Pucking Strong: An MM Workplace Hockey Romance (Jacksonville Rays Book 4)

“This is so weird.” I let Henrik take my hand as we make our way towards the restaurant. Trust Jake Price to find an authentic, Japanese-style izakaya in Jacksonville, Florida. It smells good, even from the outside. And it looks cute. A string of red lanterns glow above the door.

“What’s weird?” says Henrik. “You don’t like Japanese food?”

“Are you kidding? I love Japanese food. No, I’m saying it’s weird that I’m here, going out with your teammates.”

He holds me back, searching my face. “Why?”

I shrug. “I don’t know.”

“Teddy …”

“Okay!” I brush his hand away. “I guess part of me feels like I never really shed the label of ‘the intern,’ you know? I still feel like that lanky kid who tripped over my shoelaces and fumbled with ice packs. Going out to dinner with ‘the guys’ feels a little like sitting at the big kids’ table. Am I crazy?”

“I think you’re giving Novikov entirely too much credit.”

“But he still has a seat at the table. He’s in, Henrik. He’s an assistant captain. And I’m just … me.”

He smiles. “Chin up, mitt hjärta.”

“Well, just cover for me, okay?”

He leads the way inside the loud, bar-like restaurant. “Cover you? Like pay for you meal? Of course I will.”

“No, cover for me,” I say, raising my voice to be heard over the Japanese pop music. “Deflect attention. You know, ask questions and stuff. And keep them from teasing me.”

“All will be well.”

As we weave between the tables, I look around for our voyeur. Poppy said a guy would come by with a camera and maybe even ask for a sound bite. They’re posting this to all the team’s social media accounts tonight.

The photos from our first date night went even more viral than Henrik’s press conference speech. Fans freaked out at the pictures and video of us dancing on the beach. Not gonna lie, the pics are fucking swoon-worthy. Not as great as the actual memory of slow dancing in the surf. But I definitely saved them all to my phone, showed them to a squealing Hanna and Karro, and set one as my phone screen saver.

I’m curious to see what tonight’s action will bring.

“Hey, there they are,” Novy shouts, waving us over.

All the guys get up to greet us. Caleb and Jake dragged Mars along. Novy sits with Morrow on the other side of the table. Henrik and I make seven. All the men shake my hand, with Morrow adding a sideways, one-armed hug.

“Fucking finally,” says Jake, climbing back onto his stool. “We started the first round without you.”

Henrik shoots me a sidelong glance before accepting the empty seat by Novy.

Okay, fine. We’re a little late, and it’s all my fault. And, yes, I know how much Henrik hates being late. Like, hate hates it. But he’s married to me now, so he’ll have to just deal with it.

I take the only remaining seat at the end of the table.

“Help yourself.” Jake passes us a basket of edamame and some chicken skewers.

Mars quietly slides over two sharing plates while Novy waves his arm to catch the waiter’s attention.

“Sorry we’re late,” I offer in greeting. “My fault.”

“No big deal,” says Jake. “Just gave us time to gossip about you before you got here.”

I smile nervously, accepting a plate of beef-wrapped asparagus bites. “Oh, yeah? What’s the gossip?”

Caleb shoots Jake a glare, and Jake snatches up his beer and takes a sip. Morrow covers for him, gesturing to the baskets of food. “Everyone, dig in.”

“Oh—here’s the waiter,” says Novy. “Hey, Kiko. We’ve got two more here.”

Henrik and I give Kiko our drink orders, and Jake orders four more dishes for the table to share. He rattles off the Japanese like a pro, adding, “I made Amy highlight everything on the menu she knew we’d like.”

I almost forgot he had a sister. I saw her once, the night the Prices got married in L.A. She flew over from Japan for it. She does something cool with engineering, like robotics or space or something. I was too starstruck being in Hal Price’s house to dare try to chat with her. But I got to touch a Grammy that night. And I saw Al Pacino.

The guys settle into an easy rhythm with each other, picking up their conversation from before we arrived. They practically share a hive mind, finishing each other’s sentences and starting a new topic midstream that has them all laughing and pointing at each other. I try to follow along, but a lot of the conversation is hockey jargon. They’re talking about trades, and the draft, and stats that go way above my head. I’ve learned to like hockey over the years, but I’m no expert. And Henrik does nothing to help me. He just sinks into a sort of stupor, drinking his beer, eating his food, and passing things around to the others while they talk.

