Same Time Next Year(3)

“I’m an ordained minister. We could wrap this shit up to- night,” says Riggs midburp. “Excuse me. I officiated my brother’s wedding. I accidentally said his ex-girlfriend’s name during the vows exchange, and the bride broke my nose, but swear to God, that won’t happen again.” He pauses. “Sumner doesn’t even have any ex-girlfriends, right?”

The players consult each other about this and shake their heads.

“You could be his first,” Bryce says encouragingly. “Ex- wife, though.

Even better.”

The absolute nightmare of a conversation is interrupted when Sumner stands up, the top of his head not all that far from the ceiling, issuing a menacing growl that sends a hush through Sluggers. “I told you not to bother her with this.”

“Yeah?” someone shouts back at him. “You expected us to listen?”

“You’re actively getting scouted, Sum,” Bryce says angrily, while shoving a trio of fries into his mouth. “We can’t just let you leave. Fuck that.”

Sumner turns an apologetic gaze on me, but there’s something else in the depths of those eyes that makes my stomach flip-flop. Yearning. “Britta, ignore them.”

My mouth is open. No words are coming out. This can’t really be happening. Did they actually think I was going to say yes? To marrying someone tonight? Or ever? I am vehemently opposed to the institution of marriage—and I have been since I was twelve years old. When I sat at the kitchen table and listened to my truck-driver father confess to my mother that he had a whole other family in another state. And he was choosing them. Over us.

Bryce stands up, blocking my vision of the rest of the table. “Britta,”

he says, speaking beside my ear so no one else can hear. “What happened with our dad was messed up. I know you never want to get married, but this is different. It’s a business arrangement.” He rears back slightly and toggles his blond eyebrows. “He’ll pay you.”

I blink in what feels like slow motion.

Pay me?

I’m still going to say no to wedding bells, but it doesn’t hurt to ask . . .

“How much?”

“You two will have to work that out. But, like . . .” He gestures to the dilapidated, beer-soaked bar that is currently being overrun by revelers kissing the year goodbye, more than a dozen people dancing on tables now, sparklers streaking across the interior. The unruly establishment that just happens to be my home away from home. “He could pay you enough to finally become a partner in this place. Isn’t that what you’ve wanted for years?”

Yes. That has always been my goal. Since I was in high school and this place became my refuge. A relationship with another person?

Absolutely not.

But being able to commit to this place, which has been the only constant in my life?

Yeah. That is what I need. Badly enough to look over Bryce’s shoulder at Sumner.

Am I getting married tonight?

No. No way.

But it can’t hurt to have the conversation, right? Despite this idea being crazy and out of left field, the last thing I want to do is reject gentlemanly Sumner in front of his team.

“Can we talk, Sum?” I shout over the noise, tipping my head toward the bar.

The Bandits lose their minds, high-fiving, chest-bumping, and ordering bottles of champagne, which we definitely do not have in stock.

“It’s not happening,” I say to a smiling Bryce. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’ll wait right here to walk you down the aisle.”

“Go take a long walk off a short pier, instead.”

“You’ll thank me someday!”





Chapter Two

SUMNER

Inever know where to look when Britta is standing in front of me.

Or what to do with my hands.

I mean, I know what I’d love to do with them, but I’d have to get her permission first, and she’s never going to give me that. Not when every guy in this bar is in love with her, and she could have her pick. The fact that Britta is four million miles out of my league hasn’t stopped me from threatening my teammates with certain death if they ever asked her out again, however.

Call it a moment of weakness.

My mother raised me to be an unholy terror on the ice but a gentleman as soon as I take off my skates. Like a fucking Canadian should be, she’d say. But that afternoon in the locker room when I overheard Riggs saying he planned to ask Britta to dinner at his place, my fist bashed itself into a locker, dented it—and while I had the stunned attention of the team, I told them she was off limits. No dating her. No talking about her. Nothing.

I haven’t regretted it a single day since.

Nor have I asked her out myself. Fantasizing doesn’t count.

At twenty-seven, I’m damn good at hockey. Talking to a stunning blonde with a little red jewel winking at me from her belly button and a smile that could save the world?

Not so much.

She’s running back and forth behind the bar, uncapping beers and then sliding cash into the register, but every so often she peeks over at me, as if making sure I’m still there. Does she think I’m going to miss the chance to talk to her about marrying me?

Uh, yeah. I’d have to be dead? So, I’m staying put. Indefinitely.