Chase drops his head in his hand, laughing. “I remember him. You called him Boner Boy.”

  “He always had a pillow on his lap when he came over,” I grumble.

  “Well, at least he was trying,” Trina says, seeming to fight off a smile.

  Chase raises his face. “Also, not all teenage boys are little shits. My little brothers aren’t,” Chase says, pride in his tone. He looks out for those turkeys like they’re his own.

  “But I bet they’re horny for all the girls. And you’ve had to give them the ‘no means no’ and consent talks,” I point out, since his dad isn’t around to do that either, though for vastly different reasons than mine.

  “Well, Jackson is gay, so he’s not horny for teenage girls.”

  “I know, man. But you get my point,” I say, exasperated, turning to our VIP guest. “I just don’t trust anyone around my little sisters. Ergo, the seat belt law.”

  “I don’t think a seat belt was the protection they needed at prom,” Trina stage whispers.

  Cracking up, Chase offers her a hand to high-five.

  Clenching my jaw, I yank my seat belt as hard as I can and put it on. “Put yours on too,” I bark at my friend.

  With his charming smile that wins over fans, women, and reporters, Chase pats Trina’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about him. He has the manners of a Rottweiler. But I can translate Ryker speak. What he means to say is, ‘I’m secretly a softie and I don’t want a thing to happen to you especially while you’re out with us, so would you please put your seat belt on?’”

  With an amused shake of her head, Trina complies. “Only because Captain Bossy asked nicely,” she says to Chase, flashing him a cute grin.

  I look away.

  “We have nicknames already? Nice. Also, accurate.” Chase rubs his palms together, then points to me. “What’s his? Please tell me it’s Big Bad Wolf.”

  She lifts her chin a little defiantly as she stares me down, just like I did to her a few minutes ago. “It’s Mister Grumpy, but I think Big Bad Wolf works too.”

  Her boldness is fuck hot too. This is a problem. “Yes, yes it does,” I say, staying stone-faced. I tip my chin at Chase. “You too, golden boy. Put it on.”

  With a sigh, Chase takes off his suit jacket and tugs on the seat belt. “Sure thing…Big Bad Wolf.”

  Then I tap on the glass and tell the driver to take us to Sticks and Stones, a bar with pool, Ping-Pong and other games. It’s the place Jasper picked—which reminds me…As the car cruises through the arena’s players’ lot, I turn to Trina. “You still want to go there? Some dude named Jasper picked it.”

  She grins a little wickedly. That’s annoying. She’s too damn pretty when she smiles like that, kind of devilishly. “I actually picked it. Jasper asked me for suggestions. And it was my idea since I want to learn how to play both. They sound like fun, and I’ve been dying to give them a try,” she says. “His only idea was to go to a strip club with you two.”

  I sneer. “Like I said, little shit.”

  Chase snorts. “That’d have been a no.”

  “Also, that’s weak,” I add. “Does this Jasper have zero creativity?”

  She squares her shoulders. “Considering he banged our neighbor in our bed while I was working, I’d have to say yes, he lacks any and all creativity. I mean, try a little harder, right? Maybe get a room, or get creative and go to, I dunno, Target and pull her into a dressing room or something. Right?” she says, so clearly trying to stay strong and tough, but I can tell it still hurts. Instantly, I hate him even more than I did already. More than I hate the shit-tastic Bryce Tucker, AKA Pompous Fuckface.

  “You want us to fuck him up?” I crack my knuckles, ready and willing.

  That earns me my first real laugh from her.

  “Because we will,” Chase says, jumping in. Gone is the charm from his voice. He’s all business now, ready to send a message if he has to. “Just say the word.”

  Trina blinks, then lets out a surprised breath. “Tempting, but I’ll pass. Appreciate the thought though,” she says as the car weaves into traffic.

  “The offer stands. Any time,” I add, then scratch my jaw. “But how’d you get his tickets for the game?”

