Backcheck Heart: An L.A. Crush Hockey Novella (Nashvellas & Novels)

Chapter 1

“First round, bitchesssss,”I yell as I spray the screaming crowd with champagne. They don’t understand why we’re excited, but drunk people will cheer for anything.

“He got the call?” my coworker, Tammy, asks once my bottle is depleted.

“Seattle, baby! My little Bobert is going to the big leagues!” I exclaim. Minutes ago, my younger brother, Rob, was picked by the Seattle Eagles in the first round of the MLB draft. As much as I wish I could hug him right now, he is at the official draft event with his girlfriend, Carina. I will have to settle for celebrating with the rowdy patrons of Clamatis—the downtown LA nightclub where I work as a bottle girl when I’m in between assignments as a flight attendant.

My bubbly personality makes me an excellent fit for both roles. Working for the airline, I visit places I’d never be able to otherwise. My server-slash-influencer side gig gets me in the doors at some of the most exclusive parties in LA, surrounded by the rich and famous. My ability to date Leonardo Dicaprio may be dwindling with my twenty-fifth birthday on the horizon, but I am having a blast.

If my career is right where I want it, my love life is a million miles away. I wouldn’t know a nice guy if he slapped me on the ass. The ones who are slapping me on the ass leave a lot to be desired, including my current situationship, Chet. He’s… fine. Most of the time. He has a habit of acting as if he’s better than me because he went to college. God forbid I point out that I make more money doing my ‘pretty girl’ jobs than he does in finance. He’s been weird about putting a label on our relationship, but it doesn’t stop him from taking advantage of boyfriend privileges.

Like most nights at work at Clamatis, Chet and his buddies take up a corner booth, hoping I’ll sneak them unused bottles. For men who claim to be rolling in dough, they sure love free shit. More than that, they love the way women perceive them while they get their free shit. Chet and I have had more than one blowout over him getting too friendly with the girls his friends invite. Thankfully, the other club I work at is too pricey for them to hang out at.

Pushing Chet’s antics out of my mind, I think about how proud I am of my brother. He has been working for this moment almost his entire life, and he finally made it happen. I am excited for him to live his dream but sad that I won’t have my buddy around when he moves to Texas to join the minor league team. At least I have two more years with his girlfriend to keep me company.

Putting down the cheap champagne I used to shower the crowd, I grab a nice bottle of Vevue to take over to a table of new arrivals. When I do, I am greeted by the sight of eight sexy walls of muscle. I don’t know who these guys are, but they are definitely athletes. I’d guess football. Schooling my expression into a bright smile, I approach their booth.

“Hey, boys. Welcome to Clamatis. My name is Morgan. I’ll be helping you out tonight. Please let me or one of the other servers know if you need anything. And enjoy this complimentary bottle from the manager.”

“Hello, beautiful,” one of the guys replies. He is huge. His dark hair is the right amount of unruly, and scruff covers his jaw. “I’m Connor. We’re here to celebrate this guy’s upcoming wedding, so please keep the drinks flowing.”

He plants his hand on the shoulder of a slightly smaller—if you can call a six-foot Adonis small— blond who smiles back at me.

“Congratulations, Mr. Groom,” I reply. “Your fiancée is a lucky lady.”

He flushes at the compliment. My heart clenches at how adorable the sight of a guy that manly getting embarrassed is. As I scan the rest of the group, my eyes stop on the man sitting at the far end of the booth. And when I say man, I mean man. This guy exudes masculinity and BDE in a way I can’t explain. His vibe says, “Don’t fuck with me,” but my messed up brain is begging me to.

Dark blue eyes stare back at me under thick brows. His hair is cropped short to match his beard, and he has an air of intensity surrounding him. He’s more serious than the rest of the group, evident by his slight scowl.

“Cheer up, big guy,” I direct at him. “Your friend is getting married.”

He blinks at me as if he is shocked I spoke to him. His gaze holds me hostage. I don’t look away until someone else in the group speaks.

“Don’t mind Wreck-It Ralph. That’s just his face. He’s what we in the biz call ‘a grump.’”

“Wreck-It Ralph? Like the cartoon?” I ask.

“Yep,” Connor replies, popping his ‘p.’ “Nokavik here can bust through any defenseman in the NHL.”

“Ah, hockey players. I should have known. I would have put my money on football.”

The group lets out a collective gasp. “That is an insult where we come from, sweetheart,” one of the other guys states.

“My sincerest apologies. Please accept this free bottle you were already going to get as restitution,” I tease. The man they call Ralph’s lips tip up the tiniest amount at my words, and I vow to get a full smile out of him before the night is over.

“I’ll be back to check on you boys later. In the meantime, don’t have too much fun without me.”

“We wouldn’t dream of it,” someone responds.

Throughout the night, I float between groups, lingering longest at the table of hockey players. I’ve charmed most of them but haven’t cracked Ralphie—the name I’ve dubbed him in my head. I added the ‘-ie’ for my own enjoyment.

On a quick trip to the bathroom, I Googled the roster of the local NHL team, the LA Crush. Ralphie’s actual name is Radek Nokavik. As a believer in name manifestation, I can’t accept that the grump of the bunch has a name that means ‘happy.’ Ralph is much more fitting with its meaning of ‘wolf counsel.’ The way his eyes track my movements screams calculated predator.

“You all doing okay?” I ask as I approach the group again later in the night.

“We are doing spectacular, gorgeous,” Troy, the flirtiest of them, answers. Ralphie’s frown deepens at the interaction.

