Bowen (Blazers Hockey Romance #6)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Parker

The few remaining San Jose Blazers fans at Scrimmage’s Sports Bar nursed their drinks and their gloomy spirits. Snatches of conversations reached my ears. The talk centered on the Blazers’ heartbreaking overtime loss to St. Louis in Game Three of Round Three in the Stanley Cup playoffs. Debates raged about whether the fault lay with the defense, offense, or coaching. I wasn’t a hockey expert—I grew up thinking the game was beneath me—but I’d learned a bit about the fast-paced sport while working at Scrimmage’s. I loved my stolen glimpses of the games on the big screens around the bar and had changed my mind about the sport.

But if I knew anything about the players I served after each home game, it was that they would come back from their two-to-one deficit in the series and win the third round. The certainty added a bounce to my step as I passed the Private Event sign onto the back patio.

Holding a tray of drinks aloft, I weaved through the after-game smattering of wives, girlfriends, and guests of the Blazers. The team hadn’t yet arrived. I held my breath as I balanced the tray precariously on my fingertips, praying I wouldn’t trip over my own two feet again. How long before my manager lost his patience with my clumsiness?

Reaching two women at a high-top without incident, I exhaled in relief. I placed a sparkling water in front of a blonde biting her lip and scanning the doorway. She no doubt watched for her boyfriend, Beck, the captain of the Blazers.

Hope transferred her gaze to me and smiled. “Thanks, Parker.”

I turned to the brunette, Emily, and deposited a glass of white wine in front of her, then tucked my empty tray under my arm. “Need some help at the shelter?” She was the financial officer for a cat rescue society, and I volunteered there as often as my schedule allowed.

Her eyes lit up in the glow of the Edison bulbs hanging from the rafters. “We always need help, especially since our director is having hip surgery.” She waved her phone. “Text me your availability, and I’ll fit you in.” She grinned. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“No problem. I’ll be back to take your orders when Beck and Chase arrive.” And hopefully their line mate, Bowen Monroe, would arrive with them. My heart skipped a beat at the thought of his intense, light brown eyes that seemed to laser-focus on me, making me feel like the center of his world. The intriguing man drew me to him. Despite communicating in deep grunts and frowns, I would bet a week’s wages he was a softy under that reticent exterior. I wanted to get to know the person inside.

If only I had the freedom to. My shoulders slumped, and a weight settled in my chest.

As the players arrived, I hardly had time to breathe. I hustled between the bar, the kitchen, and the patio, taking and delivering food and drinks orders with a smile. I’d been serving these men and women all during the hockey season, through wins and losses, and through couples pairing off and falling in love. My heart swelled because the players and their wives and girlfriends had been so warm and friendly. They didn’t dismiss me as a mere server but took the time to get to know me.

As much as I could allow them to know me.

I was taking an order from the goalie, Hudson, and his wife, romance novelist Whitney St. James, when a commotion at the entryway grabbed my attention.

“I’m here!” Beck raised his arms. “Let’s get this pity-party started, you motherfucking losers!” he called out.

Cheers and drinks rose around the patio.

Following Beck, Chase shook his head with a crooked grin. Bringing up the rear, Bowen glowered. But I could have sworn I saw his lips twitch before he doubled down on his scowl. I snorted. A sense of humor hid under his taciturn facade, and I wanted to be the one to coax a belly laugh from deep within his gut. Whatever had put the perpetual constipated expression on his face needed to be countered with a good chuckle.

The men joined Hope and Emily at the high-top, and Beck and Chase greeted their girlfriends with kisses. Bowen, of course, grimaced at the display.

I shook my head, amused. I’d seen his gaze follow me around the room. He was interested in a few kisses, too. And I was all for it.

After I finished taking Hudson and Whitney’s order, I approached Bowen’s table, my palms sweaty and my heart racing at his nearness. “Evening. What can I get you?” I pulled my pad from my apron’s pocket and poised a pen over the page. I caught Bowen’s eye and froze.

The scowl was gone. Instead, embers burned in the depths of his fierce stare. His gaze raked me from the top of my messy bun to my heavy breasts, rounded tummy, and thick thighs. His nostrils flared. I should have felt self-conscious and objectified, but his perusal empowered me and made me feel desirable. When his eyes met mine again, pupils blown, I smirked. He narrowed his gaze.

“805?” I asked, naming his favorite blonde ale.

He grunted his assent.

I mashed my lips together to prevent a laugh from bursting free. I took orders for pints from Beck and Chase and waltzed away with a swish to my hips. I stumbled on the edge of a tile, and heat crept up my cheeks. I could only hope Bowen had stopped watching by then, if he’d been watching at all.

I entered the orders into the point-of-sale system, took more orders, delivered food and drinks, and scrambled to keep up. Eric—a new bartender I was just getting to know—filled the order for Bowen’s table, and I hefted the heavy tray of pints of beer and hurried to the patio.

As I drew near Bowen, I skidded on a wet spot on the floor. The tray slipped from my grasp, sending a waterfall of drinks cascading onto his pristine suit. The sound of glass shattering on the tile filled the air, and an awkward silence followed.

Beer dripped down the front of Bowen’s suit and onto the floor. He frowned.

“I’m so sorry!” Horror seized my chest. I snagged a wad of napkins out of my pocket and blotted at the wet spot on his jacket. “I’ll pay for the dry cleaning, I promise.”

I dabbed my way down his front, but he grabbed my wrist. My cheeks burned when I realized I’d been about to dry off his groin.

“It’s fine,” he murmured. He took the wad of wet napkins from my fingers. “I’ll take it from here.”

I retrieved another stack of napkins from my pocket. “More.” He tossed the wet ones on the table and plucked the dry pile from my hand with a grunt.

The busboy, Mateo, appeared by my side with a broom and a mop and shook his head. “Again?”

The tips of my ears heated. “Don’t tell Jack, okay?” I whispered.

“I think everyone in the bar heard,” he muttered as he swept up the glass.

My stomach sank. Jack finding out was worse than the money for the replacement drinks coming out of my tips. I sighed, resigned to yet another reprimand. Without references, I’d had to talk my way into this job. But how long would I be able to keep it? I didn’t want to lose my job. I needed to feel productive, and I loved working with people.

I dug into my pocket and pulled out a handful of bills, offering them to Bowen. “For dry cleaning.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want your money.”

“Please, I need to make it up to you.”

His gaze bore into me with an intensity that made my heart skip a beat. “Then go out with me.”

Someone—Hope or Emily—giggled.

My mouth dropped open. “Wha-what?”

He balled his fist around the napkins. “Let me take you out to dinner,” he rasped.

I blinked in disbelief, caught off guard. It wasn’t every day that a professional hockey player asked me out on a date.

But as flattered as I was, I knew I had to decline. Dismay sat like a boulder in my tummy. I was keeping a low profile for a reason, and getting involved with a public figure would only complicate matters further.

“I…I appreciate the offer,” I replied, barely above a whisper. “But I can’t.”

Disappointment flickered in his eyes before he masked it with a shrug. “Then I’ll take a fresh drink.”

“Absolutely. On the house.” In other words, out of my pocket.

As he returned to his conversation with his teammates, regret lanced through my chest. Under normal circumstances, I would have been thrilled to go out with him. I’d crushed on him for months.

But some secrets were better left buried, even if it meant sacrificing a chance at happiness. And as I hurried away to order replacement drinks, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my secrecy would always loom over me like a shadow, casting a pall over any potential romance.