Caged (Gold Hockey Book 11) by Elise Faber (romantic love story reading TXT) 📕

walked up, waved a hand in his direction. “What’s going on with this face?”

Ethan sighed, waited for Max to dish.

Surprisingly, he didn’t, just silently watched Brit as she studied him with laser focus.

“I failed that pop quiz you were teasing me about earlier,” he said.

A blip of quiet, Brit’s expression stern. “So, you’re not going to tell me why you’re scowly and moody?”

No fucking way. But he didn’t say that, just lifted a brow and waited.

Silence.

Max stood up, clapped Ethan on the shoulder. “See ya.” And then the fucker walked off, leaving him in Brit’s clutches.

“Spill,” she ordered. “Tell me how I can help.”

And that right there was why the nosiness was tolerable, even welcome, though significantly less so when it was directed at him. Because Brit and everyone else on this team actually gave a shit. They wanted to know every detail, yes, but it wasn’t to ridicule and scorn. It was because they wanted everyone to be happy.

“Want to be my study buddy?”

Brit’s eyes narrowed. “Sure, you failed that quiz, Eth.” She pointed two fingers at herself then at Ethan. “Watching you.”

Max poked his head back into the conversation. “And you know the gossip train is, too.” He lifted a fist, raised it up and down. “Choo-choo!”

“You guys are hilarious,” Ethan muttered.

“Damn right, we are.” And with that, Max walked out of the locker room, waving goodbye to the rest of the team, most of whom were in various states of their postgame routine or getting ready to follow him out.

Brit gave him one narrowed look then turned and hit the showers.

Ethan sighed. He still had the video to watch—and wounds to lick— but he could do both of those from the space of his own house.

He’d bring the tablet back tomorrow.

Slipping his wallet into his pocket, the tablet into his backpack, which he then shrugged on, Ethan found himself drawn into a conversation with Blane, and while he liked his teammate, a whole hell of a lot, he really wanted to go home, have a beer—since it was close enough to his cheat day tomorrow that he didn’t have to worry about Nutritionist Rebecca giving him a hard time about veering off his specially designed diet plan. He was typically a firm believer in the what-she-didn’t-know-didn’t-hurt her approach to dealing with nutritionists, but the team had bought into Rebecca’s plans long ago and truthfully, even though the diet was a bit restrictive, especially for his meat-loving heart, he’d never felt or played better. So, it hadn’t taken him long to get on board.

Especially, when she’d worked in those cheat days and he could have a beer and burger every once in a while.

“Eth?”

He turned, saw that Brit was back, staring at him, her long, blond hair slicked back after her shower. “What’s up?”

She crossed to him, voice quiet when she said, “You know that play wasn’t on you, right?” Her nose wrinkled in a way that was decidedly cute and definitely not in the typical tough hockey player realm—but that was Brit, a constant in juxtapositions.

It didn’t take much to understand what play she was referring to, especially because it was his fault. He’d misjudged an angle, the player from the other team had gotten by him, and he hadn’t made it back in time. They’d scored, and it had been on him.

“I mean,” she said softly. “Shit happens, and it’s on everybody, not just one person.”

Still, it was easier to let her think that he was upset about the play instead of his failed wooing techniques with Dani.

“Nice try.” He bumped her shoulder with his when she sat beside him. “You know damned well it was my fuck up, but”—here he sighed and told the truth, and conveniently, it applied to both the play and the shit with Dani—“I can’t do anything about it, so I’m going to go home, have a couple of hours’ early cheat day, and I’m going to wallow in my ineptitude. And then tomorrow,” he added quickly, when her expression turned concerned. “I’ll be over it, and all will be good.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You promise?”

“Yes, Mom,” he teased lightly.

“So not funny,” she said.

“Why?” he asked.

A roll of her eyes. “Stefan wants a baby. He’s ‘willing to wait’ as long as I want,” she said. “But he also said that he wouldn’t mind if I didn’t take such a long contract next time so that he’s not a grandpa by the time we have our first.”

He sat back in his stall, brows lifting. Now this was interesting.

“I mean,” she whispered, “I want kids. It’s just that I don’t know if I want them when I’m away so much, but I’m not ready to stop playing, and getting pregnant would mean . . .”

She kept talking, and he’d been part of the team long enough to find this particular bit of gossip fascinating—especially when she was freely offering it up. Though he supposed she didn’t have much to hide after she’d fallen in love with and married the former captain of the team and spent the majority of her time poking her nose in other people’s business. However, that notwithstanding, Brit was great with kids, even if it was obvious that a woman couldn’t be pregnant with men shooting pucks at her a hundred miles per hour, not to mention the collisions she took sometimes.

Kids would have to wait until after she retired.

Unless . . .

“You could always adopt,” he said.

Her brows lifted, her lips freezing in the middle of describing what Stefan would look like as a grandpa. “I could adopt?” she mouthed.

He nodded.

“Holy shit,” she whispered. “Stefan and I could adopt.”

Ethan patted her on the shoulder. “You’d both be great parents.” He’d met Stefan, who’d retired from the team a few seasons back, enough times over the last couple of years to know the other man fairly well. He was a good guy, treated Brit like the goddess she was, and he’d never seemed to hold her successful career against her,