3. Hockey and Chill
3
HOCKEY AND CHILL
RORY
I let out a groan when I see the time. Seeing as how practice has already started, I already missed out on the pre-practice rush. Every minute wasted is less money in my pocket.
I rip the skates off my feet, not bothering to take off my tights as I slide my jeans on over them. Rushing now, I throw on a sweatshirt and sling my bag over my shoulder while practically running through the door.
This time, the pathway is clear of goonish hockey players; the Breakers’ practice now fully underway. No one even spares me a glance as I rush for the stairs.
The arena floor itself is closed off to fans. Only the upper level stands and viewing deck by the bar are open to fans. In my hurry, I trip up the stairs, not missing the barely-suppressed snort that sounds out from behind me.
“Not a word,” I growl venomously, without sparing a glance back, well aware of who’s following me.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Alexei replies, though I can clearly hear the amusement in his tone.
Sighing irritably, I continue up the stairs, not learning my lesson and taking them two at a time.
By the time I push through the double doors, I’m nearly thirty minutes late for my shift. I walk out into a throng of girls that’s encircling the only access down to the lower levels from the main concourse.
Two bored looking security guards stand to either side of the doors, keeping the puck bunny wannabes on the second level and far away from the players below.
A dozen sets of eyes fly to me when I appear through those forbidden double doors. Jealousy gleaming in their baby blues and greens. When I feel Alexei close in behind me, those suspicious glares disappear. Oh, they forget me entirely and evaporate into flirty smiles and fluttering eyelashes.
Annoyed, I push through the vapid little leeches lying in wait; all hoping to snare a player on their way out of the rink.
Alexei is no hockey player, but could easily pass as one. The man stands over six feet tall with broad shoulders, a defined chest, and thick arms. He’s built like an athlete. But far prettier than any I’ve ever seen.
I leave my body guard behind to fend off the puck bunnies and dart into the Chill Zone.
There’s not an open spot to be found along the bar as I casually slip behind it while shooting Elle an apologetic look. She’s neck-deep in pouring shots of Jack.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” I rush out, feeling terrible about leaving her alone. Quickly, I stash my bag under the bar, not wanting to take any additional time to stow it properly in the back room.
She looks up, her hazel eyes finding me with a broad smile on her face. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it!” Elle is on the Belles skating team too and all too familiar with how Karina Valgova runs her sessions.
My eyes scan the packed bar. “Where do you need me?”
Elle’s focused back on her task, but cocks her head toward an empty beer glass cued up under the tap. “A lager for the green flannel,” nodding again, this time in the opposite direction.
I spot the man in the aforementioned green flannel, eyeing the two of us curiously from further down the bar.
“On it.” I start for the glass, but she hisses at me under her breath, looking pointedly at my sweatshirt.
“Shit. Right.” I duck back under the bar, feeling for my bag, reaching in to pull out the blasted jersey but coming up empty. Besides my skates, an extra bottle of water and meds, the bag is empty.
My face betrays my blunder and Elle sighs, “There’s an extra jersey in the back.”
Grinning at her, I dart into the small staff room, dumping my bag on the bench of the break room where it belongs. I spot the black, silver, and green jersey hanging on a rack by the door.
I rip it off its hanger and hurriedly pull it over my sweatshirt. The Chill Zone employees wear Breakers jerseys as their uniform.
Back behind the bar and now appropriately dressed, I dive into work. I roll my shoulders in the oversized Breakers jersey as I clear glasses and pour shot after shot. Flirting with the mostly male patrons, and reaping the cash benefits.
Elle and I fall into an easy rhythm. Together we make it through the rush. The two of us clean up on tips as die hard Breakers fans salivate over their favorite players. We’re so busy, I barely have any time to notice my new favorite defenseman running drills below us.
I definitely don’t notice the way #19 Asshole O’Rourke powers down the ice, sweeping up the puck and scoring top shelf from the point.
The bar clears out pretty quickly after practice ends and I feel Elle slide up next to me as I finish up wiping down the bar. She whispers once she’s got my attention and looks pointedly across the room. “What’s the deal with you two?”
I follow her gaze, finding Alexei at the end of it. My designated Bratva stalker is lounging casually at a nearby high top table against the long wall of windows overlooking the rink. His eyes are on the ice below and not on us.
But I know better.
I go back to cleaning, still hoping to be out of here tonight at a reasonable hour. “I told you, it’s not like that.”
“Mmm,” she hums, her eyes on my ruggedly handsome and remarkably dangerous Russian bodyguard.
The one that could kill her six different ways without even batting an eye.
“You say that, but have you seen him?”
“The man follows me everywhere I go. Of course I’ve seen him.” I look back up at Alexei, who’s still pretending to ignore us from his usual spot in the corner. I catch the ghost of a grin playing on his lips. The man has ears like a bat.
I like Elle. We’ve become friendly over the past few months since I moved back to the city and started working at the bar, but I can’t tell her the full truth. I can’t tell her anything about the Bratva—or my life in it—without putting her own life at risk. All she knows is that because of an overprotective father, I have my own personal security detail.
Not that Alexei fits the mold of ‘professional security detail.’ He’s young, only a few years older than us, looks like a built Abercrombie model covered head to toe in tattoos.
But Elle hasn’t questioned it, though I get the feeling she knows I’m holding something back and is polite enough to respect that.
Worse yet, Alexei’s a charmer. He can flirt his way in and out of any situation. With his dark hair and thick lashes, he’s got the jawline of a cover model and the muscles of a well-practiced athlete. Knowing who he really is and what he does for my father has me immune to those devastatingly good looks.
But one look at Elle is enough to tell me she’s already fallen under his spell.
“Don’t even think about it.” I narrow my eyes and point a finger at her in warning.
“I thought you didn’t want dibs?” she laughs and pulls her gaze—reluctantly—away from my bodyguard and back to me.
“I don’t.” Alexei’s nothing but professional and I’m not interested in any of my father’s men. “He’s a walking red-flag Elle,” I sigh, the day finally catching up to me. “Trust me on this one.” I set my rag down to take a sip of my water.
“Whatever you say Ro.” My friend continues to gaze dreamily at Alexei, who by now has noticed the both of us staring at him and heads our way.
“Nice jersey, Rory.” Alexei winks at me as he approaches, mischief written all over his face as he slides his fine ass onto one of the bar stools. His dark eyes trail over my friend. “Hey Elle.”
While my friend swoons beside me, I check out the jersey I’d worn throughout my entire shift. In my rush to get behind the bar, I hadn’t noticed the glaring #19 staring up at me.
I choke on my water, realizing I’ve had the name O’Rourke plastered across my back for the better part of two hours!
Alexei leans over his elbows onto the bar, showing off the brightly colored artwork that decorates both of his arms.
Elle inhales sharply, busying herself by polishing the already spotless bar top nearby.
I shake my head. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Ready to go, Rory?” Alexei’s dark eyes slide back to mine.
“Sure am.” I drop my rag into the laundry bucket and not-so-subtly nudge my shoulder into my friend, who’s still staring wide-eyed at the boy candy draped over the bar. “I’ll see you tomorrow Elle.”
“Bye Elle.” Alexei shoots her another wink, and I groan loud enough for both of them to hear me. Blushing with embarrassment on his behalf, I grab hold of his arm, directing him out of the bar and away from my only friend.
“Don’t even think about it,” I warn him, too.