Chapter Eighteen
TOMMY
Drunk texting is probably the worst idea I’ve had all year.
That’s what enters my head as I hit Send on a second message to Jenna.
Me
Did you fuck Curtis Freeman and then use his phone to post on social media about me?
You did, didn’t you?
Tossing back another bourbon in a seedy bar on the opposite side of town from my apartment, I raise a finger at the bartender, who strolls across with the bottle, ready to refill my glass. Either he recognizes me and has wisely chosen to keep his mouth shut or he knows nothing about hockey.
When he tips the spout toward my glass, I wrap an unsteady hand around the bottle neck.
“Just leave the whole thing here and put it on my tab.” I slur out the demand.
Whichever part of my conscience remains sober knows that I’m going to regret this decision tomorrow. Trouble is, I can’t find it in me to care tonight.
Throughout my hockey career, the one thing I’ve always done right is look after my body, but tonight, I’m punishing it.
The bartender shrugs and walks away, and I refill my glass, setting the bottle down with a thud before downing the shot. The liquor burns as it glides down into my stomach, strong enough to numb some of the anger I still feel from the game earlier.
It was fucking humiliating to be sat on that bench, all padded up, knowing that Coach had zero intention of calling my name. The smirk on my captain’s face said it all, along with the rest of the team. They got exactly what they wanted, and so did Curtis Freeman.
And the kicker? The team actually played well tonight.
I huff out a laugh into the darkened bar; only the bartender and another guy a couple of tables away are witnesses to my spiral.
It’s like the entire team waited until I got dropped and then all came together to put in their best performance of the season against one of the league favorites, Colorado.
They want me out of the team, out of Brooklyn, out of hockey altogether.
Hellion
Yeah, that’s right. I fucked a guy just so I could get ahold of his phone and screw you over.
With numbing lips and clumsy fingers, I snatch up my phone and type out a response.
Me
You have a history of fucking players and throwing me under the bus. Well, congratulations because I think you just put the final nail in my coffin.
Hellion
I don’t care about you enough to go to all that effort. Sorry to break it to you.
A slow smile creeps across my lips.
Me
Where are you?
Hellion
Heading home. It’s been a day.
Me
I thought you’d be out celebrating. You just won a key game and actually played pretty well from what I saw.
Hellion
Stop being nice. It doesn’t suit you.
My tentative smile grows more obvious.
Me
I’m in your shitty part of town. Come have a drink with me.
Hellion
I can’t share a drink with my enemies. It doesn’t sit well with my conscience.
Me
Why not? I’ve got half a bottle of bourbon remaining and a sticky booth reserved in a seedy bar.
Hellion
You already drank half a bottle of liquor?!
Me
Not quite, but if you don’t join me, I’ll likely finish the entire thing myself. I don’t drink often, and it might not end well …
Hellion
And now you’re blackmailing me with your safety.
Me
Is it working?
Hellion
FFS. Give me the address.
I’ve no idea how much time has passed—or how many more drinks I’ve taken on board—when Jenna dumps herself down opposite me in the booth.
My vision might be a little hazy and my brain slower to process regular thoughts, but fuck me, is she beautiful.
Especially when she’s mad, like she is right now.
I draw my bottom lip between my teeth, turning my empty glass around on the table.
Jenna reaches across and inspects the bottle, a disapproving groan floating across the table, along with her perfume. “You drank another quarter while I was on my way over here?”
Pinching my thumb and forefinger together, I can’t help an intoxicated chuckle. “Only a little more.”
Rolling her eyes, she snatches my glass and pulls the bottle toward her, removing the cork and filling it to the brim.
She tosses it back in one and—Jesus fucking Christ—doesn’t even flinch when she slams the glass down, swiping the back of her hand across her mouth.
My jaw is agape when she refills the glass and sinks another shot.
Her silky, dark hair—which is down and around her shoulders—shines red beneath the neon sign attached to the wall above the booth.
“Why are you drinking yourself silly?” she asks in an agitated tone.
I go to swipe the glass back, but her excellent goalie reflexes, combined with my inhibited ones, has me coming up empty.
“Aside from practices, I’ll likely not play for another four games. I figured, why not use the rest period and have a little fun?”
Her gaze roves around the bar before it lands back on me. “You call this fun? Jesus, you’re more miserable than I first thought.”
I try for the glass once more and fail.
“Do your precious girlfriends know we fucked yet?”
She deadpans, “No one knows what happened, and that’s the way I plan to keep it.”
I lean forward on my elbows, pinning her in place with my stare. “And have you fucked anyone else since me?”
My question was intended to sound hot and inviting, but instead, it came off as borderline desperate.
Jenna smirks at the upper hand I just gave her, leaning across the table until her breath fans my face.
“What if I told you that I was on my way over to a guy’s place right when I got your text?”
I sit back, dragging my flat palms across the table. Jenna can’t resist sneaking a peek at my tattoos.
“I’d say, that pleases me greatly. You blew off one guy so you could blow me instead.”
She scoffs, but it isn’t hostile.
Jenna Miller loves giving me shit. Which is just as well since I’m incapable of being any other way around people. Whether I find them hot or not.
