Dirty Score, A Rough Riders Hockey Novel(32)

Eden, Sarah, and Tina all lost interest in the game, their gazes glued to Mia as she draped the new Rough Riders jersey over Faith’s body, really just a bunch of other jerseys cut and re-sewn into a new design, one that didn’t just fit a woman’s figure, but showcased it..

She used her hands to tug and pull the fabric where she wanted it.

“I’ll give it a tuck here and here,” Mia said, “finish off all the edges in a contrasting thread color.” She shrugged and smiled. “Cute, no? Nothing fancy, but quick and easy.” She added in a whisper, “And if you wear a little pushup bra, you’ll have some seriously lickable cleavage going.” In a normal tone she added, “I can have one for all of you by the time I leave.”

“I love it!” Eden said.

“It’s perfect,” Sarah added.

“So cute.” Tina crossed her arms and tilted her head. “You know, we should all wear them to the family skate next week.”

“Us too?” Lily wanted to know, crawling into the circle at Eden’s feet. “With my daddy’s name on it?”

“We could all match,” Rachel added with her infectious smile.

“Well, let’s see how much time Mia has,” Tina said, laughing. “I spoke before I thought.”

Jake’s groan pulled everyone’s gaze to the screen, where they replayed another one of Rafe’s poor moves. “Man,” Jake said, his hand to his jaw, “what’s wrong with him tonight? He’s playing for—”

“Dad,” Sarah cut in, grinning. “Little ears.”

Jake glanced at Sarah, then at his granddaughters, and grinned. “Right.”

The commentators on television continued their conjecture over what could have turned Rafe’s game sour, and Mia winced. “Since I’d rather not spend any more time around them than I have to while they’re playing like this, I have a feeling I’ll find plenty of time to sew.” She pulled the fabric off Faith and smiled hopefully, then darted the same look toward Eden. “Maybe we could make a trade—dresses and jerseys for one of you taking my place at the family dinner tonight?”

Faith winced. “I totally would, but it’s my anniversary with Grant. Dating a year and a half today. We’ve got dinner reservations.”

Mia frowned. “Who celebrates their year and a half anniversary?”

“Um…we do,” she answered, hardly convincing.

“Aaaaand, um, I’ve got Lily,” Eden worked up quickly, pointing at the little girl she’d all but adopted as her own since she and Beckett had gotten engaged. “I have to get her home and tucked in.”

“Oh, honey,” Tina told Eden with a mischievous smile, “I’d be happy to—”

“No, no, Tina,” Eden said, waving her off over-politely. “You know it’s my favorite time of the day.”

Mia laughed a moan. “Why am I sure this is going to be the longest dinner of my life?”

Faith, the only person in the room who knew about Mia’s future move and her plans to break the news to Rafe and Tate at this family dinner, patted her back and murmured, “Because it is, honey. It is.”



The Bruins’ goalie was acting like a fucking brick wall tonight.

The Bruins’ goalie was acting like a fucking brick wall tonight. And he goalie wasn’t the only thing working against Rafe. Nothing had been right since he’d pushed Mia away. His blades weren’t responding the way they should. His stick felt like lead in his hand. And, man, his timing sucked.

Beckett slammed the Bruins’ right wing into the boards, freeing up the puck. Rafe swooped and sprinted down the ice. Two Bruins flanked him down the ice. The one on his right shoved his stick against Rafe’s. Rafe shouldered the guy off and swung behind the net. He took a tight turn at the pipe, hoping to sneak in at the corner in the goalie’s blind spot.

He shot. The goalie dropped his knee. The puck hit. Bounced off. And a Bruin grabbed the rebound.

Fucking A. He couldn’t make a goal to save his ever-loving life.

Somewhere on the ice, a penalty stopped play, and Rafe straightened, letting his muscles relax and breathe. He glanced toward the stands and the empty seat next to Joe where Mia should be. Where Mia always sat during home games when she came to town. Whether Joe came into town or not. Whether Rafe was talking to her or not. She’d never missed a game. In fact, she’d never missed texting him after a game.

Over the last year, because Rafe didn’t text her back, her comments had become shorter and less enthusiastic, but she’d always texted him. Great moves or tough game, you’ll get ’em next time. That ref was a hard-ass, or congrats, you killed it. Something. Last night was the first time in his entire hockey career that she hadn’t texted him. And Rafe had fallen asleep alone in his hotel room with his phone clutched in his hand, just waiting for some sliver of connection with her.