The dog's entire body wiggles with the force of his tail wagging. I offer my hand for him to sniff, and he immediately licks my fingers before nuzzling his head under my palm.
"He approves," Alder says, appearing from what I assume is a hallway leading to the bedrooms. He's changed into joggers and a worn Fury t-shirt, his hair damp as if he's just showered. "Which is good because he's the only one whose opinion matters around here."
I squat by the dog, frozen at the sight of this clean-cut Adonis. “You shaved.” is what falls out of my mouth.
Alder runs a hand along his chiseled jaw, and I can smell aftershave, soap, and something unique to this beautiful man. “Yeah,” he says. “Playoffs are over, so the beard could go, thank god. Those things itch like hell.”
“I’m keeping mine,” Gunnar yells from across the room, cutting the tension a bit as the brothers argue about their facial hair.
“I think your dog’s adorable," I say, trying to regain control of the situation, scratching behind Gordie's ears while he makes snorting noises of pleasure. "So ugly he's cute, you know? Like a little gargoyle with fur."
"That's exactly what I said when Alder brought him home!" Tucker exclaims. "Also, his breath is terrible. Fair warning."
As if on cue, Gordie pants happily in my face, and I'm hit with a wave of doggy halitosis that could wilt flowers. "Oh my," I laugh, turning my face away. "That is... potent."
"I brush his teeth," Alder says defensively. "He just has stomach issues."
"You could bring him to the dental suite sometime," I offer, standing up. "I could check his teeth."
Alder's expression brightens. "You'd do that?"
"Of course. It's literally my job to examine teeth."
Odin snorts. "Yeah, human teeth, not whatever's happening in that dog's mouth."
“Fair point,” I concede. “But I think I could identify a problem if there is one, and Alder could go from there.”
"See?" Alder says triumphantly. "She's a professional."
I feel myself blushing at his defense of me, which is ridiculous. I am a professional; I just wouldn't normally count smelly mutts among my patients.
"So, Lena," Gunnar says, flopping back onto the couch. “You’re moving in…"
Tucker throws an empty water bottle at him. “Chill, man. She and Alder are in a fragile state.”
"It's called kindness, moron," Alder interjects before I can respond. "And we're not going into details with you vultures."
"It's fine," I say, surprised by my calmness. "We bonded over our mutual humiliation. Turns out discovering your boyfriend is cheating on you with your new colleague’s boyfriend creates a certain... connection."
The brothers exchange glances.
"That tracks," Odin says finally. "Trauma bonding."
"Revenge plot," Gunnar suggests, wiggling his eyebrows.
Alder rolls his eyes. "Can you all please go home now? Lena's had a rough day, and we need to get her settled."
"Fine, fine," Gunnar sighs dramatically. "But Mom wants to know if you're both coming to Sunday dinner."
I freeze. "Sunday dinner?"
"Family tradition," Alder explains. "Nothing formal. Just twenty or thirty Stags eating lasagna and arguing about hockey. Although I guess we’re on to soccer spats now that it’s summer.”
Just twenty or thirty people? I can barely handle the three brothers in front of me. The thought of a houseful of these giant men makes my palms sweat. “You gotta eat, right?” Gunnar holds up his hands. “Might as well eat with great company.”
“You are under no obligation to attend," Alder says, clearly reading the panic on my face. "I can tell her you’re busy."
"No, that's—" I start, then stop. I’ve only met Brad’s family a handful of times, and here is this hockey family insisting I join in their weekly meal. I’m choked up but manage to say, "I'd like to meet your family."
