But the other women all gasp. “Oh no, he didn’t,” Fiona breathes.

“That total dick,” Charli growls.

“It really was that bad,” Scarlet says with a shrug. “If Bridger did that to me, I’d lose my mind.”

“Wait,” I stop her. “Is your husband a hockey player?”

“He was.” She smiles. “He was a terrific college player. And we all have shitty days in front of the net, Sylvie.”

I know she’s just trying to be nice, but my struggles are larger than one bad practice session.

Luckily, my dreary thoughts are interrupted by a pitcher landing on the table. “Evening, ladies,” says bartender Pete. “This pitcher of margaritas is a gift of those hooligans at the bar. Welcome to the Tavern, and welcome to Brooklyn.”

“Thank you, Pete,” I say as he sets down several glasses, too. “We sure do appreciate it. Will you tell those hooligans I said so?”

“Absolutely.”

Fiona lifts herself up a few inches so that she can wave a thank you to the men at the bar. “It was your new friend, Anton, and that Drake guy. And Jason Castro.”

Charli growls. “They’d better not be expecting sexual favors.”

“No way,” I say, flipping over a glass and pouring it for her. “Drink this and be grateful. Not everything a man does is a ploy.”

“It’s more like seventy percent,” Scarlet says with a giggle. “But I don’t mind, because my guy is the best there is.”

I pour a glass for Scarlet and pass it over, wondering what it would feel like to be in her shoes—to be unafraid to say “my guy” and know that he loved you and wasn’t afraid to say so.

“It was nice of Anton to send us drinks,” Fiona says. “Does he have a thing for you?”

“Nah.” I pass another glass across the table and then pour my own.

“He’s got a reputation,” Fiona whispers. “For being excellent in bed.”

“Figures,” I say. “His whole sex-on-a-stick thing is a little much.”

“What do you mean?” Charli asks.

“Well, lots of guys are attractive. But he’s just so…extra. Like, I don’t know where to put my eyes, you know? Everything about him is super sexual. And super hot.”

Charli shrugs. “If you say so.”

“All hockey players are hot,” Scarlet says.

“Sister—” Fiona puts her hand on top of mine. “—what if it’s not just him? To me, that sounds like chemistry. Between both of you. Do you find yourself suddenly wondering what he looks like naked?”

“What? No.” My face burns, though. Because during dinner I had wondered that about five different times. But it’s only because he’s not my usual type. He’s rougher around the edges than Bryce. He wears his attractiveness differently.

But I’ll never admit my petty fascination with Anton Bayer’s incredible body. It’s confusing to me. It must just be hormones or something.

“Be careful with that one,” Charli says. “He’s a total man-whore. Last year it became a problem—he ended up in the blogs for a hotel foursome he had on a road trip.”