Chapter 4
FOUR
HENRY
GANG-UP-ON-ANDERSON DAY.
An hour later, I walked into Tim’s with Donovan.
The bar was busier than usual, but I recognized most faces since it was a normal hangout spot for the front office people as well.
“Mr. Brightside” by The Killers played from the red jukebox, and all the tables were occupied with low chatter and laughs.
I loved this place. It had an ’80s feel to it, with low lighting and a few fluorescent signs of beer brands and rock band posters.
The floor was a dark wooden color, and it didn’t matter how much they cleaned, the stickiness from all the beer that had fallen on these floors never went away.
In the back of the room, there were a few green pool tables, and antique faux stained-glass lamps hung over them.
The bar area was the typical wooden long table with red stools, and behind the bar, there were crystal shelves with all sorts of cheap alcohol.
I took a sharp inhale and let the smell of cheap beer and greasy food infiltrate my nostrils.
Oh, how I loved the smell of home, sweet home.
“Over here, guys,” Hayes, our left winger, shouted as he waved to catch our attention.
We headed to the other side of the bar, where Hayes was sitting at a high-top table with our left defenseman, Levi Parker; our right defenseman, Elijah Morgan; and our goalie, Nicolas Owens.
The whole team was pretty close, but I considered these guys my brothers.
“I’m surprised you’re here,” Hayes quipped at me as he raised one of his dark-blond eyebrows.
Wesley Hayes and I had been friends since we were kids, and by some luck of the universe, the Detroit Panthers had traded him two years ago.
Hayes, Donovan, and I played on the same line, and we’d always connected on the ice easily.
It made me happy knowing we got to play the game we had loved since we were kids together.
When I moved out of Canada with my mom and my sister to a little town in Oklahoma, I was happy we were finally away from him, but it hurt leaving all my friends behind.
I was glad I had the opportunity to meet a man like Hayes, and better yet, I was also lucky enough to call him my best friend.
We patted each other on the back as I laughed. “Dude, I’m in desperate need of a beer.” I turned around and lifted two of my fingers to catch the attention of Aly—Tim’s daughter and one of the bartenders—and ask her for our usuals. She acknowledged me with a thumbs-up and quickly got back to work.
I wasn’t kidding when I said we spent a ridiculous amount of time in this bar.
“What did Coach say?” Owens asked, taking a sip of his water.
The guy refused to drink during the season, and even when we were off, he still didn’t drink much.
I was surprised he made an appearance at all.
Nicolas Owens was the typical quiet and grumpy goalie.
We always tried to draw him out of his shell and force him to spend time with us.
While he’d probably tell you he hated hanging out with us, I knew it was a lie. He loved us in his own, weird way.
“Bold for you to be here after that media shit storm,” Morgan said with a shake of his head.
Elijah Morgan was the alternate captain and the ruler of the group. The man had a stick so far up his ass, it was impossible to remove. Still, we loved him with his faults and all.
I sat on one of the high stools. “I’m benched until further notice.”
“Fuck, man,” Hayes groaned.
“Tell me about it,” I grumbled.
Aly dropped a few beers at our table with some plates of wings. Normally, I tried to stick to my meal plan during the season, but here and there, when I had a particularly hard day, I liked to eat my weight in delicious fried foods.
Owens grabbed his phone to read a text then lifted his gaze and looked over the crowd until his brown eyes lit up like a kid’s on Christmas day as he waved to catch someone’s attention. I looked over my shoulder, trying to figure out who he was waving at, and found Val smiling back at him.
Valentina García—also known as Val—was a senior marketing specialist for the Strikers and Owens’s childhood best friend. They grew up in the same small town in Colorado or some shit like that. Those two were inseparable and had such a weird relationship.
A quick shift of chestnut curls entering the bar caught my attention, and my eyes followed the movement, finding Kennedy walking behind Valentina.
I knew they were close friends, too, but it was rare to see Kennedy hanging out with anyone outside of work.
My stomach dropped as I took her in. I couldn’t remember the last time she stepped foot in here.
Okay, that was a blatant lie—I remembered perfectly.
It was after her first day of work. She had shorter hair then and a blinding smile that made her eyes sparkle.
It was the kind that stamped itself on your brain and refused to leave.
I was struck with the overwhelming urge to see if I could be the one to make her smile just so I could witness it again, but I knew better than to try.
