Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Cam
Contrary to popular belief, beer doesn't solve everything.
Try telling that to my best friends and teammates.
I trailed behind them through the wide doorway and into Shells. The bar was packed full of players from the Lowball Bay Sea Dragons, their wives, girlfriends and more puck bunnies than I could swing a stick at. A band was setting up in the corner. Any moment now, we'd be elbow to elbow, shouting to be heard over them.
Just what I needed tonight.
Not.
“Good game tonight,” Brody Clutterbuck, the owner of Shells, greeted us. “Nice assist, Cam. ”
I nodded my thanks and stepped over to the bar to order a light beer.
“When are you going to get that stick out of your ass?” Nate Southwell leaned on the bar beside me. He grimaced and raised them, the elbows of his shirt dripping from the moisture in the bar mat.
Blake Eastwood, who stood on the other side of him, chuckled.
Nate flipped him off. He shook out his arms and pushed his sleeves up, revealing an expanse of tattooed skin. For some reason, women went crazy for his ink. And him. The defenseman practically fought them off every time we went out. Practically, because he wasn't trying very hard.
If I had to guess, I'd say he'd been with three hundred and sixty-five different puck bunnies in the last year.
Whatever, that was him. Let people flock to kiss his ass. Me, I was the brooding giant in the background. The way I liked it.
“Lay off Cam.” Flynn Weston, the team's center, cast a sidelong glance at Nate. He didn't say much, but when he did, he was usually telling Nate to shut up. As far as I could tell, he was the only one who could keep the defenseman in line. The rest of us gave up trying a long time ago .
“What?” Nate shrugged. “I'm just saying he needs to loosen up a little. Don't tell me I'm wrong. You're both thinking it.” The pretty blonde behind the bar placed a beer in front of him. He winked at her before turning to toast them, and took a sip.
She blushed before wilting slightly under the look I gave her. She hurried to pour my beer before I pointed out I'd ordered mine first.
“She must be new,” Blake remarked. “Most of the women here have become immune to Nate's charms.”
I waited until Nate took another sip and said, “You mean he's slept with the rest of them and they've discovered he's only in it for a few minutes.”
He choked on his beer, coughing until his face was as pink as the woman’s behind the bar.
I smiled behind my glass before taking a much more careful sip.
“I last longer than a few minutes,” he protested.
“You have enough witnesses to that,” Blake teased.
Nate shrugged, completely shameless. “At least I don't pretend I'm in it for the long term. With me, women know exactly what they're getting. One night of bliss that will ruin them for every other man.”
I snorted into my drink .
“If you got your head out of your ass, you could find out what it's like,” Nate said to me.
“My head isn't up my ass, and you're not my type,” I deadpanned.
He took the bait. “I meant you could find bliss with multiple, beautiful women. At the same time if you wanted to.”
I'd had my share of puck bunnies. Like a lot of guys, when I signed with the NHL, I was happy to accept any and every offer that came my way. And they came my way often. So often, they started to blur together, until every encounter became increasingly meaningless. I stopped bothering to ask for names, knowing I wouldn't remember them later.
That lifestyle was fine for Nate, but I was over it. I fucked around less and less these days. Partied less too. Spent more time thinking about life after hockey. That thought was depressing as hell, but we all had to face it sooner or later.
“And deprive them of your company?” I said. “What sort of friend would I be if I did that?”
“The kind who gets laid?” Blake suggested.
I smirked at him. I didn't need him piling on me as well.
“There's nothing wrong with not wanting to fuck anything that lies still for long enough,” Flynn said .
“Exactly.” I nodded.
Needing some space, I stepped away from them and headed to the lounge area at the back of the bar.
Several long couches lined the walls, tables in front of them. Above the couches, hung photos of past and present members of the Sea Dragons. Alongside those were photos of the Sea Cucumbers, Lowball Bay's baseball team, and the Humpbacks, the NFL team. At the end was a collection of photos of the Starfish, the local NBA team.
In the center of the lounge, leather armchairs surrounded low, round tables with tops scuffed by time and stained with rings from drinks left too long. The decor was classic and well loved, rather than tacky and tired.
As usual, the lounge was occupied by the players who weren't single, and their wives and girlfriends. The single players and bunnies tended to avoid the lounge, at least this early in the night.
