A lump of grief rises in my throat, so I gulp down the rum and Coke I’d been nursing to try to dislodge the heavy emotion.
Luckily, I’m provided a distraction when Coach Jensen interrupts our little hockey reunion by stalking up to the group.
“Hey, Coach,” drawls Tucker, beaming at the man who’d challenged and berated us for four years. “I’m glad you could make it. You too, Iris,” he adds, smiling at the gorgeous woman at Coach’s side.
I can’t lie—I was surprised when Coach showed up to the reception with his new girlfriend. It boggles my mind that anyone would choose to date someone as surly and perpetually annoyed as Coach. But Iris March seems cool, and she’s definitely a stunner. That part isn’t a surprise, though. Chad Jensen’s hot for a dude in his forties. Of course he’s killing it with the ladies.
“Thanks for having us,” Coach says brusquely.
There’s a beat of silence.
Then he nods. “All right. Carry on.” He rests one big hand on the small of Iris’s back, trying to lead her away.
Logan bursts out laughing. “Seriously? You’re just gonna walk off without giving a speech? Without congratulating the groom?”
“What kind of sociopath does that?” Nate Rhodes pipes up.
“Despicable,” Garrett agrees, nodding gravely.
Coach rubs the bridge of his nose as if warding off a migraine. It’s a gesture I’ve seen thousands of times over the years.
Next to him, Iris laughs softly. “Oh, come on, Chad. Say a few words.”
He huffs out a breath. “Fine.” But then he doesn’t continue.
Still laughing, Iris kicks it off for him. “Let’s raise our glasses to Tucker…”
We all raise our glasses or beer bottles.
Finally, Coach Jensen clears his throat. “Well,” he says, his shuttered eyes sweeping over the group. “As you know, I don’t have any sons. And after coaching all you boys for so many years, I’ve come to realize I’m glad I don’t.”
Mike Hollis hoots loudly. I muffle my laughter against my palm.
Coach glares at us.
“With that said,” he continues, “out of all the players I’ve coached, John, you’re the one who’s given me the least amount of grief. So thanks for that. Congratulations on everything. The lawyer wife. The cute rug rat. I’m proud of you, kid.”
Tucker’s eyes are a bit shiny. He blinks a couple of times, then says, “Thanks, Coach.”
They share a macho side hug. Coach steps back and tugs at his tie in discomfort. “I need another drink,” he mutters before taking Iris’s arm and making his escape.
We watch him go. “I miss his pep talks,” Garrett says glumly.
“They’ve gotten shorter and drastically less peppy,” Hunter tells us.
Logan snickers. “I’m going to grab another drink and find Grace. BRB.”
My gaze remains trained on Coach and Iris, who’d just reached the bar. They make a good-looking couple. Coach’s muscular body was built for a suit, and Iris’s ass looks damn good in her black cocktail dress.
“I can’t believe Coach has a girlfriend.” Then another thought occurs to me. I go quiet and squint in their direction.
“Are you having a stroke?” Hunter asks politely.
I shake my head. “Nah, I was trying to picture Coach having sex.”
Guffaws break out all around me. Hollis, however, is nodding vigorously. “I think about that all the time,” he says.
“All the time?” Fitzy echoes.
Hollis ignores his best friend. “Oh yeah. I’ve spent years trying to solve the mystery.”
“Years?” Fitz again.
“What mystery?” Hunter looks amused.
“The mystery of how he fucks,” Hollis explains. “Because here’s the thing—Coach is like this big burly man’s man, you know? So you’d think he’d be a power fucker, right?” Hollis grows more and more animated. “Like, he’s going to drill fast and hard.”
“I don’t like this conversation,” Garrett says frankly.
“But maybe that’s too obvious,” Hollis continues.
“So what are we thinking?” a fascinated Nate asks.
“Submissive,” I supply immediately. This might not be appropriate wedding subject matter, but now I’m invested. “I bet he lets her tie him up and have her way with him.”
“No way,” Hunter argues. “He’d need to be in control.”
“Agreed,” Hollis says, giving a firm nod. “But here’s what I envision: tender.”
“Nah,” Hunter says.
“Tender,” Hollis insists. “He’s all about the foreplay. He spends hours pleasing his lady. But he’s in full control, right? Then, after he’s made her come like four times, he slowly enters her—”
“Enters her?” Nate hoots.
Fitz sighs.
“—and they make love,” Hollis finishes. “Lovemaking all the way.”
I purse my lips. Honestly, I can see it. Coach’s exterior is so rough, I bet he throws curveballs in bed.
“Nah,” Hunter repeats. “I still vote for power fucker.”
“Coach doesn’t fuck,” Hollis argues. “He makes love.”
Someone clears their throat. “Gentlemen.”
We jump in surprise when Iris Marsh appears behind us. Biting her lip like she’s trying not to bust into laughter, she casually leans past Tucker to grab the silver clutch on the table he’s leaning against.
“Left my purse,” she says in a light tone.