  Trina smiles like an Internet meme for the word sneaky. “He’s obsessed with hockey. You’re both his favorite players. So I swiped the VIP tix he won after I caught him cheating. I sent him out of the house, making him think I was forgiving him and just needed some time to cry alone before he came back. Instead, I packed up all my stuff and my dog so I could crash with my bestie, and on the way out I grabbed the bag of jerseys and pucks I bought—as a surprise to him—to have signed by you two. I wasn’t going to let him give any bit of gear to his new woman. And as I was about to take off, I spotted the tickets on his nightstand,” she says with a wicked glint in those green eyes. “I took them too. The pièce de résistance, as they say.”

  Damn. I don’t want to like her, but…that’s just ballsy. “How’d you learn he was the biggest fuckhead in the universe?”

  She straightens her shoulders, like she needs to be tough. “My dog ate the other woman’s underwear.”

  Chase’s jaw drops, then he points. “Oh, shit. I saw the vet’s video. You’re the woman with the dog underwear.”

  And I’m cracking up. So is Trina. We’re laughing like loons in the limo.

  “Pretty sure it wasn’t dog underwear, Weston,” I correct in between breaths.

  With a wince, Chase realizes his error, but then he grins. “Your dog probably doesn’t wear underwear. But if he does, that’s okay. No judgment.” He holds up his hands and looks Trina’s way. “Freedom of expression and all.”

  “My dog does not wear underwear. He only has an appetite for it,” she says primly.

  “But does he wear other clothes?” Chase asks.

  As Trina tells him about some tartan jacket the dog has for foggy mornings, then whips out her phone to presumably show him the pics, I’m thinking about how she stole Jasper’s memorabilia and his tickets, then came to the game and slapped up a sign. And she did it all classy and shit. She didn’t reveal who he was. Just his crime. Brilliant revenge. She’s smart, and there’s nothing hotter than a woman’s brain.

  I stroke my chin. Then I meet her gaze, and when there’s a break in the discussion of dog sartorial choices, I say, “What you did tonight at the game with the signs…”

  Her eyes widen with worry. Like I’m about to get on her case for lambasting a straying man when I am not at all. So I quickly add, “It was a total baller move.”

  She dips her face, maybe a tiny bit shy over the praise. Great. Just great. That’s sexy too—the way she’s got a bit of a shy side to go with her outgoing, badass personality.

  Don’t get any ideas. Don’t start thinking about taking her out. Nope. She’s just a fan and that’s all.

  I reach across the seat and offer a fist for bumping. There. She’s just a fan, not a cutie I want to take home, strip down to nothing, and lick everywhere till she’s begging for more. All night long.

  She bumps back.

  Not to be left out, Chase joins in, the three of us knocking together.

  When Trina lets go, she leans back into her seat, but she doesn’t seem as playful as she was seconds ago. Or as saucy. Maybe she’s thinking about her jerk of an ex.

  And that won’t do at all. “Trina, we’re going to help you make him regret every single second of hurting you.” I shift my gaze to my buddy. “Isn’t that right, Weston?”

  Chase nods, his expression intensely serious, like he is on the ice. “We fucking are.”

  Trina smiles again, and my chest feels a little strange when she does that. A little good. “I’m liking hockey more and more,” she says.

  “You’ll love it by the end of the night,” Chase says, then flashes that winning smile her way again.

  Oh, shit.

  I know that smile.

  That smile is so damn dangerous.

  That’s his I like a girl smile.

  And I need to shut down any more inappropriate thoughts of her, stat.

  Chase’s my guy. He’s been there for me since we were kids. He was there when my dad spiraled into the bottle when I was in grade school, when Dad came home drunk and mean, then when he messed around with anyone in a skirt, till my mom—who felt terrifyingly dependent on him—finally kicked him out. Likewise, I was there for Chase when he was in college and his dad—his hero, his idol—died after a long illness.

  There’s no way I’m ever letting a girl come between us again. Once was enough and it damn near killed me.

  As much as it pains me, I don’t even look at Trina when we reach the bar and get out of the limo.

  And it’s painful because I’m desperate to stare at her smackable ass.

  But I don’t. Instead, I pull Chase aside for a few seconds and tell him my plan for the night.

  “Hell yes,” he says.

