“Gretchen is grabbing drinks. Did you want something? Go catch up with her,” Eden says, assuming the natural role of boss in our relationship.

  I throw her a dorky salute and turn on my heel toward the crowd gathering around the circular bar. But Gretchen isn’t at the counter I squeeze up to. I order a gin and ginger ale anyway—I’m going to need a little buzz to get me through the night.

  What do I do now? Head back to Eden and Holt and resign myself to my fate as a third wheel? Try to make friendly conversation with one of the not-so-gentle giants I work with?

  I take a sip of my drink, which turns out to be a lot more gin than ginger ale. Okay, so a lot of buzz to get me through this night.

  My phone vibrates. Thank goodness. I could use a distraction. It’s a text from my mom.

  Hey, baby girl. Wondering if you and Dale are coming home for the weekend like we talked about. Let me know.

  Okay, not at all the distraction I was looking for. Irrational tears well in my eyes when I see my ex’s name.

  “Fuck,” I whisper, wiping at my wet cheeks with the back of my hand.

  I knew I should have told my family right away about our breakup. I freaking knew it would bite me in my stupid butt, not getting it over with. Dale’s words come back to me.

  “I met someone else. We have chemistry. I don’t know what else to say. I’m sorry.”

  My feet move of their own accord, carrying me toward the restrooms, where I squeeze past the line to tuck myself in the corner by the fire escape. I’m kind of an expert at crying in public, and faking a phone call has always been my go-to move.

  Angling my body away from any prying eyes, I tuck my phone against my cheek to hide my somber expression. I have zero intentions of calling my mom back tonight. I just need to look busy while I gulp some much-needed deep breaths and try to compose myself.

  “Are you okay?”

  I blink open my wet eyes to see that I’m standing in the shadow of a tall figure. “Fine, thanks.”

  “You sure?”

  “U-um, sorry, I’m on a call.”

  “With who?”

  I ignore the persistent stranger, my despair bubbling into a seething rage. Why can’t a girl cry at the club in peace?

  “Seems like an asshole,” he says, droning on. “Won’t let you get a word in.”

  I spin around, ready to fend off whatever bullshit flirtation this brainless idiot is trying to pull off, but my words catch in my throat.

  My stranger is none other than Alex Braun. Starting center Alex Braun. New team player, Alex Braun. PR menace and my boss’s ex-boyfriend, Alex Braun. Don’t even get me started on that loaded history.

  What the hell is he doing here?

  “It’s my mom,” I manage to say.

  “Your mom, huh?”

  Ugh. I swipe away one lingering tear from my cheek before I open my mouth again, intending to continue the pretense, but I instantly give up. After all, I’m busted, and I don’t even have the energy or desire to make this encounter anything different from what it is.

  “Fine, you caught me.” I drop the phone in my purse with a huff like the useless prop that it is.

  “’Bye, Mom.” Alex smirks, leaning against the opposite wall, his wing-tipped shoes brushing my black booties.

  He’s one of the few men who opted for a slightly more casual look tonight, no suit jacket to hide the corded muscles of his forearms, visible beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his button-down. He tilts his head to the side, his startingly blue eyes tracing a slow line down my body.

  “So, why are you hiding in a corner, Aspen?”

  I didn’t realize he knew my name. Yes, we’ve been introduced, but I guess any time a professional athlete actually remembers your name, it’s a little jarring.

  I take a slow breath, still pulling myself back together. Or at least trying to. “I’m not hiding. I’m recouping.”

  “Recouping?” He grunts, angling a thick, dark eyebrow. It’s like he just knows.

  “Yo, Alex,” a familiar voice calls from down the hall. “I’ll be on the balcony.”

  I catch sight of Price St. James, otherwise known as Saint, one of our defensemen, a bottle of beer in each of his huge hands and an easy smile on his face. He begins climbing the stairs to an upper level where low-slung loveseats and plush chairs await.

  I grit my teeth behind a tight, closed-lip smile. Maybe I should keep tabs on the team tonight. At least it would give me something to do other than wallow. I could make sure they don’t get too drunk and end up plastered on the tabloid headlines like—

  “I’ll be there in a sec.”

