Unrivaled, page 10
Grady opened his mouth to object… then closed it. “Oh.”
“Yeah. It’s pretty brutal. Which is weird,” he went on, rolling onto his back, “because it’s not like you have trouble reading people on the ice. But, like, your dates… have been bad.”
Understatement. “Believe me, I’m aware.”
“I don’t mean the dates themselves. I mean the guys you went out with. You had a bad time because you picked some real losers.” He rolled his eyes. “I mean, a guy who thinks ice cream should have palm oil in it?”
“Thank you.” At least someone understood.
On the other hand, that someone was Mad Max. Maybe Grady shouldn’t feel too comforted.
“Speaking of people instincts, how do you feel about dogs?”
“Uh.” Grady blinked. He loved dogs in general. He was just wary of loving a single dog in particular. “I like them? But I don’t have time for one, so if you’re suggesting I get a dog to validate my taste in guys—”
“I wasn’t, but that’s not a terrible idea.” Max reached onto the floor for his shorts and pulled out his phone. “Electronic baby gate. Well. Puppy gate.” Then he whistled. “Gru! Come here, baby.” And, to Grady, as an afterthought: “You might wanna shield your junk, he’s not great about landings.”
There was the excited clack of nails on hardwood, then coming up the stairs. Then a midsize chocolate-colored mutt launched itself onto the mattress.
“Hi, baby. Did you miss me?” Max ruffled the dog’s ears as it licked Max’s chin. “You did, huh? What a good boy.”
Grady cleared his throat as a stubby tail covered in curly brown fur wagged in his face. “Should I give you two a minute?”
But as soon as the words were out, Gru turned his attention to Grady. He put his nose right up to Grady’s and sniffed him while Grady petted his shoulder. “Hi. I normally have more clothes on when I meet people for the first time.”
Gru smacked Max in the face with his tail stub.
“I guess you don’t mind.”
“He’s got low standards,” Max confided as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. “And also he wants his dinner. Shower’s through there if you want to help yourself.”
“Thanks.” A shower sounded pretty good.
Max had good water pressure and about a thousand mismatched towels in his linen closet, some of which should be put out of their misery. Grady picked one of the nicer ones and stood under the fancy showerhead for an indulgent five minutes. Then he wiped the water from his face and reached for the shampoo.
The only bottle on the shelf read Men’s 3-in-1 Shampoo, Conditioner, and Bodywash. Grady couldn’t even identify a brand name.
“Oh Jesus,” he said out loud. “Why?” No wonder Max’s hair looked like that.
Reluctantly, he soaped his body—no way was he using that stuff on his hair—and rinsed off.
When he’d dressed, he went downstairs and found Max feeding Gru dinner from a bag labeled Premium Local Organic Dog Good. Grady’s head hurt. He wondered if Max bathed Gru at home. Gru had pretty nice fur. It was soft and glossy. There was no way the dog got washed with men’s three-in-one bodywash. He probably got pampered at the doggy spa with something that had oatmeal and jojoba oil or something.
Grady should stop thinking so hard about this.
But he couldn’t help it. “You’re out of shampoo.”
Max set the dog-food scoop on the counter and turned around. Grady had left beard burn on the side of his neck. “I just bought a bottle last week.”
“No.” Grady shook his head. He took a step forward and held out the bottle. “This is not shampoo. This has no business in anyone’s hair.” It had no business in anyone’s shower, but maybe he needed to start small. “You make millions of dollars a year. Why are you putting this on your scalp? Did the straight guys on your team get to you?”
“Hey!” Max frowned. “Seriously. Do I smell bad? Is it not doing its job?”
Grady sighed. “Do you wash your dishes with toilet bowl cleaner?”
For some reason, Max glanced at the cupboard beneath the kitchen sink. “I don’t think so….”
Augh. “Same concept.” Grady plunked the bottle down on the kitchen table. He was tempted to throw it in the garbage, but that seemed rude. Besides, if it was the dog’s dinner time, it was probably long past time for him to hit the road. “Anyway, I… I should go. Thanks.” Wait, what? Why was he thanking Max for sex? It had been Max’s idea. “For the, um. Help.” Right. Help. With his socialization skills. Because that was why Grady was here in the first place.