“Happy to hear it,” I reply. Glancing around to ensure all my other booths are taken care of, I waltz into their section and plant myself next to the grouch I am determined to soften.

“What can we do to turn that frown upside down, Ralphie?”

His brow quirks, but he doesn’t say anything about the nickname. “I’m doing fine,” he says in a deep, accented voice. This is the first time I’ve heard him speak. From my online stalking, I knew he was from the Czech Republic, but I am delighted to hear how thick his accent still is.

“You say that, but your face disagrees,” I counter. “You want water? Have a song request for the DJ? Oh! How about body shots?”

I see the other guys perk up, but Ralphie rushes out an immediate, “No. Clothes stay on.”

“Geez, way to save a girl’s ego,” I murmur. “We have designated servers for that, but I will keep my clothes on around you, Nokavik.”

His eyes darken before he shakes off whatever emotion was clouding them. “You know who I am?”

“I may have done some light Googling,” I admit with a hair flip. “I wanted to figure out if you were always this frowny or if it was me.”

I cringe as my tone gives a hint of vulnerability. I don’t need to broadcast my people pleasing tendencies to this stranger. Stuffing my insecurities back into a box, I plaster on a smile. I’m interrupted as I rack my brain for something to change the subject.

“You don’t make me frown, Zlatí?ko. This is my happy face, see.” His face remains impassive, and I’m confused until it dawns on me that he is teasing.

“Are you-did you make a joke?” I question slowly.

“Maybe.” He shrugs, but his mouth tugs into an almost grin. I beam in victory.

“Much better,” he says, taking in my delight. “There’s your real smile.”

“My real smile?”

“You’ve been doling out smiles all night, but they aren’t all the same. From what I can see, you have your amused smile, customer service smile, and genuine smile that shines so bright it is as if you can’t keep it off your face.”

Damn, heavy stuff from the big guy. I didn’t realize he was paying such close attention to me. Most people don’t see past my bubbly, blonde facade, but he has. The thought that I was that transparent makes me squirm.

Patting him on the knee, I wink and say, “I should go see if there is anyone else’s night I can brighten.”

I scramble out of the booth. Despite the win, the interaction exposed something in me that I try to lock down tight. Typically, my party girl persona keeps people at bay, but not Ralphie. He brought out more from me than I intended.

I make a point to put space between us for the rest of the evening. Thankfully, the night gets busy after that. That doesn’t stop me from sneaking glances at a certain booth when I have a moment, though. Several times, I catch him shamelessly watching me back.

The next time it happens, our staring contest is broken by my manager, Greg.

“Morgan, your boyfriend and his friends are getting out of hand. They need to chill out, or I’m booting them.”

Fuck. With my attention on the hockey hunks, I forgot to keep an eye on Chet and his friends. “I am so sorry. I will go take care of it.”

He nods and walks away to handle the other million and one issues he is dealing with tonight. I hate that I was one of them.

“Chet!” I shout when I get over to his section.

Glassy-eyed, he turns to face me. “Babe, there you are! We need another bottle.”

“You guys are done for the night,” I state. “You need to keep it down. Otherwise, Greg is going to kick you out.”

“What? We aren’t doing anything! That prick needs to lighten up.”

“That prick is my boss. If you’re going to get me in trouble, I won’t get you in anymore.”

“Pssh, this isn’t your main job. You don’t need this place. You’re too hot to be a server, anyway. You should be partying with me.”

“Chet, I enjoy this job. You’re embarrassing me,” I grit.

“I’m embarrassing you?” he slurs. “I’m the one who had to watch my girl hang all over some fucking douchebags all night. You think I want my friends to see you slutting yourself out to sell drinks?”

He moved in front of me at some point during his tirade. In my heels, we’re practically the same height, but his words make me feel two feet tall. What partner talks to you that way?

I back away to give myself more room, but I hit a firm chest.

“Everything okay?” someone rumbles from behind me. I know immediately who it is from the accent. When I look over my shoulder, Ralphie is studying Chet with suspicion.

“Everything is fine,” Chet sneers. “She may have been flirting with you for tips all night, but she’s taken. Back off.”

Chet’s claim makes me bristle. We see each other once or twice a week after he gets off work and then at Clamatis on Saturday nights. He is more of a glorified booty call than anything. I’ve pushed for more, but he wants to ‘focus on his career’ right now. The fact that he is getting territorial is laughable.

Ralphie looks at me for confirmation, which I don’t give. I don’t deny it, either. Haven’t I been mooning over book boyfriends who get growly for years? Maybe this will be a turning point. It feels wrong that it’s Chet, but I will take what I can get.

“Thank you for checking on me,” I say to Ralphie, hoping it tells him I’m okay.

With another perusal of the man who has now slung his arm over my shoulder, the broody hockey player gives a curt nod and heads off toward the bathrooms. I exhale a sharp breath and shrug off Chet.

“Are you calming down or going home?” I question.

“We’ll be chill. You get off soon, right? I can’t wait to get you home.” I fight a shiver as he nuzzles into my neck.

I tell him I should be done in an hour, disappointed he can’t tell it’s my difficult customer smile. Hopefully, he and his friends will get bored without more free drinks and leave before my shift ends. My gaze travels back to the hockey booth, but they’re surrounded by beautiful women on the dance floor.

My chest pangs in disappointment that I may not lock with those watchful navy eyes again. But I know they will haunt my dreams.