  Like Alex. If I were up to that task tonight, he’d be the one I’d be worried about.

  Last season was a mess for him with all the drinking, the fighting, the garbage plays . . . the girls he was seen with at clubs just like this one. At one point, Eden believed he was punishing her for their breakup, which seemed likely, given his track record for being . . . well, not a great guy.

  Is that why he’s here tonight? To punish Eden? Kind of a ballsy move showing up to your ex’s engagement party.

  “So, where were we?” Alex focuses back on me with a jerk of his chin. “Recouping from what?”

  “I’m really fine.” I drain the rest of my drink, avoiding direct eye contact.

  “Look, I get it.” He sighs, waving absently with one hand. “Engagement parties aren’t exactly fun. It sucks watching dumbasses in love. Especially when one of them is your ex.”

  Okay, weird. This is a side of Alex I don’t recognize. At. All.

  It didn’t occur to me that he would be having a hard time too. Maybe he’s more three-dimensional than I gave him credit for when he was, well, just a two-dimensional villain in all the tabloids and social media sites. I guess it’s kind of heartless to think that I’m love’s only casualty.

  “Alex, I’m s—”

  “Wanna go upstairs with me?”

  I blink, my mind flitting back to the terrors of navigating dirty fraternity houses, where that exact question marked the beginning of the best and worst four years of my life. “Upstairs?”

  He lifts a brow. “The balcony. Unless you’re looking to get back to the happy couple—or wanting to continue that phone call with your mom.”

  “Oh.” I let out a little gasp, shaking my head.

  Alex smiles at me then, his lips quirking like he’s trying not to laugh at me.

  Please don’t. Not tonight.

  And he doesn’t. He just smiles and offers me his elbow. “Let’s go.”

  For some reason, I tuck my hand into the curve of his strong arm, letting him lead me back to the bar. He orders a drink for each of us—another gin and ginger for me, an IPA for him—and he even pays. I try not to overthink the gesture, reminding myself that my reaction to his chivalry is because I’m starved for attention these days.

  “You remember Aspen,” Alex says as we approach.

  “Aspen,” Saint says in a singsongy way. “Aspen, Aspen. What a name. What’s it mean?” he asks, squinting.

  Do all the blue-eyed boys flock together just to make me nervous?

  “Quaking tree.” I settle into the loveseat opposite Saint, while Alex leans against the handrail.

  “Aw, Scaredy Sprout.” Saint laughs, turning to Alex for affirmation, but the centerman just nods, a frown deepening above his strong, stubbled chin.

  “Well, it’s pretty. It suits you.”

  “Thanks,” I say, feeling a little delirious. A little outnumbered.

  Saint claps his hands. “Ha. That reminds me. Dude, another healthy-eating company DM’d me.”

  Alex shakes his head in disbelief, finally settling into a chair beside mine. “Another?”

  “Yeah, they want me to promo some green smoothie on Instagram.” Saint fakes a gag for effect.

  “Are they local?” I ask, my interest piqued. My voice doesn’t sound quite like my own. “You should talk to Eden about it. Maybe she’s heard of them.”

  Saint smirks. “Oh, come on. I always had a hunch you were the fun little sister. Don’t go dashing my dreams now.”

  That famous smile miraculously does nothing for me. “I can be fun while still thinking about what’s best for the team’s image.” I glance over at Alex, who averts his gaze.

  “Oof, all right, point taken.” Saint lifts his palms in surrender, and I smile. “I don’t have time to take on another brand sponsorship anyway. I mean, sure, it’s money, but I want no obligations this summer other than the ones I’m already committed to, ya feel me?”

  “Speaking of the off-season, got any summer plans?” Alex asks, eyeing me as he takes a swig of his beer.

  “Looking for a new place to live, mostly,” I say. “I can’t stay with my boss and her new fiancé forever.”

  Both men’s eyes go wide. Great. I momentarily forgot I’m the queen of oversharing to unsuspecting parties.

  “Uh, yeah . . . Eden’s letting me crash in one of their spare rooms until I get back on my feet.”

  Alex’s expression darkens.

  Here it comes . . .

  “What’s got you off your feet?” he asks, frowning.

