23. Emmy
TWENTY-THREE
The bar Connorleads us to is darker than Johnny’s.
Smokier, too, and the stench of alcohol from the last forty years hangs in the air.
“We’ll grab a table,” Hudson says. “Can you get me a beer?”
“Sure.” Maverick looks at Connor and Riley. “You boys want anything?”
“A water for me.” Riley rubs his neck and closes his eyes. “My back still isn’t right from that hit in Milwaukee, and I don’t want to do anything to piss off my body before our game tomorrow.”
“You haven’t gone to see Lexi?” I ask, and even in the dim lighting, I can tell the tips of his ears turn pink at the mention of her name. “She’s a miracle worker. My hamstring was acting up last week, and she massaged the pain right out of me.”
“I don’t want to bother her with something so silly. I’m doing some exercises I found online and using a heating pad. I’ll be okay in a few days.” Riley smiles. “Thanks for looking out for me, Emmy.”
“I’ll take a beer,” Connor says, and the three of them head around the corner.
Maverick’s fingers brush along my hip as he moves from my left side to my right and leans over the bar. “I didn’t realize we were going somewhere that’s been around since the Stone Age.”
“What are you talking about? It’s perfect. It reminds me of this bar back home I used to go to with my dad,” I say.
“Michiganders don’t give a fuck, do they?”
“I was there on Fridays at 3:00 p.m, not Saturday after midnight. He and his friends would get together once a week and talk about all the important stuff going on in the world: MLB spring training. Whether there should be more paid holidays. Which Jurassic Park movie is best.”
“The only correct answer is the original one,” Maverick says. “I’m not a film critic, but I think society can collectively agree that number three is a disgrace to the movie industry as a whole. It wasn’t even believable.”
“But a theme park with dinosaurs is?”
“Billionaires do weird shit, Hartwell.”
“That’s my dad’s opinion too.”
“I like the guy already. Did you participate in these spirited debates?”
“Nope. I ate my cheese pizza, drank my chocolate milk, and listened while they talked for ninety minutes. Gosh, I haven’t been there in years. I wonder if it’s still standing.”
“Who knew you’d be in for a bit of nostalgia when you trudged down here after an ax-throwing defeat? You might end up having fun.”
“With Hudson, probably. Not you,” I joke, but my mind flashes back to the hotel room in Chicago.
Maverick, telling me he doesn’t share.
Maverick, with eyes as dark as coal and his hand around my throat.
Maverick, saying that’s so good.
There’s not enough alcohol in this bar to get the sounds he makes when he comes out of my head. To forget how those tattoos look in the moonlight and between my legs.
“You okay?” he asks roughly, like he’s thinking about that night too.
“Fine.” I look at the liquor selection instead of him. “Do you think this place has olives?”
“If they don’t, I brought some.” Maverick digs around his black coat and pulls out a glass jar.
I stare at the jar then up at him. “Where did you get those? Do you carry olives in your pocket?”
“I popped into the bodega on our way here and grabbed some.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because I remembered you said you like martinis. Can’t make a good drink without a garnish.” He sets the jar down and nudges it toward me. “Take them home with you.”
I pick up the jar and run my thumb over the label. It’s the expensive brand, the one I splurge on once a month when I want to spoil myself.
Knowing he didn’t pick the cheap ones makes my heart skip a beat.
“This is for me?” I ask softly.
“Yeah.” Maverick frowns. “I didn’t think it was that big of a deal when I bought them. It’s not a marriage proposal or anything. You can throw them at me if you want. I wouldn’t?—”
“Thank you,” I interrupt him, and his eyes widen. The corner of his mouth turns up in a smile, and the dimple on his right cheek makes me blush. “I appreciate this. It’s very considerate of you.”
He pretends to tip a hat. “You’re very welcome.”
“I’ll take a gin martini,” I tell the bartender when he comes over, and I hold the olives tight to my chest. “Please.”
“Three beers and a water for me,” Maverick says.
He pulls out his wallet and lays down a couple of twenties, overpaying for the cheap bottles by a mile, and we wait for our drinks.
I tap my fingers against my thigh. He leans his forearms on the ledge of the bar and stares at the football game playing on the television in the corner. It’s quiet, and it makes me anxious.
“Are you ready for St. Louis on Thursday?” I ask, feeling the need to break up the silence. It’s awkward and heavy, both of us wanting to say something but not knowing what it is. “They’re a good team.”
I cringe.
A good team?
Who the hell am I?
I sound like I’ve never talked about sports before when really I spent all afternoon studying the Pelicans’ statistics.
“A great team.” Maverick rubs his jaw, and there’s a line of scruff there. Dark hair he hasn’t shaved since his face was buried between my legs, and I wonder what it would feel like on the inside of my thighs. “Back-to-back Stanley Cup champs.”
