“That works for me, but Charlene wants to come with.”

“Is she thinking about getting ink?” Randy asks.

Darren shrugs. “Not that I’m aware. She’s more of a steel girl.”

“She’s got a belly ring, right?” Randy asks.

“Sunny says she has her nipples pierced.” Miller rubs his chest. “I get the belly ring, but I can’t imagine it feels all that good when someone jabs a needle through your boob.”

“According to Charlene, it’s worth the pain, and it’s sexy as fuck,” Darren says quietly.

“So if she’s already got her nipples and her belly done, what’s left?” Miller asks.

Darren’s grin isn’t one I’ve seen before. “There are other, equally rewarding locations for steel.”

Lance slaps the table. “Fuck, man! There was this bunny two seasons ago, before I was traded to Chicago, who had everything pierced, and I mean everything. It was insane. She was a little freaky. Wanted her friend to stick her whole arm up there.”

“Sometimes I’m honestly baffled that you’re ordained and able to marry people, when this is the stuff that comes out of your mouth. Is Water’s and Violet’s wedding even legit?” Randy asks.

Lance rolls his beer between his palms and stares at his glass. “Just ’cause I’ve fucked a lot doesn’t make it any less legit.”

“Vi and I appreciate you doing that for us. The ceremony I mean, not the fucking.” I clap him on the shoulder, and he flinches like I’ve surprised him. “Violet said she wants to come, too, so maybe Darren and I can carpool with the girls and meet you guys there?”

“Lily’s coming along, since we’re looking at her art at the same time.”

“Sunny also wants to come,” Miller says.

“I thought this was gonna be a team thing,” Lance grumbles.

“Just pick up a bunny, and you can bring her along for the ride. Maybe she’ll get your name tattooed on her boob,” Miller says.

Randy gives him the eye. “Don’t even joke. There are plenty of girls who’ve done that.”

“Remember that chick who showed up at one of my parties with your number front and center on her pussy?” Lance asks.

“I’m pretty sure that was coincidental,” Randy mutters.

His number is sixty-nine, so it’s not a stretch.

“I’m just sayin’. Anyway, doesn’t anyone find it kinda weird that all the girls want to come to a tattoo shop, and Lily’s the only one looking to get a tattoo?”

“Charlene wants to look at jewelry,” Darren adds.

“I think Sunny wants to come because Lily’s coming, and Violet probably wants to come because Charlene is coming,” Miller offers.

I don’t bother to mention to the rest of the guys that Violet’s asked me about nipple piercings. I have my doubts she’s serious anyway. Violet’s not one to invite pain intentionally, and I’m not willing to sacrifice her boobs. I already love them just the way they are.

Chapter 8

Girls are Whacked

LANCE

I pick up Randy and Miller—and Sunny and Lily—on Sunday morning so we can check out the designs at Inked Armor. I’m kind of fucking annoyed. Not because I don’t like Lily and Sunny. I do. They’re great girls. Ladies. Women. Whatever. But this whole thing is supposed to be about us guys getting tattoos together to commemorate the fact that we’re part of the same damn team. What it’s not supposed to be is this big fucking couple thing. Because that makes me super aware that I don’t fit.

And I’m not trying to be a bitchy chick about it. Everyone but me has a girl. I mean, granted, I have lots of girls I can call, and I’m sure any one of them would be more than happy to hang out with me and a bunch of my professional-hockey-playing friends for an afternoon while we check out tattoo designs at one of the top studios in the city…as long as afterwards there’s a fuck guarantee.

Unfortunately, bunnies and girlfriends do not mix. As a general rule, bunnies aren’t interested in deep conversation—with anyone. And what they want from me sure isn’t chitchatting for several hours while surrounded by my friends in well-defined relationships.

I’ve learned from past experiences that all conversation does is give someone leverage, and I don’t need anyone holding my own shit over my head, or using it to control me.

Hanging out with my teammates and their girlfriends—or wife, in Violet’s case—isn’t something I’m typically unhappy about. It’s just that current circumstances are making me testier than usual. My ex—if I can even call her that since she never really acknowledged that it was a thing beyond fucking—has started texting me again, and I’m having a hard time not responding, despite the fact that I’ve changed her name from Tash to DO NOT FUCKING REPLY in my contact list.

My phone keeps buzzing in the center console.

Randy picks it up, checking to see who it’s from, and frowns. “Is that who I think it is?”

“Yeah.”

“What the hell does she want?”

“To fuck with my head some more? Who knows,” I mutter.

Lily peeks her head over Randy’s seat to get a look and sighs. “I would kick her in the vagina with my skates on for you.”

“She’ll stop messaging eventually.” When I respond. Which could be a day, a week, or a month from now, depending on how long it takes me to cave. Then I’ll get to spend an indeterminate amount of time afterwards feeling stupid for answering in the first place.

I put my phone to airplane mode so I don’t get notifications every time she sends another message. It’s still pretty early in the day, so parking isn’t too hard to find close to Inked Armor. It’s not my first time getting inked, but I like that I have a group of friends to do this with now, and that this piece will be a lot different than my other art.

Alex, Darren, Charlene, and Violet are all waiting for us down the street from the shop. Violet gives my arm a squeeze—it’s as close as she usually gets to a hug. Ever since Alex had that on-ice accident last season, and I beat the shit out of the guy responsible, Vi and I have had a new appreciation for each other.

She appreciates my penchant for retribution, and I appreciate the strength of character it takes to go through shit like that with someone and decide they’re worth the effort to stick it out.