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

Chapter 2

I cannot believea woman that beautiful is with that sloppy idiot. Not only is she gorgeous, but her charm and sunny demeanor had even my grumpy ass almost smiling. At least, I was until I saw that red-faced fuck boy spewing spittle at her. Her obvious embarrassment was enough to have me out of my seat and across the VIP area before I knew what I was doing.

I couldn’t believe it when she waved me off. She didn’t confirm they were a couple, but she didn’t deny it either. I may not know her, but she can do much better than that chump.

“Better luck next time, bud,” Connor says with a slap on my shoulder when I settle next to him on the outskirts of the dance floor. I don’t reply, but he doesn’t expect me to.

Everyone was surprised that I came out tonight. I was shocked when I heard the “yes” come out of my mouth, but I figured it was better than sitting at home. In the offseason, aside from my daily workouts, I don’t have much going on. Fitz’s wedding is the only thing on my calendar until training camp in August.

Plus, my agent, Andre, says I need to bond more with the team so management knows I want to stick around. There have been trade rumors, and he wants me to seem ‘settled’ in the community, whatever that means. He even suggested a fake PR relationship, but I shot that down quickly.

The guys buzz around me, talking and drinking as I nurse my beer. My gaze follows Morgan as she floats from group to group.

I haven’t been this enraptured by a woman, maybe ever. The braid in her honey hair circles her head like a crown, which is apt, seeing as she resembles a goddess to me. Each table lights up when she stops and chats with them. Something about her disarms everyone around her. A couple of women give her side eye when the men they’re with linger on her too long, but I can’t blame them. I don’t know how every eye in the room doesn’t stay glued to her like mine.

Sometime later, her supposed boyfriend leaves with his buddies, slapping her ass on the way out and whispering something that makes her pinch her lips. I’m glad to see she isn’t enamored by his pompous persona. He is clearly the type to put on a show for his friends. I watch her body lose tension as his friends help him out the door.

She should be with someone who relieves her stress, not causes it. I don’t realize I’m clutching my drink as I stare at her until Fitz speaks beside me. “Whoa, big guy. You’ll break the bottle if you grip it any tighter.”

I immediately loosen my hold.

“She’s cute,” he notes, laughing when I shoot a glare his way. “Not for me. Tabby is more than enough for me to handle. Trust me. You should ask her out, though. I’ve never seen you pay a woman half as much attention as you have her.”

“She has a boyfriend,” I grumble.

“The overgrown frat boy?”

I nod in response.

“Based on everything I saw tonight, I don’t think it would take much for her to trade up, my friend. Shoot your shot. The worst she can say is no. At the very least, it might get her thinking there are better options out there than that douche canoe. Besides, no one scores against a goalie better than you.”

“Maybe,” I hedge. I would typically never hit on a taken woman, but she didn’t confirm his claim on her earlier. He could have been overinflating their relationship. Fitz knows I would never help someone cheat, but that doesn’t mean I can’t find out for sure if she’s in a relationship or not.

“Come on.” He nudges my arm. “I’ll cover for you with the guys while you ask for her number.”

I shake my head at my friend and teammate. “We’re here to honor you tonight, not pick up chicks.”

“The best way you can celebrate me is to find someone to settle down with. None of these other guys are anywhere near ready to slow down the party lifestyle, but you’ve never been one to indulge much in that. Join me on the dark, committed as fuck side.”

“Tabby is a lucky girl,” I tell him.

“Nah, I’m the lucky one. I’m just glad I’m locking her down before all these hits to the head catch up to me, and I skate my way across the entire US, Forest Gump-style.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he claps. “Diversion time.”

Standing up, he walks to the other end of the booth and shouts, “The groom-to-be needs a shot. Who’s buying?”

As the rest of the group clamors to ply Fitz with liquor, I sneak out, catching his wink on my way. With a salute back at him, I head in the direction Morgan went a few minutes ago.

Opening the door I watched her pass through, my eyes take a minute to adjust to the change from dark club lighting. I find myself in a hallway with six doors. I study each as if they will have a tell as to which one she went into. Before I hazard a guess, one opens to my right, and the girl working with Morgan steps out. She’s changed out of her slinky dress and into leggings and a casual tee.

“Hey there, handsome,” she croons. “Can I help you with something? You aren’t supposed to be back here.”

Gripping the back of my neck, I struggle for an answer that won’t come off stalkerish.

“Looking for Morgan?” she asks, having mercy on me. I nod. “She left already.”

I deflate at the news. Damn. I was hoping I’d get to talk to her again.

“Okay,” I reply, turning to leave.

“She’ll be working her other job for the next four days but should be back here next weekend if everything goes as planned,” the Raven-haired server calls after me.

“What?”

“This is her side gig. She works here around her main job’s schedule. She is here on Saturdays when she can be. If she’s free during the week, she usually works at Two-One-Oh. It’s in Hollywood.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” I question. Does her friend normally give strangers her daily schedule? That’s concerning and not at all safe.