“They’re young, aren’t they?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
The average age of the team is twenty-four, but I’m going to keep asking questions if it means Maverick keeps talking to me like he did before he fucked me into oblivion.
“Second youngest team to reach the playoffs, and the youngest team in history to win it all,” he tells me. “I like what they’re doing out there. There’s no superstar on their roster. They’ve got a lot of talented guys, but one person doesn’t outshine the rest. I was hoping that’s how it would go here when I got drafted, but we’re not there yet.”
“This season isn’t as bad as the last couple of years, is it?” I take a deep breath and get ready to ask the question that’s been on my mind lately. “Have you seen a weakness I could work on that would be beneficial to the team? An area on the ice I can improve in? I’m not dragging us down, am I?”
“What?” Maverick tugs on my belt loop so I can face him, and I wish he’d keep his fingers there. “What are you talking about?”
“I don’t know.” I play with the ends of my hair, needing a distraction from his intense stare. “You all were playing well the first few weeks of the season. Then I got here, and everything turned to shit. You said so yourself on the plane.”
“That is not what I said on the plane, and I’d never blame you for things turning to shit. That’s how sports work, Hartwell. It’s an ebb and flow. You know that.”
“We’re doing more ebbing than flowing right now. We’re drowning.”
“The reason we were playing better earlier in the season is because we were in better shape than any of the other teams coming out of the preseason. Coach gives us a regimented strength training plan to follow during the summer, and we all take it seriously. We don’t lose a lot of our fitness in the off season, and we’re able to steal a few wins right off the bat. Now everyone else is caught up.”
“Oh.” I bob my head. “That makes sense.”
“Is something else going on?” he asks, and he takes a step toward me. “I know we’re not friends, but you can talk to me about things.”
What if I want him to be my friend?
What if I want to take back everything I said on that plane ride?
“No. Yes.” I shrug and try to look past his shoulder, but he’s too tall. “After the last couple of games, I’ve been wondering if I should’ve stayed in the ECHL. If coming up was a mistake.”
“Are you happy, Emerson?” Maverick asks. “Does playing in this league bring you joy?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation.
“Then it wasn’t a mistake.”
“Now that I’m here and living out this dream, I just… I don’t want to love it any less,” I confess. “Hockey has been a constant for me, and I don’t know what I’d do without it.”
“That’s how life and sports go. Some days you’re frustrated as hell, and some days you want to throw in the towel. But as long as it still makes your heart beat, you have to keep showing up. You don’t give up on the things you love just because they get hard.”
I grip the counter, and I’m caught off guard by how powerful his words are.
Maverick is right.
I’ve been feeling that I’m not worthy just because I’ve been frustrated lately, but that frustration is normal. It comes with loving something deeply, and I refuse to give up on this opportunity.
“I didn’t expect a pep talk tonight,” I say, and I look at him. “I get in my head sometimes. Thank you for validating me.”
“Have you talked to our sports psychologist, Dr. Jenn? She’s a great resource.”
“No, I haven’t. Have you?”
“I have a standing appointment on Wednesdays, whether in the arena or virtually if we’re on the road. Being a professional athlete is really fucking difficult, but remember what I told you? You’re not alone.”
“Yeah.” I smile at the bartender when he hands me my drink. I open the jar of olives and drop two in the glass. “It doesn’t feel like I am anymore.”
“You are not taller than me,” Maverick challenges.
“I’m an inch taller,” Hudson argues. “At least.”
“Bull fucking shit! I’m listed at six-four and you’re barely six-three.”
“I’ve grown in the last year.”
“That’s not even possible.”
“Boys,” I say, and they both whip their heads to look at me. “There’s an easy way to settle this. Take off your shoes and stand back-to-back.”
“This is going to be good.” Riley grins.
“I’m not sure who I want to be right,” Connor adds.
“Hudson,” Riley says. “Definitely Hudson.”
Maverick leaps off his chair, eager to prove a point, and kicks off his shoes. One goes flying in the air and the other hits Connor in the shoulder.
Hudson moves slower. He bends down and carefully unlaces his Converse and sets them neatly to the side.
“You’re going down, motherfucker.” Maverick rolls his shoulders back and puffs out his chest. “You’re the judge here, Red.”
“Why am I involved in this?” I ask.
“Because it was your idea.” Hudson leans back and stands up straight. “And you’re an impartial party. Every other woman in this bar would give Maverick the win so they could sleep with him. You won’t do that.”
Been there, done that,I think, and Maverick smirks.
“Fine.” I finish the last of my drink and stand next to them. My eyes bounce to the tops of their heads. “Hudson is taller.”
“What? There’s no way. Do it again,” Maverick urges.
“Sorry, pretty boy. You’re not the tallest one on the team anymore.”
“I don’t believe you.” Maverick crosses his arms over his chest. “We’re using a tape measure at the arena tomorrow.”