Could he get more awkward?
Somehow, instead of making fun of him the way Grady deserved and expected, Max just kind of smiled. Grady’s appreciation must’ve taken him off guard, because he blinked a few times and his mouth moved soundlessly before he finally said, “Sure. Um, good luck on your next date.”
“Thanks,” Grady said again.
Then, before he could say anything else ridiculous, he made a tactical retreat.
NOW THAT Max had gotten what he wanted out of Grady’s online dating experience, he stopped steering him toward disaster. Max didn’t want to get invested in “winning” that game when winning was starting to look less casual and more… intentional.
If Grady were less intense in bed, or less hilariously bitchy, or an uptight prick all the way through instead of just on the surface, he’d have had no problems. But Max was starting to get him, what made him tick, what made him laugh. He’d gotten a glimpse of the real person under the Wet Cat face, and he liked him. But he wouldn’t put himself in a position where he got more out of this whatever-it-was with Grady than Grady did.
Which meant it was time to, like, give back. And what better way than walking Grady through the finer points of weeding out losers from their online profiles?
The Monsters started their season with a road trip, so Max had plenty of travel time to spend texting Grady his tips. Mostly this involved reviewing screenshots and circling red flags—guys who mentioned a “crazy ex” in the first ten minutes of texting were an automatic no; Max couldn’t believe he had to spell that out—but when he wrote lol that guy is such a beer, he found himself explaining Drink Theory.
There’s nothing wrong w beer. Theres a beer for everyone. It quenches ur thirst. But its empty calories, bro. no substance. Beers are for sex, not long term relationships.
The three dots on his screen flashed at him for a few seconds before Grady’s reply appeared. Mixed drinks and shots aren’t empty calories?
Damn it, he had a point, but Max wasn’t going to admit it. Caesars come w pickles, he said instead.
Anyway, I don’t agree. If you’re going to drink consistently, isn’t something less intense better? Doing tequila shots all night will kill you.
Hmm. It was possible Max needed to rethink Drink Theory to account for relationships rather than hookups. But what a way 2 go!!!
Grady sent him an incredibly judgmental emoji. Then he said, What if I’m a beer drinker?
Max snorted. Ur not. mixed drinks 4 u. a beer will bore the fuck out of u within 10 minutes. U need some1 on ur level.
So I’m a mixed drink?
Fishing for compliments? Something made Max glance at Hedgie, passed out in the plane seat next to him. He curled his body against the side of the plane anyway, which felt… stupid. It wasn’t like he was doing anything suspicious. But he didn’t want to explain. He liked having this part of Grady to himself.
Ya. Alcohol content varies depending on the pour. Can last all night… or pound it back in 1 go. He added a halo emoji in case the innuendo was too subtle.
Predictably, Grady ignored the bait. What about you? Are you a mixed drink?
Oh, flattery! Max smiled in spite of himself. Nah. Shot. Packs a punch. And Max didn’t have a track record of relationships himself. He knew his strengths.
Can’t argue with that, Grady replied.
Well, no. He had firsthand knowledge.
Max told himself he wasn’t disappointed Grady agreed. Anyway. My vote is bachelor number 3. Lmk how it goes.
In reply, he got a thumbs-up emoji, so at least Grady was embracing some of the trappings of modern communication.
“No sexting on the plane,” Hedgie mumbled beside him.
Max looked up from his phone. “I’m not sexting. Get your mind out of the gutter.”
Hedgie could barely keep his eyes open, so Max didn’t know how he managed to do the judgmental eyebrow. “Who’re you talking to, then? Holding your phone like you’re afraid I’ll see it.”
How could Hedgie be this observant with Max when he was half-asleep and not have noticed his wife was pregnant? “Your mom.”
“Ew, dude.”
“Mind your business.” Max turned the screen off and tucked his phone into his pocket.
“Wow, touchy.” Hedgie suddenly seemed wide-awake. “Something going on? You’re, like, unusually glued to your phone lately.”
