Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Bowen
I opened the door to Scrimmage’s, my heart racing with anticipation and a few nerves fraying. I could face a goalie with rock-solid determination, but at the possibility of seeing Parker again, I broke out in a cold sweat, my palms damp as I wiped them on my jeans.
A loud, off-key rendition of “Don’t Stop Believin’” assaulted my ears. The horrible noise spewed from a man drunkenly swaying in the colored spotlights on a small stage. I shook my head. Shit. I’d come on karaoke night, and the chaotic energy in the bar hit me like a slap in the face.
“Table for one?” The hostess raised her voice above the din.
I nodded, trying to keep my cool as I asked, “Parker working tonight?” I scanned the bar, but I didn’t see her.
She nodded and pursed her lips, frowning. “Sure you want her section?”
I refocused on the hostess and drew my eyebrows together in confusion. “Why? Did she spill something?”
She sighed. “Yeah. Twice.”
My lips tugged at the corner in an attempt at a smile. My jeans and T-shirt could handle a spill or two. “I’ll take my chances.” I came to see Parker, and the hostess wouldn’t deter me. Parker’s clumsiness was part of her charm. Being in her presence was like standing in that one warm ray of sunshine that dared defy the storm raging around it. Her brilliance drew me. She was a glass-half-full optimist in my half-empty world. For months, I’d wanted her to fill my glass.
And she had killer curves that heated my blood. She would be soft and full in my arms.
I hadn’t had the balls to ask her out until the opportunity presented itself the previous night. She’d rejected me, which had been a kick in the gut, a hit to my ego I wasn’t used to. But I wasn’t the kind of guy to give up so easily.
The hostess seated me at a table and held out a menu. I waved it off—I knew it by heart. Besides, the savory scent of a char-broiled burger called my name.
The singer ended on a sour note, and the crowd’s listless applause faded into the background as Parker approached.
“Bowen? What a nice surprise.” Her voice, soft yet clear, cut through the noise. She balanced an empty tray on her hip and smiled at me. The world narrowed to just the two of us. “I only ever see you on game nights.”
Her sweet voice sent a thrill down my spine. Even in her uniform, a Scrimmage’s T-shirt and black apron, she stole my breath. I suddenly felt like a nervous teenager, surprised by the sheer intensity of wanting her. “I, uh, I thought I’d stop by for a burger,” I stammered.
A sly smile lifted the corners of her mouth, a hint of playfulness in her eyes. “Well, if you’ve changed your mind and expect me to buy you a new suit, you’re out of luck.”
“No, I dropped it off at the dry cleaner.” My best suit had been sticky and reeking of stale beer. They might never get the stink out of it.
Her expression fell. “I’m so sorry you had to do that. I’m happy to pay?—”
I held up my hand. “Nope. I’ll take a cheeseburger, medium-rare, onion rings, and an 805.”
“You got it. I’ll enter your order right away.” She smiled warmly.
Heat suffused my chest, spreading through me like a wildfire. What an odd feeling. Did I have indigestion?
“Park-er, Park-er, Park-er!” The chant echoed in my ears, and I frowned, puzzled by the sudden shift in energy. I scanned the room, trying to make sense of it, only to find a sea of smiling faces, all focused on Parker. The crowd’s chant grew louder, reverberating through the bar like the wave of the crowd at a game.
Her cheeks flushed a deep, rosy pink, a fierce blush that crept up from her neck and blossomed across her face. She ducked her chin, trying to hide from the attention, but there was no escaping it. The crowd was relentless, their cheers growing more and more insistent.
Another server approached and took Parker’s order pad out of her hand. “I’ll enter your order. You go.”
“Park-er, Park-er, Park-er!”
I frowned. “What’s going on?” I asked, my gaze darting between Parker and the animated crowd.
She glanced around nervously, her eyes flitting from one face to another. “They want me to sing,” she said, barely audible above the din.
I raised my eyebrows and crossed my arms. “So, sing.” I crossed my arms and leaned back, ready to enjoy the show.
She bit her lip. “I don’t want to get up on the stage.”
That surprised me. Parker was always so confident. “You don’t seem like someone who would have stage fright.” I studied her. There was something in her eyes—something deeper than nerves.
“It’s not that…”
“Park-er, Park-er, Park-er!” The crowd was relentless, and I could see the conflict playing out on her face.
“I’d like to hear you,” I said, surprised by the huskiness in my voice.
She met my gaze, and for a moment, the rest of the room faded away. Her lips curved into a smile, and then she winked, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Okay. I’ll do it. For you.” She left, weaving her way through the tables. The crowd cheered as she stepped onto the small stage.
A woman in the audience raised her phone, clearly intending to capture the moment. Parker’s expression shifted; her carefree demeanor was replaced by something sharper, almost panicked. She pointed at the woman, her tone firm despite the tremor I heard. “No pictures. Please.”
I furrowed my brow. Why didn’t she want her picture taken? Parker wasn’t shy.
