Chapter 1
Lucky
If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times—lighting is everything.
I angle my phone slightly toward the brass-framed mirror in the men’s room of Lux, a swanky Pittsburgh steakhouse that caters to professional athletes, hedge fund managers, and women in dresses that are practically sprayed on.
Not that I’m complaining.
I adjust my position slightly so viewers can better see my reflection from the side—my profile is always the best—and hit the record button.
“This is a get-ready-with-me for another night of being emotionally unavailable but devastatingly hot,” I say into the front-facing camera. I smooth a hand over my hair, tilt my head dramatically, and wink. “Step one—deodorant. But just on the left side. Gotta keep ’em guessing.”
I hit stop, throw a filter on it, and post it with the caption: “Still a better love story than my last situationship.”
Within seconds, comments start rolling in.
Fire emojis.
“Marry me.”
One user writes, “Daddy?” which, honestly, feels a little aggressive before appetizers.
And there’s always a critic. “Bet you’re a 10 until you open your mouth.”
I snort. Fair enough. People either love my egocentric posts or they hate ’em. But if you put yourself out there, you have to take the good with the bad. My true social media fans know that I can go over the top, but when it boils down to it, I’m really very charming.
At least, that’s what I keep telling myself, and I haven’t been sued yet.
I tuck my phone into my pocket and head back out to the private dining room where the guys are waiting. The energy in the room is easy, loud and a little reckless—the kind that always follows a win on the road or a week with too much travel. We’re home for a bit, and we’re celebrating like we mean it. A handful of times a month, the entire team—players only and no SO’s—get together to have a nice meal in an expensive restaurant.
Foster’s at the head of the table I’m sitting at, already halfway through a whiskey neat. North and King are arguing about whether the bartender is flirting with one of them or both, but both agree they really don’t care since their girls are perfect in every way. Rafferty’s shoving truffle fries into his mouth like he hasn’t seen food in days, and Atlas is hunched over his phone, grinning like a jackass.
“There he is,” Foster says when I slide into the empty seat beside him. “Took you long enough. What were you doing, filming another thirst trap?”
“Gotta keep the internet hydrated.” I gesture to my jaw. “I mean… have you really looked at this thing?”
“Your narcissism is getting out of control,” King says, shaking his head, but his lips twitch to reveal his amusement.
“That’s rich coming from a man who’s googled himself in front of me.”
“Once,” he grumbles.
Penn strolls in then, looking smug and suspiciously well sexed. He drops into a chair across from me and steals a fry from Rafferty, who grunts in protest.
“You’re late,” North says.
Penn shrugs. “Blame Mila. She—”
“Nope,” Foster cuts in, raising his glass. “Whatever you’re about to say, we don’t want it.”
We laugh. It’s good to see Penn like this—carefree, happy, in a relationship that clearly suits him. And more importantly, fitting in with a comfort level that I didn’t think possible from a man like him. I credit Mila with teaching him about loyalty and love. They’ve been dating for a little over a month and it’s been a game changer for my man.
We order our entrees, settle in, and somewhere between my steak tartare and Foster’s third drink, he taps his spoon against his highball glass lightly enough to quiet the guys at our table. “I bought the ring.”
I blink. “For Mazzy?”
“No, for the hot hostess,” he says. Then he grins. “Yeah, for Mazzy.”
Atlas slaps the table. “About fucking time.”
The congratulations roll out in a wave. Penn throws a crumpled napkin at him. King mimes a prayer. North raises his glass.
“Any plans for the proposal?” I ask. “I could film it for you.”
Foster rolls his eyes. “No thank you. I don’t want to end up a trending video.” He sips his drink. “Thinking something low-key but meaningful. I want her to be surprised.”
“Fake a fight,” Rafferty offers. “Then drop to your knee mid-argument.”
“Romantic,” I reply sarcastically. “May I suggest—Mazzy, even though I’m wrong about everything, will you marry me anyway?”