  Glad we’re in agreement on that. I just wish we weren’t in such obvious unspoken agreement over how delicious our VIP guest clearly is to both of us.

  And I know we’re going to have to deal with that problem very, very soon.

  5

  TELL US EVERYTHING

  Trina

  Look, Ryker’s still an asshole.

  And Chase’s definitely still a playboy charmer.

  But Chase also seems like a legit good guy.

  And Ryker’s not quite the jerk I’d thought he was three hours ago. Or twenty minutes ago in the limo either.

  My reassessment is partly because I’ve just learned he’s got a soft spot under that gruff exterior. A desire to make things right.

  And so does Chase.

  But partly because I think I’ve seen Ryker before. I’m not positive, but if memory serves, a certain burly, bearded, inked guy likes to buy stacks and stacks of game books and crossword puzzles every few weeks at An Open Book.

  When I mentioned my store, I swear he perked up. That led me to cycle back through the memory banks of where I’d seen him before, and yup. Figured it out quickly. He’s a loyal customer.

  But then he shut down the book talk, so maybe his book buying fetish is a secret.

  It’s safe with me.

  Once we reach the doors of Sticks and Stones, he turns to me, stopping before we go inside and guiding me to the left so we’re chatting just outside the closed coffee shop next door.

  “Here’s the deal. Chase and I just talked about it, and you’ve got an endless supply of revenge selfies at your service tonight. Even a revenge video if you want to shoot us playing pool or whatever. Anything to make that good-for-nothing shitcake suffer.”

  “Aww, you really feel bad for forgetting my name earlier,” I say, patting his arm through his white dress shirt.

  Oops. Rookie mistake. That rock of a muscle feels real nice.

  “I didn’t forget it,” he grumbles, but he doesn’t elaborate, and I decide to let it go since, seriously. These guys are going above and beyond in the getting even department.

  “Thank you, Ryker,” I say genuinely, meeting his dark blue gaze. “I appreciate your zeal for payback.”

  “I’m not an Avenger for nothing,” he says.

  I look to Chase on the other side of me. “And thank you. It’s more than I could have asked for.”

  “Happy to do it,” he says. “I’m just glad we’re spending the evening with you instead of him.”

  The funny thing is…so am I. I’m having a better time than I’d imagined, and I’m about to head inside when Ryker clears his throat. “But that’s not all. Chase had an idea for what to do with the gifts you got for him. The jerseys and pucks.”

  Well, bring it on boys. “My ears are wide open,” I say, turning to the golden guy.

  “Why don’t I get the Sea Dogs jersey signed by the whole team and Ryker will get the Avengers one signed by his team. Then we can set up an auction and donate the proceeds to a cause you like? Like rescue dogs or something?” Chase suggests, and I’m launching myself at him before he can finish.

  “Revenge for charity! I love it!”

  He wraps his arms around me, one that has me almost drawing another yummy inhale of him. But I don’t want to overstep and go all pervy on him, so I keep the hug nice and chaste, then give Ryker one too. “You’re not such a big bad wolf after all,” I say.

  He grumbles something I can’t understand before I let go.

  Don’t want to push the grumpster, so I go inside.

  We head to the counter, and I stare up at the list of games on a chalkboard. Shuffleboard, Ping-Pong, pool, darts and cornhole. Chase steps closer, bumping his shoulder to mine. I don’t know if that was on purpose, but I like the feel of him so close to me. “So, what’ll it be, Miss Book Babe?”

  I blink, surprised. “Did you just give me a pet name?”

  Chase’s grin is all kinds of cocky. “You gave us nicknames. Only fair. And it seems fitting,” he says.

  “Was Miss Bookalicious taken, Weston?” Ryker asks his friend dryly.

  Before they can get into a bidding war over it, I cut in with, “What if I want to pick my own nickname?”

  Ryker shakes his head. “Nope. Rules of nicknames. You picked ours. We get to pick yours.”

  “But you can’t agree on one for me!”

  “I haven’t even gone yet.”

  “Go. Now,” I say, sweeping out a hand to give Ryker the floor.

  He doesn’t give in to my demand right away. He takes a deep breath, then, with a smirk, he declares, “Miss Inquisitive.”