The woman put down her phone, her brows knit together. Apparently satisfied, Parker entered her selection into the karaoke machine and picked up the microphone.
The plucked notes of a banjo played through the sound system, and the audience called out their approval. Parker crooned the opening lyrics, her voice rich and sultry, and they poured through my veins like warm honey. The sound was as gorgeous and sexy as she was. She sang of Romeo and Juliet and a pining love story, the lyrics familiar even to someone like me who wasn’t into popular music. Even I knew the song was “Love Story” by Taylor Swift—a song that spoke of longing and impossible love.
My usual cool composure slipped as I listened. For a fanciful moment, I imagined she chose the song just for me, and the thought made my heart skip in a way I hadn’t expected. As she concluded the final notes, she met and held my gaze.
Heat flashed through my veins. Did I have a chance with her after all?
The audience took to its feet, whistling and clapping, and breaking the moment between us. I stood and applauded, standing a full head above the throng, and caught Parker smiling broadly and taking a bow, her eyes shining. She had every right to be proud of her performance, and my chest swelled for her. She returned the mic to its clip and stepped off the stage. She stumbled a bit but righted herself. I shook my head, and my lips twitched. The woman was a menace to herself and others.
The audience and I settled back into our chairs, and a short time later Parker delivered my mouthwatering burger. I was rusty at small talk, but I couldn’t let her go. “You’re, um, a good singer.” I winced inwardly. Smooth, Bowen. Really smooth.
She tucked a stray tendril of blonde hair behind her ear, her cheeks still flushed from the performance. Her smile was bright, her eyes sparkling. “Thanks! I took a voice class in college,” she replied.
A college girl. My stomach bottomed out. I couldn’t relate, having gone straight from the Ontario Hockey League to the NHL. It was like there was an invisible wall between us, built from all the experiences I’d never had. I wasn’t sure how to bridge the gap. Still, I tried, grasping for some kind of connection. “Where did you go to college?” I asked, hoping to keep the conversation alive.
“Um…back east.” Her smile flickered, almost like a light struggling to stay on.
I frowned, the vague answer gnawing at me. But I wasn’t ready to give up. I gave small talk another shot, forcing myself to push through the awkwardness. “Where? I’m from Brooklyn, but?—”
She cut me off, hooking a thumb toward the bar. “Gotta go.”
I watched her leave, frustration knotting in my chest. I grunted, jamming a crispy onion ring into my mouth. My conversation skills were crap. With a deep sigh, I focused on my dinner, trying to drown my disappointment in the juicy burger in front of me. The food tempered my hunger, but not my disgruntled mood. Halfway through my meal, Parker appeared at my side, a brilliant smile back on her lips. My spirits lifted with a glimmer of hope.
“Can I get you another beer?”
Shit. She was all business. A sense of urgency gripped me. I couldn’t let her slip away again without trying one more time. My heart thundered in my chest as I blurted out, “What time do you get off tonight? Want to have a drink with me?” Please, say yes. I held my breath, waiting for her answer.
Her smile fell. “Bowen…I really like you. But…I can’t.”
A pang hit me in the chest with the force of a puck, and I drew my brows together. “Why not?”
“You’re…” She waved her hand up and down from my head to my boots, as if that explained everything. “You.” She bit her lip.
I reared back, stung by her words. “What’s wrong with me?” The question came out sharper than I intended.
She held out her hands to placate me. “Nothing! You’re handsome and a successful hockey player! And that’s the problem! People take pictures of you. People would take pictures of us . Here. At Scrimmage’s.” Her eyes were wild, her voice tinged with fear.
I shook my head, confused at her reaction. “You don’t like pictures taken of you? You’re gorgeous.”
“It’s not that…I just…can’t. I’m sorry. I wish things were different.” Her voice cracked on the last word, and before I could say anything else, she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving me sitting there, stunned and more confused than ever.
What the hell was her problem? The question echoed in my mind, over and over, as I tried to make sense of her concerns. She didn’t want pictures taken of us. Why not? It didn’t add up. People took pictures of me all the time—it was part of the job, part of being in the spotlight. But she seemed terrified of the limelight, like singing on stage.
A red flag raised in my mind, flying high: she was hiding something. I ground my molars, a bitter taste filling my mouth. Thanks to my poor excuse for a father, I grew up despising liars and cheats. I should walk away now, cut my losses before I got in too deep. It would be the smart thing to do, the safe thing.
But, fuck , Parker was my sunshine. Despite the warning signs, my attraction to her overrode my better judgment. I couldn’t shake the way she made me feel—the warmth that spread through me whenever she smiled, the way her presence lit up the darkest corners of my world. I still wanted to go out with her, even though I knew whatever she was hiding could hurt me.
She’d given me a glimpse into her reluctance, a small piece of the puzzle. She liked me, but she didn’t like the publicity. At least she hadn’t said no because she didn’t care. She’d said no because she was scared.
I could work with that.