Page 2 of Skating the Pucking Line

New York was gray. Gray and hopeless.

No, that’s not fair. It wasn’t the city, not really. It was the job. My jerk of a boss.

The giant clock behind the dining table ticks with every second as I stand there, embracing this new chapter in my life.

Coming home isn’t moving backward. Taking life by the balls and changing what was making me miserable is moving forward.

I don’t think much of the first bang I hear—I’m more than used to living in an apartment. My one in New York was noisy as hell. I’m pretty sure whoever renovated it saved a shit load of cash by forgoing any kind of insulation.

The bang soon turns into a familiar, steady, rhythmic thump, and the second I realize it’s coming from above me, I groan.

It seems I may have walked in on my sister fucking her boyfriend again, after all—they’re just doing it in his apartment this time.

I give them ten minutes, but unfortunately, the banging doesn’t stop. Nor does it slow down.

Just because Calvin is injured, I guess it doesn’t mean he’s lost his stamina.

Envy burns through me. I could use a little bit of that right now.

Giving them what I deem is more than enough time, I head upstairs and press my finger against Calvin Keller’s door buzzer.

What the fuck is happening right now?

It doesn’t matter that my sister has been dating him for a few months now. Or that we spent the holidays together. He will always be my favorite Viper, and I will always get a little giddy in his presence. And if I can’t have him for myself, then my sister getting to spend the rest of her life with him is a great second best.

Having Calvin Keller as my brother-in-law one day will be pretty sweet. Of course, he hasn’t asked her yet, but he will.

It takes about as long as I expect for there to be movement on the other side of the door, and the second it’s pulled open, I find pretty much what I expected.

Calvin Keller, shirtless, his chest heaving and his skin glistening with exertion.

Delicious. Until I think about how he worked up such a sweat.

“Garrett?” he questions, his brows shooting up. “Were we expecting you?” He glances over his shoulder.

“Uh…no.”

“Another surprise visit,” he surmises as light footsteps get closer behind him.

“I guess it’s fitting that you two were fucking again,” I tease.

“Garrett?” my sister squeals, shoving her six-foot hockey player out of the way—a feat I never thought she’d be capable of—to get to me.

She throws her arms around my shoulders, hugging me tight.

I love my sister, and I’m not ashamed to tell anyone that she’s my best friend. She knows the best and worst of me, and she never judges me for my mistakes and bad decisions.

“What are you doing here?” she asks once she releases me.

“I think he just likes spending holidays with us,” Calvin deadpans, reminding me of the date that’s looming.

I fucking hate Valentine’s Day.

I hate the pressure and the expectations.

So what, I’m single?

So what, I like sex?