“Listen, I know you’re drunk and everything …” She reaches across the table and presses her pointer finger against my temple, and I feel that shit everywhere. “But it’s high time you start listening to me when I say that I’m never going to sleep with you again. Ever.”
“You could just suck my—”
“I could just do nothing,” she cuts me off, releasing her finger and sitting back in the booth.
Like a game of footsie in high school, I wrap my leg around hers, and when she pulls back, I hook my foot around the back of her calf, making it more difficult for her to move away.
To my delight, she doesn’t fight for long, but I don’t miss the rise and fall of her chest beneath the V-neck sweater she’s wearing.
Seconds, maybe even minutes, pass between us as the jukebox in the corner of the room switches to Meat Loaf’s “Bat Out of Hell.”
Jenna presses her lips into a thin line, but it isn’t enough to suppress the giggle that rises up her throat.
I’ve never heard her laugh like that in front of me, and in a three-second window, I see a different side to this girl.
A little like when she fell asleep right after I fucked her brains out.
“We’re bad for each other, Tommy. You know that; I know that. There’s way too much toxicity between us.”
The alcohol thrumming through my body feels like it’s starting to fade in response to the direction this conversation has turned.
“I only want to fuck you, Jenna. Not marry you.”
Is it possible for a person to look partly turned on and offended at the same time? Judging by the look on Jenna’s face, maybe.
“Despite myself, I was actually considering coming back to your place tonight. But you had to go and spoil it by being an asshole all over again.”
I shrug, totally confused. “What did I say wrong?”
This time, her scoff is hostile. “You! Assuming that I’d ever want anything from you, let alone your cold, empty heart.” Her eyes scan my body with disdain. “If you even have a heart, that is.”
“I’ve got a heart,” I tell her, hooking my foot even tighter around her calf.
“Then why don’t you have any friends or even a shred of evidence that anyone likes you?”
My trademark smirk falls into place effortlessly. “Because people let you down, so why take a chance on shitty relationships when you can live your life free from emotional risk? The only person you can rely on one hundred percent is yourself.”
Her eyes grow wide, and I swear I see understanding in them.
“That’s a really sad way to exist, Tommy. Really fucking sad,” she volleys back without empathy. Not that I need any from her.
“Other than your fake-ass friends, I don’t see you making waves socially.”
Her mouth pops open. “I might not have a ton of people around me, but those I do, it’s because I care for them. I’d do anything for my girls and brother.” Jenna points at her chest. “Maybe if you stopped punching good people, you’d start to enjoy their company.”
I ignore her gibe and home in on something that’s been playing in my mind since that day in her apartment. “What about your parents? You’ve mentioned the love you have for your brother so much that I actually feel nauseous, but you never mention your mom and dad.”
I’ve always considered Jenna to be a guarded person; maybe that’s why we have this unexplainable affinity. Her walls have never been higher than right now though.
“I don’t get along with my parents that well.”
It’s more information than I thought she would give me, and instinct urges me to push further.
“Let me guess …” I click my tongue and sit back in the booth, eyes still directly on her. “Holt is the perfect offspring who can do no wrong, and you’re … well, you’re the black sheep who lives in your sibling’s shadow?”
Jenna presses her calf into my foot, extending my leg with a look of malice in her eyes. “Fuck off, Tommy.”
I snort a laugh and pull my foot back toward me, Jenna’s resistance no match for my strength. “I’d say I’m medium to hot with the accuracy of my guess.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she bites back, finally freeing her leg and sitting up straighter in the booth.
“See, that’s where I think you’re lying. I think you do want to talk about it,” I retort.
She drums her manicured fingernails against the sticky table, resting her chin in her other palm. A mischievous glint appears in her eyes, and I can tell it’s time to retreat from my inquisition.
“Since you’re so interested in talking about family, how about you tell me a little about your parents and why I never see them at games? I thought your dad would be all over that shit. Alex Schneider always did like the limelight. He’d be proud of your five-match ban.”
“I’m not banned!” I announce, anger lacing my tone. “Coach and the GM want to make an example of me so they can keep the haters happy.”
Jenna quirks a brow. “Oh, and you definitely have haters, Tommy. That’s one thing you have for sure.” She clears her throat. “Anyway, back to your dad.”
I’ve never regretted starting a conversation so much in my life.
“There’s nothing to say.” I shrug. “I see him from time to time, but we aren’t tight, and that’s my decision. Like I said, I don’t get close to anyone.”
“Your mom?”
“Same,” I rush out, desperate to shut this exchange down. “We have limited contact.”
She isn’t convinced, but I couldn’t give a shit. I’m just grateful for the silence that’s descended between us.
After a few beats, Jenna opens her mouth but then clamps it shut again.
“Whatever you’re going to ask next, the answer is no,” I confidently say.
She wets her lips, pupils dilating as her eyes burn with a need I haven’t seen since I unzipped her sports bra.
“That’s too bad,” she eventually says. “Because despite the fact that I hate your guts, the truth is, I do kind of love your dick, and I was about to ask if I could see it again.”