Page 56 of Traded

I shrug, mutinous over my own betrayal. “Two dozen hockey players are converging on our apartment and will eat everything they see. Nothing is safe. I could use a hand.”

“Sure,” she says immediately, smiling. “I can do that.”

“Fine.” I yank my headphones back over my head. “Great.See you later.”

For fucks’ sake.

Chapter eighteen

Tamales & Concussions

Our apartment smells like testosterone and Mexican food with a dash of post-shower locker room thrown in. I inhale deeply, taking it in.

Perfection.

Benji grabs me from behind, squeezing as my legs lift up in the air. “Great spread, Ro.”

“Put me down!” I swat at his arms, which is a bit like a midge swatting a bear. “Watch you don’t put your back out, Gramps.”

He steals a tamale from my carefully prepared platter without breaking a sweat, grinning as he dances back out of reach. “Have you seen these reflexes?”

“You’ll need them.” I bite down on my grin as his chewing slows. “Katie’s on her way.”

His face erupts in an interesting shade of scarlet. I bang on his back when he starts coughing. “Deep breaths. Have a juice.”

He takes one with a nod and another cough, taking cover behind the couch. Ryker, Dylan, Jonas and a few others arealready embroiled in a game, chirping in full flow and tossing popcorn at the screen.

“Ace fuckers, going down.” Ryker smashes a button on the controller with glee. “Wish it was that easy on the ice. Did you see that clapper Yukov scored against the Bruins?”

"Remy's clipped it for tomorrow. Reckons there's a hole somewhere on Yukov's left." Dylan boos when Ryker smashes a puck to the corner of his net.

Jonas snorts. “That fucker hasn’t got a weakness. Absolute tank.”

“Unlike you.” Benji taps the back of his head. “Keep snuggling that blue line like a comfort blanket and see what happens.”

“You weren’t kidding.” Lauren turns away from the far counter, a tray of carefully cut limes in her hands that she puts down between the rows of tacos. “I didn’t know anyone could eat this much.”

I haven’t even served yet, and we’ve lost at least two trays. I slap Liam’s hand away when he tries a sneak tamale attack under my arm. He darts around and swoops a taco from in front of Lauren instead, the two of them locking gazes. Lauren flushes at the small smile he offers her.

I want to throw a tamale at his damn head.

My faint retching sound isn’t picked up by anyone but them. They exchange a brief, silent glance that I have no part in.

We were doing so well.

Noah sets down a crate of beer on the counter, breaking my stare. “Where’d you want these?”

I turn away from the show, ignoring my twisting stomach in favor of watching hockey players scramble under my orders to stack plates and count napkins.

Katie squeals over the crowd. “Benji!”

I slam a hand over my mouth to muffle my laughter, watching her zero in on our helpless goalie and shimmy up to him. Ethanis grinning, his eyes on his omega as she wraps herself around a scarlet Benji. He pats her shoulder. “Hey, Katie. Uh. Ethan.”

“Hey.” Ethan is clearly holding back his own laughter. He rescues Benji with a whisper in Katie’s ear and a nudge that has her bounding up and throwing her arms around me.

I grip her tightly. Probably too tightly, but she only squeezes me tighter. “You always put on a phenomenal spread. I’mstarving.”

Her eyes narrow at Lauren. My sister-wife is rooting around in the fridge, searching for hot sauce I’m pretty sure I saw in Noah’s hands a few minutes ago. “Who’s this?”