My eyes raked over her body, because more than anything, I was a sucker for punishment.
She had changed out of her power suit and into a pair of black jeans, a pink sweater, and pink Converse.
It was borderline irritating how overwhelmingly beautiful I found Kennedy to be.
She’d always be the most radiant woman in any room she stepped into.
It was starting to become a terrible problem.
“Your girl’s here.” Hayes elbowed my forearm.
I fixed him with an icy stare. “You think you’re so fucking funny.”
He shot me a smug smile. “It’s not my fault you’re obsessed with her.”
“I am not obsessed with her,” I said through gritted teeth. Seriously, what was up with my teammates all of a sudden? Since when did they love to get on my balls about her?
“Hey, guys!” Val waved at us excitedly then turned around to look for Kennedy and made a come on motion.
Owens stood and lifted Val into a tight hug. “Hey, Pecas.*”
She hugged him back just as tightly. “Hey, Nico. Freaking stop calling me that, dude.”
“Never.” He grinned then patted the seat he was using. “Sit. I’ll go get you a drink.”
My eyes found Kennedy, and she awkwardly stood next to Val. Her eyes roamed the bar, taking everything in. I couldn’t blame her. The bar tended to become a crazy place to be after a game.
I stood from my chair with a lazy grin. “Hey, Jonesy. Take my seat, and I’ll grab you a drink.”
She shot me a glare without a reply. Excitement spiked through me at her stare alone, and my grin widened.
Hayes draped an arm around her shoulders, and the movement caused my eye to twitch involuntarily. Fucking Hayes and his natural ability to flirt. I found it endearing, except when Kennedy was concerned. It was insane, I was aware. But I didn’t give a single flying fuck.
“Kenny, how the hell are you?”
“I was having a good night, until now,” she replied, side-eyeing me.
“Aw, I missed you too, babe.” I threw her an exaggerated kiss with a wink.
“Did I miss something between you two?” he asked, amused.
“Oh, you know, I made her job harder today, so she’s pissed at me,” I replied casually with a half-shrug.
Before Hayes could reply, Parker called him to the other side of the table, where he was sitting with two very eager-looking women. One of them was practically eating Hayes alive with her eyes.
Levi Parker had been playing with us for a year after getting traded from the Detroit Panthers, too.
Though he was in his early twenties, he was the laid-back guy of the group and, surprisingly, a ladies’ man.
You wouldn’t expect it from his easygoing demeanor, but he could attract women like no one else—well, Hayes was another rigorous player.
But with his outgoing personality, that was a given.
Hayes rubbed his palms together with a smirk. “It’s wingman time.”
I rolled my eyes at his comment as he walked away from us.
“For the record, today wasn’t any different,” Kennedy replied very matter-of-factly. “You’re always a piece of work.”
“Ouch.” I placed a hand over my chest dramatically. “You wound me.”
“I’m sure I do,” she muttered, settling into the chair I’d given her.
As she shifted to face me, her knee brushed against my thigh, and my pulse spiked at the fleeting touch. My God, I couldn’t have been any more pathetic; it was humanly impossible.
“What are you doing here? You should stay home and away from the media. Or is it your lifelong goal to make my job more difficult?”
I was never the type of man who liked easy things. Kennedy was a woman who fought fire with fire and was unapologetic about it. And I fucking reveled in that shit.
“I thought you said today wasn’t any different?” I mocked.
She crossed her arms as she pretended to ponder.
Her eyes locked on mine for a moment, and I could practically feel the annoyance rolling off of her.
I knew I was going to like whatever insult she was about to fire back with her pouty mouth.
“Now that I think about it, it was sort of different. I’ve never seen you be so full of yourself before,” she commented.
“Fame getting to your head, pretty boy?”
I knew she used the term pretty boy as a derogatory remark. But, fuck, if it didn’t make my pulse thrum like crazy every time she said it.
I shrugged as I took a sip of my beer to calm my nerves. Her big, brown eyes settled on my throat, where my Adam’s apple bobbed as I swallowed the liquid. And call me crazy, but I could have sworn her eyes flared with some sort of…awareness. Dare I say…interest?
Another surge of exhilaration flooded through me with a whoosh. Kennedy had never paid attention to me, like…ever. The moment had been fleeting, and I was already eager to figure out how to get her attention on me again.
“Keep calling me pretty, and it might just go to my head.”