Saved (Minnesota Caribou #5) - Colleen Charles Page 0,1
through this evening.
Max leans in and elbows me in the ribs. “Hey, if your door ever swings that way, I can think of a lot of dudes who have better lips than him.”
“Fuck off.”
Dylan grabs a coaster and slides it underneath Kane’s bottle. His nostrils are now so wide he looks like his nose is about to blast off from his face. His eyes meet mine. “Please refrain from throat punching him.”
I lean back and snort. “What? You don’t want blood on your fancy rug?”
Dylan shakes his head. “Nope. Because I get first dibs.”
Max, rocking his best Switzerland impersonation, scrubs a hand down his face. “Hey, Rookie. Dial it back just a notch. You’re like the guy who goes to the seafood buffet and hogs all the crab legs so everyone else has to wait twenty minutes for the next batch. Don’t be that dude.”
Kane throws his hands up in the air. “Just trying to liven this place up, Monroe. It’s like a fucking morgue in here. The only thing missing is a corpse.”
Dylan, AKA Mr. Grumpypants, does enjoy a dark color scheme. The only things inside this pristine condo that aren’t black are the chrome fixtures, the gray quartz countertop, and the white rugs. Even his kitchen cabinets are shiny and black. I think they were imported from Europe. Ever since he put a ring on it and that same fiancée broke his huge heart by flinging the little blue box back in his face, he’s like an NHL version of The Undertaker.
Black. As. Fuck.
Luckily, he takes out all his aggressions on the ice, but in a minute, it might be on Kane. And that might just be worth staying for and riding this evening out.
As I take another sip, nursing my one scotch to make it last, my phone vibrates in my pants. Cora. She always checks in after she grades papers in the evening. My stomach clenches and my heart rate accelerates. I scan the room, wondering where I can call her back without anyone giving me shit about it because the sound of her voice is just the soothing tonic I need. But when I slide the phone out and glance at the lock screen, the text is from Bob.
Bob: To approve you to play tomorrow, I need to see if the bruising and swelling have gone down. Can you snap a pic for me? I also need the sign-off from your regular ortho.
Blaine: Sure. Just give me a sec. I’m at Dylan’s with the guys.
Shit, I must have forgotten to sign that HIPPA release form. First, I fire off the letter I got from my orthopedist, Dr. Richardson, from my Gmail that says he’s okay with me playing. It’s already got a photo attached, but I guess Bob could use a more recent one too. I rise and head toward the hallway. “Um… that was Bob. I guess I need to get a fresh photo to him along with my doctor’s note in order to get approved to play the Riot tomorrow.”
Before I can stop him, Kane grabs my phone out of my hand. “Dude! Let me do it. My dad’s an ortho. I know exactly what Bob wants to see, so I can take it from the perfect angle. No way are you not playing tomorrow! That’s an important divisional game for fuck’s sake!”
Kane’s the last guy I want staring at my crotch, but he’s right. His dad is one of the most well-known orthopedic surgeons in Minnesota, hence his obnoxious and entitled attitude about everything. In this one case, he probably is the best man for the job.
Once I reach D’s bedroom, I flip on the lights and lay on the bed.
“Pretty sure Bob doesn’t want a picture of your sweatpants,” Kane says, fiddling with my phone to set everything up the way he wants it. He even adjusts the bedside lamp on Dylan’s nightstand, so it spotlights the middle of the bed.
Max and Dylan appear behind him.
“He doesn’t need any assistants to take a damn picture. Get out of here.”
Max points a finger at me and then at Kane. “You think I’m going to leave something as important as whether my linemate plays with me tomorrow or not to him? Guess again.”
Dylan snorts. “And do you think I’m going to let him loose inside my bedroom without supervision? This is where all the magic happens.”
“Or doesn’t happen,” Max mutters underneath his breath. “I’d bet money you haven’t had a girl in here