Gametime: A Moo U Hockey Romance Jami Davenport (best summer reads of all time .txt) 📖

He’d expect me to go to dinner with the group, but I wasn’t going. Not tonight.

Tonight was about Paxton and me.

I had to talk to him. I’d thought this through most of the night.

In some ways, his superior play tonight made things more difficult. The last thing I wanted was for him to think I switched allegiances because he’d outplayed his brother. Truthfully, I’d probably switched allegiances long before I recognized my preference, and perhaps longer ago than that epic night I’d spent with Paxton. I burned for more of those nights.

“Paxton was on fire,” I said, making conversation and boosting his street cred with my dad.

“Every player has a good night once in a while. It’s maintaining that high level that separates the men from the boys.”

I looked away from my dad and rolled my eyes. He was as sold on Patrick as Patrick’s own dad was. Neither of them gave Paxton any credit for improving his play.

“Pax has been working hard with the new assistant coach. It shows.”

My father stopped in his tracks and so did I. He turned to look at me, his brows knitted together. “Is there something you aren’t telling me? Because I thought you and Patrick were a thing? He’s perfect for you, and I couldn’t pick a better son-in-law.”

Son-in-law? Exasperated, I threw up my hands. “Dad, we’re not even dating. It’s a little early to marry me off. You might want to cancel the order for the wedding cake and flowers.”

“But I thought you were interested in Patrick?” My dad frowned, disappointment etched on his face, and I hated that. I’d spent most of my life, with the exception of a few rebellious teenage years, trying to please him.

“It’s complicated.”

“Nothing complicated about it. Patrick is perfect for you, and you’re perfect for him.”

“How so, Dad?”

“Do I really have to explain it?”

“I think you do, because I’m not sure how you’re more certain about what I need than I am.”

He heaved an exasperated sigh. “You’re too close to the situation to see what I see. Besides, honey, listen to your father. I know what’s best for you.” His tone went from condescending to cajoling in five words or less.

“I’m not a child anymore, Dad. I do know what’s good for me.”

He patted me on the shoulder as if I were a wayward puppy he’d found wandering the streets. “Trust me on this one. I do know how important it is to have the right partner. You’ll understand the trials Patrick faces and have the tools to deal with his absences. Your mom didn’t have those tools.”

I flinched at his criticism of my mother, even though I knew he was right. I recalled the constant fighting and accusations when he was home. My mom’s claims he was seeing other women and his claims of her drinking too much. I’d often wondered if she’d been drinking the night she’d been hit. If she had, it’d been hushed up by the small-town police department.

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry.” Dad gave me a quick hug. He wasn’t great at displays of affection, but he did love me. I knew that.

“I want you to invite Paxton to join us for dinner tonight.”

My father opened his mouth to protest, then seemed to think better of it. “Of course. If that’s what you want.”

“It is.” I had the distinct impression I might be unwittingly setting a trap for Paxton, and perhaps I hadn’t done him any favors by insisting he tag along. What’s done was done. I’d make the best of it and attempt to run interference if necessary.

We walked a few blocks to a pizza place. Mr. Graham insisted on picking up the bill for the first time, probably because we were eating pizza, not steak. He came back with a couple pitchers of beer and four glasses. Cheap bastard.

Patrick grabbed one of the pitchers and poured himself a beer. He chugged it down and poured another. I didn’t blame him. He anticipated an ass chewing by his father. Hopefully, my dad’s presence tempered Mr. Graham’s wrath.

I was halfway wrong. The twins’ dad didn’t go after Patrick. Instead, as soon as he settled in his seat, he turned the full force of his fury on Paxton.

“What the fuck were you showboating like that for tonight?” Mr. Graham barely waited until we were seated at the table before lighting into Paxton. To his credit, he didn’t shy away from his dad’s harsh words. He looked him straight in the eye with an unfazed expression, infuriating his dad even more.

Pax had just played the game of his career against a very good team, and his father was pissed at him for outshining his brother? What the fuck was wrong with that man?

“Showboating? The coach doesn’t think I’m showboating. He was happy with my performance.”

“You were showing off for the Sockeyes scout and making your brother look bad in the process.”

“Was I? Did I do that to you, Patrick?”

Patrick shrugged, unwilling to participate in this conversation.

I chanced a glance at my dad. He scowled and rubbed his temples, as if the family drama gave him a headache. For once I agreed with him. Dad cleared his throat, and the entire table’s attention turned to him. When my dad spoke, you listened. Mr. Graham leaned forward, expecting my father to back him up.

“The boy merely played his game. He had an exceptional night. Happens to any player at some point in time where they play beyond their abilities because the stars align or whatever. Congratulations on the hat trick, Paxton.” My father thought he was helping, but he wasn’t. Paxton’s jaw tensed. My dad had just thrown some shade Pax’s way and added to the Graham family tension.

I elbowed my dad, but he was oblivious as usual.

Patrick ignored all of us. He threw back his second beer and poured another.

“Thank you, Mr. Smith,” Paxton said, not giving much away in his expression. He didn’t fool me. He was damaged by his father’s callous attitude.

Mr. Graham