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Forget turning out like my dad, a measly professional athlete. Or my mother, a mere award-winning songwriter. I was going to be Stanley Cup and rule the fucking world. I can’t remember who burst my bubble. Probably my twin brother, Wyatt. He’s an unrepentant bubble burster.
“Garrett who?” “Are you shitting me right now? You don’t know who Garrett Graham is?” “Is he famous or something?” Ryder stares at me. “He’s hockey royalty. This is his camp.” “Oh. Yeah. I only follow figure skaters.”
“Dad?” he growls under his breath. “You’re Garrett Graham’s kid?” I can’t help laughing at his indignation. “Not only that, but I’m helping with your shooting drills today.” His eyes narrow. “You play hockey?” I reach over to pat his arm. “Don’t worry, prom king, I’ll go easy on you.”
Does your father-in-law pay you to be his hype man? Or you do it for free to score approval points?
He’s still as attractive as I remember. Only he’s not a lanky fifteen-year-old anymore. He’s a grown man, filled out and muscular. Sheer power drips off him.
“You host a show with Jake Connelly, the most beautiful man in the world. Trust me, you’re going to get the views.” “Nope, nope, nope,” he groans. “You know how I feel when you talk about Connelly’s stupid looks. It triggers my crippling inferiority.”
Garrett Graham’s daughter is hot. She was hot when I met her six years ago, and she’s even hotter now.
“Sure, you are. You’re Briar hockey.” “Sweetie. You’re Briar hockey.”
“Gisele,” he says. “Mmmm?” “Are we dating now?” A smile tickles my lips. I rise slightly on my elbow and gaze down at him. He’s biting his lip and it’s adorable. “Yeah. I think we are.”