  Damn. That’s good. It’s parallel with my names for them. With a huff, I narrow my eyes, a little annoyed he nailed it.

  Ryker smirks. “That’s what I thought.”

  “What’s what you thought?”

  “You like it,” he says, and he’s cocky too.

  Chase flashes me a crooked grin. “Yeah, I think you do,” he says, then steps a little closer, and takes his time saying in that smooth, deep voice, “Miss Inquisitive…” After a deliberate pause, he adds, his tone even swoonier, “The Book Babe.”

  I fight off a tremble. I feel almost surrounded by them.

  Ryker lifts a brow. He noticed the shiver. Dammit. He turns to Chase. “A combo. Looks like we have a winner.”

  “And it fits,” Chase says.

  The name is bookish and kind of sexy, and I’m hoping that means he thinks I am sexy.

  But wait. Which…he do I hope thinks I’m hot?

  The trouble is I don’t know. Is it both? But I didn’t swipe those tickets hoping a couple of pro athletes would fight over me. And yet, here I am, enjoying the spotlight. Maybe even enjoying the twin focus on me. I can’t blame the one glass of wine. Maybe I just like their attention after Jasper’s attention strayed.

  That has to be it.

  That’s all. No big deal. This is normal post-breakup stuff. I’m allowed to enjoy it, I’m sure.

  I break from my thoughts as Chase gestures to the chalkboard. “Now, tell us which game you want to play first. As long as it’s Ping-Pong.”

  Hmm. This is a tougher choice than I’d expect. Especially since Ryker clears his throat and says, “It’s ladies choice. You said you might like both. You get to pick,” he says, showing off that he remembers what I said earlier.

  I tap my chin, considering Ping-Pong, Chase’s favorite, and pool, Ryker’s choice. Whichever one I pick will send a signal. Like I’m picking one guy over the other when both are helping me immensely. Before I can decide, Chase leans an elbow on the counter and meets my gaze. “Actually, I’m wrong. Pool is better for our plan.”

  That’s not at all what I’d thought he’d say. “Why?”

  “We want to make that asshole suffer, right? You said we’re his favorite players. So let’s make him really fucking jealous. Because pool is sexier,” he says, and his smile is gone. It’s replaced by a dark stare with those deep brown eyes that feel like they’re…undressing me.

  I shiver, enjoying the eye fucking. I even like the charm. I won’t be fooled by it, but oh boy, do I ever like it, especially when he adds, “You said you wanted to learn how to play. We’ll teach you.”

  I can picture the scene. Me stretching out against the pool table. Chase behind me, showing me how to line up a shot. Ryker coming around to the other side of me, adjusting my hips just so.

  My chest flutters at the images racing through my brain. Images that are sexier than I’d expected them to be. Naughtier. Images of two men touching me at the same time.

  The image makes no sense though. Who’d take the picture if they were both showing me how to play?

  No idea, but maybe I don’t care about the picture at all. I want to play pool with these two hockey hotties instead.

  I don’t let on though. They don’t need to know that yet. “Let’s rack ’em up,” I say.

  Ryker lifts his beer bottle and knocks some back, then sets it on a ledge next to the pool table.

  With a serious stare, he regards the array of pool balls on green felt—most are mine—then tugs on his tie a little more.

  Chase doesn’t wear a tie.

  I can’t decide which look I like better—tie or no tie. “All right, you’re gonna want to hit the purple ball,” Ryker says decisively.

  “Easy enough,” I say dryly, because of course it’s not. I haven’t played much but I know pool is ridiculously hard. I’m determined to knock at least one ball in not by accident.

  Which means I need a little help.

  “You can do it,” Chase says brightly, then comes around the table, moving next to me, his pool cue in one hand. “Let me show you.” He nods across the table to his rival.

  “Ryker, you want to take pics for her socials?”

  Ryker nods and tilts his phone in the air. “On it.”

  “Then it’s showtime.” Setting down the stick, Chase unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt, taking his time rolling up his right sleeve, and revealing his strong forearm.

  Then the other.

  Mmm.

  Wait, did I just purr?