  I open my mouth to answer, not sure what words will come out. “My ex cheated on me, and we broke up. I lived with him, so when we broke up, I was the one to leave. Which is why I’m crashing with Eden and Holt.”

  Well. That wasn’t so hard, now was it?

  Alex’s eyes soften, ice melting into warm blue pools. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” I lie, adopting my best I’m fine smile. “So, if either of you have any leads on affordable places in the area, I’m all ears. Even something temporary, just for the summer.”

  “Well, how about that.” Saint lifts his glass between us in a toast. “Cheers to the broken hearts club.”

  I chuckle at the idea of Saint being anything other than the heartbreaker, but then I realize he’s referring to Alex and me. Apparently, we have something in common, after all. “Here’s to us.”

  “You should stay at Saint’s cabin for the summer,” Alex murmurs as his eyes cut to mine.

  I wait for the punch line, but it doesn’t come.

  “Cabin?” I hear myself asking as the two men exchange a look.

  “Saint owns a summer cabin on a lake just outside of Ottawa.”

  “I didn’t know you were from Canada,” I say to Saint, who smiles with pride.

  “Born and raised.”

  Makes sense, I suppose. Lots of hockey players are from Canada. And Russia and Sweden.

  Alex doesn’t relent. “You were saying you needed a caretaker for the place.”

  Saint tips his head, taking another long drink from his beer. “Yeah. I do.”

  “And you won’t be there this summer?” I fiddle with the straw in my drink.

  Saint’s expression turns contemplative, his mouth falling into a frown. “I usually make it back every summer, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to swing it this year. So, yeah, I do need someone there to take care of a few things.” He gives Alex a hard look that screams what the fuck are you up to?

  Staring back at him, Alex says, “Aspen’s the boss’s executive assistant. Taking care of things is what she does best. Right?”

  “Uh, I, um . . . Yes, I guess so.”

  “She needs a place to live for the summer. You need someone to stay at the cabin.” Alex joins me in the loveseat and leans back, crossing his bulky arms over his broad chest. “It’s a win-win.”

  “How far away is that? Ottawa?”

  Wait, am I really considering this? An entire lake house to myself, miles away from my own problems and from Eden and Holt’s love-fest? Heck yes, I’m considering it.

  “It’s not quite all the way to Ottawa. It’s in a little town in southern Ontario,” Alex says. “Six hours by car. Easy drive. Totally doable.”

  I nod. In six hours, I could get through an audiobook or a few episodes of my favorite podcast. I’d have to stop to pee and eat, but Alex is right—it’s totally doable. And I know Eden is fine with me working remotely. Especially in the off-season.

  But this all begs the question, how does Alex know so much about Saint’s cabin? And why isn’t Saint saying much? I direct my gaze toward him.

  “It’s not that you’re not welcome, Aspen,” Saint says, staring at Alex. “But as far as the caretaker role is concerned . . .” He scratches his temple.

  “Come on, man. She can follow a to-do list.”

  It’s like there’s another conversation happening over my head. I swallow nervously, watching their exchange like a riveting game of Ping-Pong.

  “The work is . . . manual.” Saint says the word cautiously. “Some of it is heavy duty. Clearing brush from the property. Cutting and storing firewood in case I get up there this winter. Changing air filters. Things like that.”

  “That’s why I’ll be there to do the heavy lifting. I could go up next weekend and get all that stuff done easily.”

  Wait, what? My mouth drops open as Alex continues.

  “And the pay for the caretaker role is what . . . five thousand dollars?”

  “Two.” Saint narrows his eyes as he corrects Alex.

  “Which is more than generous,” I say quickly.

  For the first time since all this cabin talk began, both men turn to me.

  “So, Aspen.” Alex grins at me. “What do you think?”

  “Well . . .” I gape for a moment, scrambling for words. “I’m happy to apply for the position if Saint is—”

  “It’s settled then.” Alex smiles with a gentle pat on my knee that I feel right in my, well everything. Jeez.

  “Congratulations, Scaredy Sprout.” Saint chuckles with a bewildered look in his eye. “Looks like you’re my new caretaker.”

