2. Melanie

2

Melanie

I shake my head hard and fast at Brady as he stands near the door and explains his Newfoundland language and traditions to me. Oddly enough there are two goalies on the team with the same first name, but it's easy to tell the difference by their accents, and to be honest the other Brady is a bigger player off the ice and that's saying something.

I hold my hands up and back away. Honestly, I knew better than to ask. "No way. Uh uh. Not in this lifetime. I shouldn't have asked." I make a mental note not to ask Brady anything ever again.

"Oh, come on, it's not that bad." He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. "I can be right back with a cod and some screech. Won't take but a minute."

"Brady, no. I am not kissing a cod, or any fish, or drinking screech? What exactly is screech, anyway?"

"It's rum and you have the order wrong. You drink and then kiss the cod."

I scrunch up my nose. "It'd have to be the biggest glass of rum ever to get me to do that."

"That can be arranged."

"Forget it. I am not kissing anything of yours." A shiver goes through me and I'm not one hundred percent sure it's from the thoughts of kissing a fish. Maybe it has more to do with how sexual that sounds, and I'm not all convinced that I'd never kiss anything of his.

Get it together, Melanie.

"You Newfoundlanders are crazy people."

He folds his arms across a broad chest and it's all I can do not to admire his big biceps. "Don't knock it until you try it."

"I'm not kissing a slimy fish."

"It's not slimy. It might be shiny, but it's dry, and hey, fun fact, they can taste like cucumber when really fresh. Dad used to be a fisherman, and sometimes when I helped, we cooked them right off the boats."

Is that how he got all those muscles? "Eating a fish and kissing one is different."

He pulls his phone out, and his fingers fly across the screen. "True, and did you know cod are high in protein and low in fat?"

"You know an awful lot about cod."

"That's why they call me Coddy." He holds his phone out to me. "Look, once you're screeched in, we can print off this official certificate and you can be an honorary Newfoundlander."

"I think I'm going to stick with being a Bostonian."

"Suit yourself. But if you ever come to Newfoundland with me, it's happening." He laughs and the sound curls around me. I take in his handsome features as his phone pings and he checks the message. Honestly, I don't hate Brady, but I can see why he thinks I do. I've just not really given him the time of day before. I haven't been rude to him, but I shut down his advances as fast as they come—which clearly means, I'm never going to Newfoundland with him.

He's cute enough, though. Actually, he's drop dead gorgeous, and that's half the problem. The man is a joker, the life of a party kind of guy, one who has women throwing their panties at him, even in the streets. At least that's what Brighton—owner of this gorgeous house I'm in, and the resort beside it, where I bartend—told me.

I'm finally getting my life together and I don't need some younger guy, a player on and off the ice, messing around inside my head. I'm the psychologist here. I'm the one who's supposed to be doing the messing and the helping. Nothing about getting involved with Brady is going to help me.

Okay, maybe that's not entirely true. Getting involved with him sure would help soothe the needy ache between my legs. One that makes its presence known every time he's in the room—and yes, even times when he's not. Dammit.

He shakes his head and tucks his phone away. I note his grin and ask, "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, that was Noah, letting me know you'd be staying here this weekend." He laughs. "I told him I nearly poked you."

"What?" I practically shriek. "Did you explain what you meant?" Oh, good God, I can only imagine what's going through Noah's mind and naturally he's going to say something to Brighton.

"Nah, let him think on that for a while."

"Brady!" This time I do shriek. I don't want Noah—yeah, we're friends, but he's also my boss—to think I'm messing around with his teammate in his house, when he's been kind enough to offer me a place to stay for the weekend. Just then, my phone pings.

I throw one hand out and my voice is dripping with sarcasm when I say, "Geez, I wonder who that is." Brady gives me a smirk, and like I said…joker. I hurry across the room, snatch my phone off the coffee table and read the message from Brighton.

"Brady poked you? Do tell."

I can't help but laugh and I look up to see that irresistible look on Brady's face, but unlike one of his bunnies, I'm immune to it.

Or not.

You are not hooking up with him, girl.

I growl at him. "You're a troublemaker, Brady Fisher."

He playfully shrugs it off. "I've been called worse."

Is the man ever serious? All the more reason for me not to get involved, right? Or maybe all the right reasons for me to get involved. Because maybe there is something I'd like to ask Brady…or rather, ask for.

I nearly choke on that last thought.

What did you just say about not hooking up?

The truth is, the last thing I'm looking for is a serious relationship, or any kind of relationship. I have zero interest in losing any kind of focus, and when it comes to asking for anything, not going to happen. There's always a hitch and a promise—or should I say, a broken promise.

Even though Brighton and I grew close over the last year, asking for a place to spend the weekend was so incredibly hard for me. No one gives without expecting something in return—that's how life works—so I'll pay them back, somehow. Not financially, because it's all I can do to pay my upcoming tuition by the end of October, but maybe I'll take Camryn out for the day and give them some much needed adult time before the pre-season kicks in.

I stare at my phone and more messages come in from Brighton. "What am I supposed to tell her? Nothing is going to come out right over text."

"Call her, straighten it out. How about I run out and grab us an order of fish and chips? All that talk about cod has made me hungry."

My stomach takes that moment to grumble. I should say no, and send him back to his wing in this big house, but I worked a long shift tonight and was going to have toast before bed. Fish and chips do sound yummy.