She laughs. “I saw the way you watched her all night. Your eyes didn’t stray to another woman once. That’s already more than I can say for Chet. Morgan is sweet but doesn’t realize she could do way better than that loser. I figure you can’t be any worse.”

“Thanks?” The bar to being better than Chet–a befitting name based on his douchey appearance–is low, but I’ll take it.

“Just remember to invite me to the wedding,” she singsongs. “You should get out of here before Greg catches you. He’s testier than usual tonight.”

“Got it. Thanks again,” I say as I hustle out the door.

From behind me, I hear a whispered, “Bye, Ralphie.” The smile that had been threatening to break free all night finally does when I realize she talked to her friend about me. I may have a chance after all.

I spendthe next two weeks thinking about Morgan. I returned to Clamatis the next Saturday night but didn’t see either of the women who worked the previous week. They either weren’t scheduled or were working the “V-VIP” party I heard murmurs about from other clubgoers. Uninterested in anyone but the gorgeous blonde taking up residence in my brain, I didn’t stick around to see who would be considered very, very important.

I won’t be able to hit up Clamatis this weekend because it is Fitz’s wedding. Today, I am flying to Turks and Caicos to attend their nuptials. I was offered a plus one, but I declined. The only woman I’ve given a second glance to in the last several years has vanished into thin air. At least, that’s what I thought until I am met with a pair of familiar blue eyes as I settle into my first class seat. They widen in shock as they take me in.

Our gazes remain locked until the sound of someone slamming the overhead bin ends our stare down.

“Hi,” she rushes out, as stunned as I am. She glances at the glass in her hand as if attempting to remember why she is here. “Can I get you anything? Champagne?”

“Are body shots on the menu this time?”

Morgan chokes on a laugh. “Not on this airline. That’s more of a Spirit thing.”

I can’t stop my lips from tipping at her quick reply. “I’ll have to remember that next time I book.”

I want to say more, but someone further back motions that they want champagne. With an apologetic smile, she shuffles off to serve them. It’s for the best that she went away before I blurted out something embarrassing about going back to the club or how close I was to asking my agent to track her number down. If he wouldn’t have made a big deal about it, I may have asked.

She steals peeks at me throughout her pre-flight service and safety demonstration. I know because my gaze hasn’t left her since I first realized she was the attendant on this flight. I normally hate flying. I usually feel trapped in the tiny seats. But being in an enclosed space with Morgan is worth the cramped quarters.

Because I’m watching her like a creep, I don’t miss her interaction with a mother flying solo with two children on the other side of the plane. With a baby in her lap, the woman is struggling to calm down the toddler, who is uncomfortable with the change in altitude. Instead of giving the woman an annoyed glare like some passengers, Morgan goes into her cubby and pulls out a green frog. The little boy squeals in delight when she hands it to him. Happily playing with his new toy, he’s forgotten his discomfort.

When she is back in front of me to take my lunch order, I blurt out the first question that pops into my mind, desperate to keep her with me for as long as possible. “Do you always carry toys with you?”

“What?” she asks, oblivious that I saw the earlier exchange.

“You gave that little boy a toy when he was crying. Is that something the airline does, or is that a you thing?”

She blushes and quickly peers away. And fuck, if it doesn’t do something to me. The fact that a woman this beautiful can still blush is adorable.

“It’s a ‘me thing,’ I guess.” She shrugs. “Other people do it, too, in some variation, usually with crayons and coloring books. Giving them a distraction can help shift a kid”s mood. Flying is stressful for them. It’s stressful for adults, too, but at least we understand what is happening. They don’t.”

“You just hit up a toy store to stay stocked with goodies?”

“Oh, um, I made it actually.”

My brows raise. I peek around her to get a better look at the frog. It’s hard to tell from this far away, but it appears to be made from yarn.

“You made that?” I ask, the shock evident in my voice.

The pink in her cheeks deepens. “Yeah, it’s not all that hard, unlike cardigans.”

“How did you learn?”

“My grandmother taught me,” she replies brightly. “I spent a lot of time with her when I was young, and she liked to say, ‘You can’t always count on a man to keep you warm. A young lady should know how to do that herself.’ And then she taught me how to crochet.’”

Morgan smiles at the memory despite her watery eyes. I reach out and place my hands over hers, returning the expression. “That’s amazing.”

“Thank you,” she responds genuinely. “Most people think crocheting is a silly hobby in California, but there is much more you can make than blankets and sweaters.”

Before I can further engage her, her coworker comes to help deliver lunch orders. Despite the flight”s length, we can only get a few minutes here and there to chat. I didn’t think to ask for her number until it was too late. I am clearly out of practice. I linger after I deplane, but my driver has already been here twenty minutes and I don’t want to keep him waiting. Reluctantly, I make my way through the airport and hope she’ll be on my return flight.