third season playing for Seattle, and I fucking love it here. The team. The city. The fans.

If I could meet someone, it would be even better, but dating is hard when you’re a professional athlete. And some people don’t understand my marshmallow hobby. They call me weird, and I don’t need that kind of negativity in my life.

After I’ve finished up with my workout, I’m strapping on my leg pads in the locker room when Nolan comes in, a clipboard clutched to his chest.

“Listen up, boys,” he calls out, standing almost in the center of the room but making sure not to stand on the logo. Dude knows not to bring the bad juju upon us. “We have our annual fundraising gala on Friday for sponsors and long-time season ticket holders, and I need some volunteers for the bachelor auction.”

I groan, tilting my head back until it hits the wall behind me.

Don’t pick me, please don’t pick me, I inwardly plead.

“Sorry, Nolan, but you’ll have to count me out this year,” Mikey says, all smug because he got himself a girlfriend over the off-season. “But Remi’s still single. He loves the bachelor auctions.”

I shoot him my best what the fuck, dude? face.

He knows I do not love the bachelor auctions.

Nolan spins around to face me, a wicked, evil grin lighting up his face. “Remington McRae, what do you say? Want to make some sponsors and season ticket holders very happy?”

I huff, kinda shocked he’d even ask that. “I do that every night I’m in front of the net, thank you very much.”

Okay, so, maybe every night I win, I make them very happy, but the nights I lose? Eh, I doubt it, but then I’m not too happy with myself either.

“I don’t wanna do the bachelor auction this year,” I tell him, slicing my hands through the air.

“But you’re a bachelor, right?” He tilts his head to the side. “Ergo, you need to be a part of the bachelor auction.”

I cross my arms over the top of my chest pads and jut my chin out defiantly. “But how do you know I’m a bachelor?”

“Well, do you have a partner?”

“No, but I could have.”

His face goes all scrunched up. “That doesn’t make sense.”