"Just make sure the cod is cooked," I warn, trying for my most stern look, or at least one that says I'm only in this for the food, but from his grin, I guess I failed. I wave toward the door. "Go, I need to call Brighton and straighten this out, thanks to you."

"At least I didn't say anything about banging."

I pick the pillow up off the sofa and toss it at him. He laughs, catches it, and sets it down before heading out the door, and despite everything I said about not hooking up with this man, I stare at his ass until the door closes.

With a heavy sigh, I phone Brighton and her voice is full of surprise and mischief when she answers with, "I want all the details."

"There are no details," I blurt out. "Nothing happened and nothing ever will happen."

She makes a sad noise, like she's upset by that. "Then what did he mean?"

"He didn't know I was here and he heard a bang?—"

"Bang?"

"Ohmigod, Brighton, really? You're as bad as Brady."

"If I remember correctly, you were the one who told me to be bad where Noah was concerned. I sure am glad I took your advice." I exhale a happy sigh and I have no doubt she's rubbing her growing tummy as she stares lovingly at the man of her dreams.

I lift my chin a little higher, even though she can't see me. "That's because I give good advice." I've been working my butt off on my masters, getting the highest grades in my class, and I'm quite proud of my accomplishment.

"That's right," she tells me. "Your problem is, you can dish advice, but you can't take it."

"First, I didn't know I had a problem, and second, I thought your degree was in business management and tourism, not psychology."

"Truth, now tell me about this poke and bang."

"It's the other way around," I begin, remembering how I had the kiss and screech order mixed up. "I had just showered after getting in and Brady didn't think anyone was here, and I was banging around, and when I came out of the bathroom, he had a fireplace poker in his hand. So, bang and poke. All innocent." As I let her mull on that, curiosity gets the better of me, I ask, "Anyway, what is this advice you think I should take?"

"That maybe a bang and a poke is just what the doctor ordered."

"And now you're a doctor," I shoot out, exasperated, as my mind goes down a path I shouldn't let it.

"You have been working too hard lately, Mel." She goes serious when she adds, "You need some you time. Or rather you and Brady time. He's totally into you, and don't think I haven't noticed the way you've been eyeing him."

I square my shoulders in defense. "I have not been eyeing anyone."

It's a lie. I have been staring so hard I'm pretty sure my eyeballs are doing that bulging cartoon thing. I mean, the man in his jersey is one thing, but a bathing suit at the rooftop pool, showcasing a hard lean body that makes me want to rip my panties from my hips…

A small chuckle from the other end of the phone pulls me back. "Are you still there?"

I plop down onto the sofa, happy the summer will soon be coming to an end, and the men on the Boston Bucks team won't be having rooftop pool parties that heat me up more than the hot summer sun.

"You know who he is and what he's like."

I nod and toy with a loose thread on the hem of my pajama T-shirt. I never thought about how unflattering this old thing must look on me. Not that I thought I'd be entertaining the opposite sex tonight and it's been a long damn time since I bought anything remotely sexy for bed.

Don't think about sex.

"True."

I hear Noah in the background, and realize I'm probably keeping them from bed.

Don't think about bed.

"You know he's not looking for anything serious," she continues.

"Again, true."

"Then why not rip into that man's boxers and have a bang and a poke?"

I am going to kill Brady for joking around with Noah like that, but hey, I was the one who brought up bang. Ugh. "I'm dressed in an old pair of pajama shorts and a T-shirt and they're both frayed. That does not scream seduce me."

"Seduce him then, and I'm sure he doesn't care what you're wearing. Better yet, be naked when he gets back." I open my mouth to protest and I'm sure she senses a rant coming, but I close it again when she adds, "Hey, I have some sexy, new lingerie in my second from the top drawer. I never got a chance to use it before getting pregnant. The tags are still on them. They're all yours. Besides it would look better on you than me. You have the right curves."

Heat gathers between my legs, and I think it's my neglected sex telling me to listen to my friend. "I am not?—"

"Brady is young and enjoying life. He might be just what you need right now." Before I can protest, she adds, "I bet he knows all kinds of ways to have fun and take your mind off school, work, and finding a new place to live."

"I'm not kissing a damn cod," I mumble, as I think about other things that I can kiss.

"What?" she asks laughing.

"Nothing." A whine I have no control over what squeaks out of my throat because everything Brighton is saying sounds just about awesome right now. "You're killing me, Brighton." I glance up and check the time. Honestly, I should be digging out my books, not thinking about a hot Newfie coming back with fish and chips and then jumping his body. Key word there, should be…

"Listen, I really appreciate you letting me stay here this weekend. I just couldn't take one more night of my roomie and her man." Maybe part of the reason is all their sex sounds were driving me crazy was because I wanted a little of what they had. "I'm going to start searching for my own place first thing tomorrow. They're banging like bunnies."

There's that word again.

"You know you can stay for as long as you like. The downstairs of the house has bedrooms we're not using, and a full kitchen and living room. This is more of a house than we need."

The downstairs is huge, she's right about that. It's equipped with a kitchen, living room and plenty of sleeping quarters. When you walk in the estate's front door, there's a grand staircase leading to a landing with two fully equipped wings on either side. The downstairs used to be used for staff, but Noah had reassigned them all when he bought the resort. He wanted his privacy.

"Thanks, I appreciate that, but I don't want to put anyone out."

She snickers. "I know someone who wants to be put out."

"Are you still on that?" I shake my head. What is happening in my life and when did Brighton decide to play matchmaker?

"If you play your cards right, you could be on that, too."