Was he? “Checking on my fantasy team.”
Hedgie snorted at the obvious deflection, but he let it slide. “Did you draft me again this year?”
“Yeah, but I traded you for Grady Armstrong.” The Firebirds had started the season 1–2–0, but Grady had four goals and an assist.
If fantasy hockey gave Max an excuse to check up on him, that was Max’s business.
“Ouch, bro.”
Max jostled their arms together in an attempt to elbow his stomach. “That’s what you get for being nosy.”
Hedgie rolled his eyes, but he wasn’t mad. “Oh, excuse me for caring.” His body sagged next to Max’s, and he put his head on Max’s shoulder. “Can I go back to sleep now?”
Max patted the top of his head. “Yeah, you can go back to sleep now. Baby.”
AS GRADY had suspected, the Firebirds continued to struggle. They only had one solid defenseman, and their forwards were weak down the middle. Grady centered their top line, and he and Coop worked well together, but no one else had any reliable chemistry.
And then there was Barny, who showed such flashes of brilliance that it frustrated Grady when he let in those wobbling shots two minutes later. If he could play consistently, at least Grady would be able to make up his mind if he was staying.
He was pretty sure he wasn’t.
And he was also pretty sure most of the team knew it, which made things awkward. He felt like he was abandoning them. They probably felt the same way. Gatherings with the team carried an undercurrent of tension that made Grady’s shoulders ache.
Grady would’ve liked to say that dating was a pleasant distraction from work. However….
“I asked for this with no onions,” his date of the evening, Chad, told their server.
Grady knew he shouldn’t have broken his no-dinner rule, but Chad insisted they had to try this new place, it was so “on trend.” He’d heard their mushroom risotto was to die for.
Grady certainly felt like dying.
“I’m so sorry,” said their server, her face a picture of misery, because this was the third thing Chad had sent back to the kitchen and he had absolutely made no such request. “I’ll take this back.”
Grady met eyes with the server and tried to convey through his expression that he was sorry for inflicting this on her. She grimaced at him behind Chad’s back and sped away with the plate.
Once she was out of earshot, Grady snapped. “Why do you keep doing that?”
Chad plucked a piece of bruschetta from their antipasto plate. “What, the food thing? It’s her job to keep us happy.”
Grady considered swearing off men. “No it isn’t. It’s her job to bring you the food you asked for. Which didn’t include a special request for no onions.”
“Sure,” Chad said with a shrug, “but if I keep her running, she’ll pay more attention to us and we’ll get better service.”
We’ll get our food spat in and we’ll deserve it. He looked down at his own plate. The food smelled incredible. Grady had no appetite for it. “Would you excuse me for a minute?” He didn’t wait for an answer.
In the hallway by the restrooms, he took out his phone. What time was it in Vancouver? Was Max’s game tonight or tomorrow? He couldn’t remember, but this was an emergency. For the first time, he hit the little phone icon next to Shithead.
Max picked up on the third ring. “Hhhhwha?”
So, pregame nap time. Oops. “Did you pick this guy on purpose?” Grady hissed. He and Max had gone through the options together before settling on Chad. “He’s awful.”
“Armstrong?” Yeah, Max had definitely been asleep. “Are you calling me while you’re on a date?”
“I’m calling you to ask how I get out of it!” Leaving Tony on the patio was one thing. They were in a fancy restaurant. Grady couldn’t just walk out. Could he?
“It’s that bad?”
“He’s sent back everything he ordered,” Grady said. “He says it’s because if he keeps our server busy, she’ll pay more attention to us and we’ll get better service.”
For several seconds Max didn’t reply. Had he fallen asleep again? “Max?”
“I’m here,” Max said. “Sorry. The first five minutes after waking up aren’t my sharpest. Where are you? Dinner?”
“Yeah. I faked a bathroom break.”
Max’s laugh sounded invitingly sleepy. “A classic. Okay. First you’re going to find your server, explain what’s happening, and pay the bill. Make sure to tip.”
“I mean, obviously.” Grady didn’t want to be associated with Chad’s shitty behavior.