Foster guffaws. “You joke, but that will probably induce a yes.”
“Is Bowie Jane in on this?” North asks. That’s Foster’s irrepressibly adorable daughter, who he has full custody of. Mazzy started out as her nanny and then, well… they became a cliché.
“I haven’t shown her the ring because she can’t keep a secret to save her life. But she’s been begging me to propose to Mazzy for months. I’ll bring her in on the proposal, but it will be a last-minute thing.”
Foster pulls out his phone and shows us all pictures of the rock he bought. It’s a doozy for sure, but Mazzy’s cool as hell and deserves it.
I grin and lean back, stretching my arms behind my head. Nights like this are the best part of the season. Not the fame, not the stats.
Just this.
Friends who feel like family, laughter that takes the edge off and the grounding feeling that everything’s exactly where it’s supposed to be.
Somewhere in the middle of dessert, Rafferty pulls out his phone and checks his messages. He chuckles and then shows us a TikTok of a woman doing a dance routine in a bikini. I take great pleasure in knowing I got some of these guys hooked on the platform.
“Tempe just sent this to me,” he says, mouth full of chocolate cake.
“But why?” I ask, confused.
Rafferty shakes his head with a smirk. “Because she likes to push my buttons. She wants to know if I think she’s hotter than her, to which the answer is an emphatic no.”
“Good answer.” Penn squints at the video. “Is that the one who got roasted in the comments for saying she wouldn’t date a guy shorter than six feet tall?”
Rafferty blinks in surprise because Penn would be the last person you would think would follow any social media. “Probably.” His brows furrow. “But… you look at TikTok?”
Penn lifts a coy shoulder and nods my way. “Gotta follow my guy for support. And well… his content ends up serving me videos like that girl in the bikini. Go figure.”
“She’s cute,” North allows, “but she’s trying too hard. That’s not attractive.”
That launches a whole conversation that ordinarily wouldn’t occur but for the copious amount of alcohol we’re consuming.
“What actually makes a woman irresistible?” King asks, tapping the table for emphasis. “Like, actually.”
“Confidence,” North says without missing a beat. “The quiet kind. Farren has that oozing out of her pores.”
“Brains,” adds Penn. “Sass is a bonus. Mila is full of it.”
“Eyes,” Rafferty says. “And thighs. Tempe has perfect sets of both.”
Everyone looks at him.
“What?” He shrugs. “I’m a simple man.”
“Whatever,” I say, throwing a dinner roll at him and calling bullshit. It bounces off his chest back onto the table where it’s ignored.
Rafferty’s face softens, eyes a little dreamy. “For me, it’s spontaneity. That’s hot as hell and well, no one has that like Tempe.”
No one can argue with that. Rafferty walked right up to Tempe—a total stranger in a grocery store—and kissed her as a ruse to throw off a woman who was stalking him. Tempe was all in and went with it, and well… now they’re in love.
I turn to Atlas, the only other guy at the table besides me who is as single as they come. “What about you? Bikinis or brains?”
“It’s all about the laugh,” Atlas says with a firm nod, as if that cannot be argued with. And it can’t, really. “When it’s real. Not performative.”
We all stare at him.
King lifts a skeptical brow. “Performative? Where are you getting these big words?”
Atlas flips him off.
I smirk, swirling the last sip of whiskey in my glass. “You’re all full of shit,” I say. “You want the truth?”
They wait.
“I like them a little chaotic. Funny. Doesn’t take herself too seriously. But also…” I shrug. “Snack-sharing energy.”
“Snack-sharing?” Penn echoes.
“You know,” I say. “The kind of woman who doesn’t judge when you want gas station doughnuts at midnight and maybe even eats the last one without asking but you forgive her anyway.”
Foster chuckles. “You’re romantic in your own broken way.”
I tap my temple. “Layers.”