“Are you sure you want to use a tape measure?” I ask, and the guys burst out laughing. “You might be disappointed.”
“We’re going to use every tape measure in the building, and you assholes are going to be wrong.” Maverick scoops up one of his high-top Nikes, slips it back on his foot, and looks at me. “Want to play a round of pool?”
I check the time on my phone. It’s only eight, and Piper mentioned she was meeting up with some work colleagues tonight. The idea of sitting at home alone sounds miserable, and I’m having fun.
It wouldn’t hurt to hang out here a little longer.
“Okay,” I agree, and his eyes light up. “One round.”
“See you soon,” he tells Riley, Connor, and Hudson, and I follow him to the table in the back of the room. “Am I really shorter than him? Or are you messing with me?”
“Hudson was standing on his toes,” I admit. “You’re still taller.”
“I knew it. That bastard is inches shorter than me on a good day.” Maverick racks the balls. “Do you want to break?”
“You can do it,” I tell him, and I hand him a cue off the wall.
He sinks in a solid and motions me forward. “Have you ever played?”
“No,” I say, but it’s a blatant lie. My dad taught me when I was six and could barely see over the table. “Will you show me?”
“Sure. Come here.”
I maneuver around until I’m standing in front of him. There’s barely any room in this corner, but he doesn’t back up.
I don’t push him away, either.
“What should I do first?” I ask, and his eyes bounce to my mouth.
“Turn around. Face the table,” he says, and I spin. “Lean forward.”
I bend over the edge, my forearms on the felt and my hips behind me. The curve of my ass brushes against the front of his jeans, and he inhales sharply.
Maverick rests one hand on my waist and the other on the cue, on top of mine. He crowds my space, his chest against my back, and there’s nowhere for me to go.
“Which pocket are you aiming for?”
“The far corner,” I tell him. His thumb rubs over my knuckles, distracting me, and I swallow.
“Good choice. Pull the stick back and line up your shot.”
I nod. “Like this?”
“Perfect Emmy,” he murmurs, and it’s like I’ve touched a live wire.
Every part of me ignites, and I’m electrocuted by the deep rasp of his voice and the heat of his body on mine. His cock presses into me, half-hard, and I’m transported back to Chicago.
His praise and the mumbled words in my neck. The way we slotted together so perfectly and the feel of his body under mine.
“Now what?” I whisper.
“Now you hit it.” His mouth brushes against my ear. “Can you do that?”
“Yeah,” I breathe out, and I pull back the cue.
Years of playing does nothing to help me. Not when I’m disoriented as hell and turned on by his hands. The ball knocks off the side of the table and spins away from the pocket.
“That was a great try,” he murmurs, and the hand on my hip slides across my stomach. It’s so soft, I might have dreamed it. “You’ll get it next time.”
“It’s your turn.” I look at him over my shoulder, and his eyes are as dark as night. He’s watching me, and when I bite my bottom lip, he drops his head back. “Unless you don’t want to play.”
“I want to play. I want to play very, very badly.” Maverick squeezes his eyes shut and taps my hip. I think we both understand that he’s not talking about pool. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
I step away from him, but he grabs my elbow and spins me to face him. Our chests knock against each other, and he cups the back of my head.
“What superpower do you wish you had?” he asks, and I blink up at him.
“Why are you asking me about superpowers?”
“Because it’s distracting me from thinking about bending you over that table and fucking you into the felt. From sitting you on the edge and eating you out. These are things I’m not supposed to think about, but I am. And it’s driving me insane.”
“Oh.”I lick my lips, and his eyes track the glide of my tongue. “Since we’re not talking about that, if I had to pick a superpower, it would be flying. What about you?”
“Mind reading,” he says around a strangled exhale. “So I could know how much you like my cock.”
“I hate it,” I say, and his laugh is low. Sexy and infuriating. “Worst I’ve ever seen.”
“Thought so.” He cups my cheek and smiles. I don’t pull away. “What’s your question, Red?”
“When is your birthday?”
“June fifteenth. When is yours?”
“August sixth.”
“So you’re a?—”
“Everything okay over here?” Hudson asks from behind us, and we spring apart.
“Yeah,” Maverick answers, almost falling over as he steps away from me. “All good.”
“Who’s winning?”
“We haven’t gotten very far,” I say. “I like to take my time and make sure I’m getting the best shot.”
“Same,” Maverick agrees, and he glances at me. “Being thorough is the only way to do it.”
Hudson looks between us and frowns. “What am I missing?”
“Not a thing, man.” Maverick clasps his shoulder and walks backwards away from us. “I’m going to hit the restroom. Anyone need anything?”
“Nope,” I say, and he disappears.
“You two seem like you’re getting along,” Hudson says. “Are you friends now or something?”
I drag my thumb along my cheek, the spot where Maverick just touched. “Or something.”