Page 5 of Scoring Lessons

Nothing ever did.

I forced a smile and waltzed into the kitchen, where Aurora—Donovan’s wife—was mixing up some drink concoction.

“I brought your favorite.” I placed the round container with the rest of the side dishes and peeled back the lid.

Aurora’s wavy auburn hair bounced as she glanced over her shoulder with a smile. I’d always liked her. She had this steady presence about her. The woman was funny as hell, too. “Oh, thank God! I’ve been craving your mom’s potato salad all summer.”

I leaned against the island and draped one ankle over the other. “All you had to do was ask. I would’ve made you some.”

She opened one of the kitchen drawers to find a utensil then grabbed a spoonful of the potato salad. “Ay, Dios mío. This is better than I remembered.” She let out a satisfactory groan. “I told Liam, and he said he was going to tell you.”

My brows furrowed. “Sorry. I probably just forgot.” I let out a low chuckle. “You know me.”

She grabbed a bottle of rum and poured a dangerous amount into the blender then settled me with a knowing look. “What happened was that my husband forgot to tell you. But nice try. He’d appreciate you trying to cover for him.”

I cringed as I opened the fridge and grabbed a beer. “Busted,” I muttered before taking a sip.

“This situation could be easily avoided in the future if you give me the recipe.” She let out an exaggerated sigh, shooting me a hopeful look.

“You know better than to ask. My mother would disown me. And I do not want to get on Mariana Hayes’s bad side.” I loved my mother to death, but she was overprotective of her family recipes.

“Damn.” She groaned. “Worth a try.”

“What was worth a try?” Donovan asked as he strolled into the kitchen, carrying a tray loaded with all kinds of grilled meats.

“Trying to get the potato salad recipe from Hayes,” she said, her tone changing from casual to more tense.

“That will never happen,” Donovan deadpanned.

“Your husband is a man full of wisdom, Aurora,” I quipped as I tried to reach for a wing, but Donovan slapped my hand away.

“No touching,” he reprimanded.

“What the fuck, man? I thought we were here to eat!”

He rubbed his forehead in frustration. “They need to rest. All of you are a bunch of heathens!”

I grinned. “Anderson tried it, too, didn’t he?”

“Twice!” he all but shouted.

It was hard to hold back my laugh. “This is why Morgan told you this was a bad idea. None of us knows how to behave when barbecue is involved.”

He rolled his eyes, already sorting the meats into different containers. “Morgan doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

My eyes flicked upward. “Morgan is always right.”

Elijah Morgan was our star right defenseman and co-captain. He was also a pain-in-the-ass rule follower. He thrived in controlled environments (which was ironic, considering the man played professional hockey for a living).

Before Donovan could reply, his sixteen-year-old son, Isaac, descended the stairs with his face glued to his phone.

Donovan turned, opened one of the kitchen cabinets, and grabbed a few plates. “Oh, right on time. Food’s almost ready, bud.”

Isaac shook his head without looking up. “I’m going to the movies with the guys.”

Donovan slowed his movements to settle his gaze on his son. “I thought I told you to cancel.”

“You did,” he replied with the typical uninterested tone of a teenager. “But Mom said I could still go.”