“Right. Then you’re going to go back to the table and say you’re sorry, but something urgent came up, you took care of the bill but you have to go. Don’t make up a story, don’t elaborate. I’ll call you in seven minutes so you can pretend it’s related to your emergency and ignore any questions while you leave. Got it?”
Grady exhaled. “Got it.”
He hung up.
It took almost five minutes to square things with Quinn, their server. “No hard feelings,” she assured him as she handed back his credit card. “He’s not the first asshole to try it.”
“Doesn’t mean you should have to deal with it.” Grady signed the receipt and added a big tip to make up for Chad’s assholery. “All right. I’m going to go make an emergency exit, I guess. Wish me luck.”
“Go Firebirds!”
Then he just had to lie to Chad. Fortunately Chad had been lying his ass off all night, so Grady didn’t feel guilty. He didn’t even have to put on a show of being contrite. He was sorry—sorry he’d agreed to go on this date.
Grady put on his best apologetic “disappointing fans who want an autograph” face. “Hey, sorry to do this to you, but something urgent came up and I’ve gotta go. I let Quinn know to box up your order. She’s going to bring it by.” Paying the bill early had the bonus of getting Chad out of Quinn’s hair before he could pull any more stunts.
Chad’s mouth opened. Grady could tell he didn’t buy the line, but he didn’t want to risk questioning Grady and finding out for sure. His fragile ego probably couldn’t take it. “Wait, what? Is everything okay?”
Right on cue, Grady’s phone rang and he picked up. “Hey, sorry, I’m leaving the restaurant now.”
“I can’t believe you hung up on me after waking me up from my pregame nap,” Max whined. “Talk about ungrateful.”
“Uh-huh, probably about ten minutes?” Grady replied as he waved at Chad over his shoulder. He could not get out of here fast enough. “As soon as I can, I promise.”
“Good sell, though. Is this Chad? I knew I should’ve thrown a flag on this play when I saw his name.”
Grady took a step out the door and into the sweet air of freedom. “Some of my best friends are Chads.”
Max laughed. “Seriously, though, you owe me one for the get-out-of-date-free call. Don’t you know you’re supposed to set that up beforehand? Plus waking someone up during their pregame nap is bad luck.”
“Why’d you have your ringer on, then?”
“Even professional nappers make mistakes sometimes.”
“Anyway, you don’t need luck.” Grady unlocked his car and slid behind the wheel. The car picked up the phone call and transferred him to hands-free. “You play for the best team in the league.”
“Provided we all get enough sleep,” Max agreed. “Which I’m currently not. So I think you can make it up to me.”
His voice still sounded rough with sleep, but now there was a deliberate innuendo to it. Grady swallowed as he put his car in gear. “What did you have in mind?”
“Ever had phone sex?”
Jesus. “Not while I’m driving.”
“How long until you make it home, do you think?” Max asked, faux innocent. “Wonder how much trouble I can get into before then.”
Grady’s dick twitched against his thigh. “I’m hanging up.”
Max chuckled, low and sexy. “Call me back in ten.”
Grady made it home in eight.
THE MONSTERS beat the Vancouver Orcas in overtime, thanks to Max’s tricky mitts and a nice feed from Hedgie.
Max sent Grady a text afterward, thx 4 the good luck sex, followed by the water-drop emoji and the little siren that looked like the goal light.
Then he passed out in his hotel bed for nine hours, woke up, got on the bus, got on the plane, and passed out for seven more hours. By the time he pulled into his driveway, he had no idea what time it was, only that he wanted a dinner cooked in his own kitchen and about a thousand doggy kisses.
But before he could get to either, he half tripped over an Amazon box sitting in front of his door.
Max was pretty sure he hadn’t ordered anything. Had one of his neighbors been waiting for this while he was away? He hoped not. But the package had his name on it, so he shrugged and unlocked the door. It could wait until after he and Gru had some face time.
He set the package on the console table inside and knelt down as Gru ran up, wagging his tail and barking like Max had come back from the dead.
“Missed you too, baby.” Max kissed his nose. Gru kissed him back. “Thank you. Yes, I love you too. Is it time for some belly rubs?”