  I barely process Saint’s firm grip when we shake hands, or what he says before he disappears back downstairs. Something about getting another drink. Oh, and that he’ll email me the details.

  Right. The details. Of my temporary housing. What?

  “You’re welcome.” Alex leans back, his posture casual. Almost cocky.

  “I didn’t ask you to do that. But . . . thank you.”

  He shrugs, his gaze dropping from mine to the beer in his hands. “Better than living with Eden and having love shoved in your face, right?”

  “Right,” I say. Tonight has been . . . a lot. It might be time for me to quit while I’m ahead. “I think it’s time for me to call it a night.”

  “I’ll walk you out.”

  Downstairs, with Alex on my heels, I nearly walk smack into Holt, who deftly lifts his drink over my head and mercifully doesn’t spill a drop.

  “Sorry.”

  “You’re good.” Holt chuckles, offering me a small smile before his eyes narrow on my escort.

  “Congratulations on the engagement,” Alex says a little stiffly. “It’s gonna be a big year.”

  “Thanks. I know Eden appreciates you coming,” Holt says with a polite nod.

  A muscle jumps in Alex’s jaw, and I can’t help but wonder if he still has feelings for our boss.

  “I’m going home,” I say to Holt. So weird saying home when I should really be saying your fancy place that you’re letting me squat in, thank you. “Send my love to Eden, okay?”

  “Will do. You have your key?”

  “Yep. ’Bye, Holt.”

  Outside, the club music is a distant echo. I close my eyes, letting the breeze cool my warm skin. But my ankle buckles when I step into a pothole, my arms flailing wide to regain my balance. Alex catches my wrist before I tumble, steadying me without breaking his stride.

  “Thanks,” I mutter with a strangled sigh.

  I’m really setting quite a reputation for myself tonight, aren’t I? The executive assistant who cries in corners and can’t be trusted to walk without falling on her face. But Alex doesn’t give me any grief, and for that I’m grateful.

  “Do you need a ride?” he asks, nodding toward a row of shiny sports cars.

  I won’t even try to guess which one is his. They all look like they cost ten times my annual salary.

  “That’s okay. I’ll call an Uber,” I say, reaching into my purse.

  Alex places his hand over mine and thumbs open the app on his phone before handing it to me. “I’ve got it. Just type in the address.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No problem. It’s the least I can do.”

  “No, really,” I say, trying again. “Thanks for looking out for me tonight.”

  He pauses. “It was mutual.”

  My heart twinges a bit, even as I smile. “Are you gonna be okay?”

  He scoffs, running a hand over the dark stubble on his face and glancing back at the club with a cynical expression. “Are you?”

  I drop my gaze to the concrete, the familiar ache settling back in. “I don’t know.”

  Alex steps closer so I’m standing in his shadow again. “Would a hug help?”

  I didn’t take him for the hugging type, but I find myself nodding all the same. “It couldn’t hurt.”

  His big arms wrap tightly around me as he bows his head and rests his temple against my hair. I surprise myself, bringing my arms around him and clinging.

  Relaxing, I release a slow sigh. What is it about the kindness of strangers? But I guess Alex isn’t really a stranger anymore. I guess I used to think of him as more of the enemy. The guy who hurt my boss and my friend.

  I breathe in against his shirt. I don’t know how long we stand there like that, hugging as though we each understand how it feels to be alone, but then I hear the nearing crunch of tires, and I pull back.

  “That’s my ride.” I sigh, lifting my face and bringing one arm between us to return his phone. “Here’s your phone, before I f—”

  My words are hushed by Alex Braun’s full lips pressing against mine and his big hand cradling my cheek. My brain fires off useless information like, warm, wet, and good. So, so good. Thoughts that do nothing to clear my confusion.

  Instead, I grab a fistful of his shirt, pulling him closer to deepen the kiss, because that’s what this is, right? A mind-blowing, entirely forbidden kiss, that’s obviously only to make us both forget the heartache.

  When the driver honks, Alex chuckles against my mouth, the sound filling me up like a warm cup of coffee. Our lips pull apart with a mutual sigh. I blink up at him, lifting his phone to his chest and pressing it against his pecs—his very well-defined pecs—and over his heart.