My phone buzzes on the table and I flip it over, my heart inflating to ten times its normal size. I answer as befits the queen on the other end. “How goes the smartest, funniest, sassiest, most confident and performative woman in the entire world?”
I hear snorts and laughs from the guys as I manage to roll all their favorite qualities onto my mom. “Hi, honey. Are you busy?”
I glance around the table. “Nope. Completely free to talk.”
“Mama Branson?” Rafferty asks with a twinkle in his eye.
I nod.
“Oh, hell yes,” King says. “Put her on speaker.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Come on,” Atlas urges. “We love Mama Branson.”
“And she loves you,” I say dryly, because she’s sort of become a mom to all the guys since she visits me often. “Me? Jury’s still out.”
I keep the phone pressed to my ear. “Hey, Ma. I’m out with the guys. Everything okay?”
Her voice is bright and full of warmth. “Oh, I’m just checking in. Put me on speaker.”
I groan but don’t think of disobeying her. Her Italian blood runs between aggressively loving and viciously protective. I put the phone in the middle of the table and tap the button that opens the conversation to everyone. “The gang’s all here,” I tell her.
“Hi, boys,” she croons, and they all shout out their greetings.
“So, what’s up, Ma?”
“Oh,” she says with the slight surprise of someone who had forgotten they had a mission. “I saw your new TikTok. Why are you in a bathroom again?”
Rafferty snickers. “It’s where the best acoustics are,” he provides.
My mom giggles like a schoolgirl. “Well, you look handsome as ever, Matty. But stop squinting. You’ll get forehead lines.”
“Yeah, Matty,” Foster taunts. “You’ll get forehead lines.”
She’s not wrong (I make a mental note of it) and ignore Foster’s use of the nickname only my mom calls me. She only uses Matteo when I’m in trouble, Matty when she’s being affectionate but never the nickname I go by… Lucky.
“Mom,” I drawl out with faux exaggeration. “You’re embarrassing me in front of my fake brothers.”
“Oh hush,” she says. “Tell Foster I said congratulations.”
Everyone perks up and my jaw drops as I turn to look at him. He grins back at me.
“She knows?” I ask, clearly startled. But wait… of course, she knows. She knows everything. She’s like Google with gossip.
“I sent a few ring photos to her for her opinion. I asked a lot of women so I could make the right choice.”
Makes sense. My mom laughs. “I just know what matters. Mazzy’s a lucky girl.” Her tone turns serious. “And for the rest of you, I’m expecting wins against Ottawa and Buffalo. The playoffs start in six weeks and while I have no doubt you boys will make it, we need those two to stay at the top of the conference.”
“We got it, Mama Branson,” Penn says affectionately. He’s the one who has bonded with her the most during her visits, and I’m sure that has nothing to do with the big Italian meals she makes for everyone. Penn has no family other than Mila, so I don’t mind sharing mine with him.
“Oh, and I’m supposed to pass along—call your niece. Maria got her braces off, and she wants to FaceTime.”
Another inflation of my heart. My older sister Daniela has twin girls who just turned fourteen. “And Antonia didn’t get hers off?”
“Nope… she has a bit more to go, and she’s not happy about it. So maybe a FaceTime to her too for encouragement.”
“Got it,” I say. I need to remember to call them first thing in the morning. “I’m hanging up now, Ma. Say goodbye to the boys.”
“Goodbye, boys,” she chirps. “Love you!”
“Love you too,” they all echo back.
King leans over once I disconnect the call. “You know, you turned out surprisingly normal for a guy raised by a tiny Italian woman who has an unhealthy obsession with you.”
“She was a single mom and has zero filters,” I reply. “You either learn to roll with it, or you develop a twitch.”
The conversation drifts after that, and I can’t resist the lure. Some say I’m addicted, but I don’t know about that. I just like to be entertained.
I start scrolling through TikTok, checking first the responses to my last video and then through the curated content I’ve carefully built. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but something tells me I’ll know it when I see it.
