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

Behind in the Count

“I can’t believe you sent that guacamole back!” Kim marvels as we show the bouncer our IDs.

“What can I say?” I shrug. “After four years in Cali, my guac standards are high.”

She shakes her head. “At least the margaritas were up to Her Majesty’s satisfaction. Now, let’s go to the bar, do a round of shots, and hit the dancefloor. I am ready to get my groove on.”

Downing a shot of Jose and grabbing my tequila sunrise, the girls and I make our way out to the back of the dance floor. I love this place. The vibe at Paula’s is unlike anything else. The disco balls make the light play off my silk dress. Was silk the best choice for a club where I will surely get a drink spilled on me and/or sweat on? Doubtful. But Tiffany insisted this was the outfit the universe wanted for me, and who am I to argue when the universe speaks?

The little lilac dress is gorgeous. It’s form-fitting at the top but then flares out from my waist until it hits mid-thigh. I am average in the chest area, but the straight cut and tiny straps highlight what I do have well. Combined with the beachy waves in my long brown hair and my signature red lip, I am not ashamed to admit I look damn good tonight.

The DJ is on fire, and we are having a great time. Resident mom friend, Haley, goes to grab us some water since we’ve all had a few drinks at this point. While she’s gone, a pair of guys move closer to us. One is taller with flaming red hair and a baby face. The second one resembles a shorter Tom Selleck since he’s rocking the eighties mustache that has become popular as of late. I’m undecided on my take on staches in general, but this guy is not pulling it off.

“Dibs on the ginger,” Kim whisper-shouts. I nod at her. Her desire for redheaded babies is well-documented, and I am not about to get in her way. As Kim and her guy dance, his friend puts out his hand, which after a moment of hesitation, I take.

He spins me around until my back is to his front, and we move along with the music. He is a decent dancer, though he seems more preoccupied with smelling my hair than dancing to the beat. Since the club is packed, we don’t have much room to move anyway. I peek over at Kim, who gives me a thumbs up.

Midsize PI, as I’ve dubbed him, breathes directly into my ear and tightens his grip on my hips. “You are fucking hot in this dress, sweet cheeks,” he says. Sweet cheeks? Gag.

“Thanks,” I murmur, barely loud enough for him to hear.

“It will look better on my bedroom floor later.”

I laugh but don’t say anything. I told Tiffany I would be more open to finding a guy tonight, but I’m not a hookup kind of girl. There is no chance any of my clothing will be seeing his bedroom floor anytime soon or ever. Plus, he is so not the one.

Not getting that memo apparently, he continues, “Are there going to be panties joining this dress on my floor tonight?” Okay, we’ve officially crossed over from gross to creepy. I squirm, trying to put some space between us, but he takes it as encouragement, trailing his hand down my dress and inches it up my thigh. When I put my hands on top of his to stop him, he grips my thigh hard enough that it might bruise.

“Come on, honey. The way you were grinding all over this dick tells me how much you want it.”

“Um, no,” I assert as I try to separate from him again. I manage to get a step away, but he turns me and grabs my forearms.

“Listen, thanks for the dance, but this,” I say, pointing between us, “is not happening.”

Moving closer into my space, his eyes get a predatory gleam. Searching for Kim and his friend, I realize they joined Haley on the side of the dancefloor, and we’re isolated in the corner, backed up against the mirrors. “Don’t be a cocktease. How about we get you another drink and see what you think then?” he suggests. As if another drink will make me go home with someone who smells like he drank the entire bar and insulted me.

I shake my head, but before I can get out a verbal response, he’s gone. He was ripped away so violently that my body spun to face the mirror as I hear yelling behind me. The relief that hits me from his absence is short-lived when I gaze into the mirror and make eye contact with the person who pulled him away. A person I never thought I’d see again: the man who broke my heart four years ago, Robby Becker.

Instead of saying ‘thank you’ like a normal person, I turn around to make sure what I am seeing is, in fact, real and not my imagination. Once I confirm I am face-to-face with Robby, my fight-or-flight instinct kicks in. Usually, I freeze, but this time my body chooses flight and gets the hell out of dodge. One second, I am locked into Robby’s ocean-blue eyes, and the next, I am standing with Haley and Kim. The guy’s ginger friend is nowhere in sight.

“Are you okay?” They both yell at the same time. Shaking my head no, then yes, then no, the lump in my throat finally lessens.

“Can we go?” I ask shakily. They both agree. “Thank you! I’m going to run to the bathroom and wash that slime ball off me. Y’all call an Uber, and I’ll meet you out front.”

I’m introspective as I wash up in the bathroom. You’d think it’s because of the altercation with that creep, but it isn’t. It’s due to a whole different interaction altogether. I’m blaming the fluttering of my heart – and dampness in my panties – on the drinks. It has nothing to do with the 6 ‘4” ghost from my past who just went all knight and shining armor on that shady perv. It absolutely has nothing to do with the way his muscles bunched as he flung around that jerkwad in defense of me. Nope. These tingles are a result of tequila. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.