After about twenty minutes of this, the waiter brings over a fresh round of drinks, trading out some of the empty baskets for more delicious bar snacks. As the guys all dig into the new dishes, divvying them onto the sharing plates, Jake leans down the table. “So, Karlsson, how’s the kid?”

“She’s well,” Henrik replies, passing a plate of fried tofu across to Mars.noveldrama

The table waits for him to say more, but he doesn’t.

“Cool,” says Jake.

Novy and Morrow snort into their beers, and Caleb elbows Jake in the ribs.

“Ow—what?” Jake glares at his husband. “Poppy said we had to ask him a question. I asked him a question.”

I glance around the table. “What am I missing?”

Novy slings his arm around Henrik’s shoulders. “Oh, Poppy just said we have to try to draw Karlsson out of his shell tonight. But we all know there’s no cracking open this clam.”

“Yeah, some leopards just don’t change their spots,” says Jake, popping a piece of chicken karaage into his mouth. “Which is totally cool,” he adds at Henrik. “You know we love a strong, silent type. Hell, I’m married to one.” He jabs his thumb around Caleb at Mars.

Henrik just smiles good-naturedly, sipping his beer.

The conversation turns to fantasy football, but I’m stuck thinking about what Jake said. Didn’t I used to think the same thing about Henrik? Now that I know him so much better, it’s easy to see all the ways he’s willing to change. He twisted his life inside out to make room for Karolina. He’s made changes for me too. He’s not so prickly about me making him something other than overnight oats for breakfast anymore. He shares his closet, his bed, his coveted bathtub.

Not, like, at the same time. It’s definitely big enough, but you know … not that.

Not yet.

God, Teddy, get a fucking grip.

I wrap both hands around my beer glass, staring down at the amber liquid. It was unfair of me to judge him then, just as it’s unfair of his teammates to dismiss him now.

The topic has switched to football and Novy and Jake are arguing over a quarterback trade when I hear myself say, “Henrik and I talk all the time.”

The table quiets, all eyes glancing my way.

“What?” says Novy.

Feeling flustered, I sip my beer. “I’m just saying, we talk all the time. He’s full of interesting conversation,” I add, setting the beer aside.

“I’m sure he is,” says Morrow, which somehow makes me feel even more awkward.

I glance to Henrik, giving him a pleading look. If he’s willing to change, I need this to be an area where he puts in a little more effort. I mean, is this how he makes his way through all the team dinners? Offering nothing? No anecdotes? No engagement? Am I supposed to just sit at his side as his silent plus-one?

Picking up on my unease, Henrik clears his throat, setting his beer aside. “Jake, how are your children, Jamie and Tuomas?”

I wince. Okay, so his delivery could use a little work. But I’m giving him an A for that effort. He’s come a long way from not knowing any of the children’s names to getting them right on the first try. Reaching under the table, I squeeze his thigh.

Across the table, Jake stifles a grin. “My children, Jamie and Tuomas?” he repeats, using Henrik’s robotic cadence. Caleb very unsubtly elbows him again, and he adds, “They’re good, man. Thanks for asking.”

“They’re looking forward to meeting the new babies in a couple months,” adds Caleb.

“Can you believe there’s gonna be three more Li’l Rays soon?” says Novy. “Man, how did we all get so lucky?”

The conversation turns to their kids and comparing the status of their pregnant wives.

I lean in towards Henrik, giving his thigh another squeeze as I lower my voice. “Everything okay?”

“It’s fine.”

“But you’re not saying anything.”

He shifts away from my touch.

I let my hand drop to my lap. “Well, am I allowed to talk?”

He raised a confused brow at me. “Of course. My silence should have no bearing on your participation in conversation.”

“See, but you just said more in that sentence than you’ve contributed all night.”

He just shrugs. “Leave it, Teddy. We have a rhythm.”

Well, from where I’m sitting, the only rhythm he’s a part of is circulating the air around the table with his breathing. I always knew he was the ‘strong, silent type,’ as Jake called him. But the Henrik I know has only ever been easy to converse with. He can talk about anything from hockey to current events to Dadaism. Hell, he can do it in three freaking languages!

So, why is he content to sit here like a house plant?

And why do I feel like if he’s not talking, I shouldn’t be either?

He sets his beer aside, rising from his stool.

I sit up a little straighter. “Where are you going?”

“Restroom,” he mutters.

I watch him walk away, locking eyes with an older man he passes. The man holds up his camera, giving me a knowing nod. Oh fuck, our voyeur is here, ready to take pictures of this supremely awkward evening.