I slid into an armchair as the band started up with a cover of Welcome to the Jungle . The drumming would give me a headache, but they could have been worse.
Flynn lowered himself into the seat beside me. “Don't let Nate or Blake get to you. They're still out to live their best fuck boy lives. We were both like that a few years ago.”
I crossed my knees and leaned back. “I was never like Nate.” I was popular enough, but women didn't fall on my cock the way they did his.
Flynn raised an eyebrow at me. “That's not how I remember it.” He held up a hand before I could protest. “I'm not judging you, dude. But something got to you. If you ever want to talk about it?—"
“I don't,” I said bluntly. “It's not important now.”
He gave me a skeptical look.
“It really isn't,” I insisted. “I just decided that lifestyle wasn't for me. Can a guy not change without being questioned?”
“Yes,” he said slowly. “If you weren't a friend and teammate. You're the best winger the Sea Dragons have. If you're having trouble with anything, I wouldn't be much of a captain if I didn't ask.”
“I'm not having trouble with anything.” My tone was stonier than I intended. “Give it a rest, okay?” I downed the last of my beer and stalked off to the bar for a refill.
I half expected Flynn to follow, but he didn't. He meant well, but I genuinely had nothing to say. Nothing that wouldn't have him judging me. Right now I was doing plenty of that to myself, I didn't need him doing it too.
In the corner of my eye, I caught a curvy redhead, whose curls bounced around her face as she walked. She wore a sage green sweater, made out of mohair or something expensive-looking. Her blue jeans accentuated her curves.
“See, this is perfect.” She was with a brunette in a bright pink sweater and black leggings.
The redhead pressed her pink lips together, flattening out her Cupid's bow for a moment before she reluctantly smiled. One of her bottom teeth was slightly crooked, the rest were white and even.
“I never would have figured you for the sports bar type, Pia,” the redhead said. Judging by the resemblance, I guessed they were sisters.
“Anywhere there's alcohol and hot guys is perfect for my big sister,” Pia replied, confirming my guess. “Come on, have a few drinks and lighten up. And while you're at it, take a look around. We seem to have stumbled into hot guy central.”
I curled my lip and looked away.
‘Stumbled on,’ my ass. I knew a pair of puck bunnies when I saw them. It was only a matter of time before Nate spotted them and took at least one of them home, possibly both. He'd love a threesome with two cute sisters.
If I missed my guess, the redhead might need some persuasion from Pia, but that was one thousand percent not my problem.
I sipped my beer, my attention half on the replay of tonight's game that was playing on the screen behind the bar.
I'd never get used to seeing myself skate like that. Ever since I was a kid, the only dream I had was to play for the NHL. I used to play pond hockey with my brother Griffin and sister Alice. To them, it was fun. To me, it was completely serious.
I could barely tie the knot on my skates, but I was training for my future.
My teachers used to tell me to focus on a more realistic goal, but the only goals I saw were biscuits sliding into baskets. Nothing else held my interest.
Seeing that dream come to life a decade ago, still didn't seem real to me. I was living little Cameron Michael North's wildest fantasies. There were still mornings where I rolled out of bed for morning skate and pinched myself. The long hard days, and nights were worth every drop of blood, sweat and tears.
The whole bar seemed to stop and watch as I made the assist that led to Flynn scoring the goal which won us the game. The place erupted in cheers, but I kept my eyes on the screen until the ad break.
I placed my empty glass on the bar and headed to the restroom.
As I stepped back out into the cacophony of sound, and the smell of stale alcohol, I bumped into someone heading the other way.
It took me a second to process that moment of heat and soft impact was the curvy redhead. I shuffled back, out of her space, as far as the narrow corridor would allow. It wasn't far. Even pressed against the wall, there was barely enough room for two people.
“Shit, sorry.” She looked flustered, her curls falling over her blue eyes. She pushed them back and blinked at me a couple of times. Her lashes matched her dark red hair. Did they match the hair at the apex of her thighs?
What the hell? I asked myself.
I managed to keep my eyes on her face and not dip down lower.
“Are you okay?” She peered at me, looking concerned.
“Yeah, I'm fine,” I said, realizing I was staring.
Very smooth, Cam . My inner voice snorted at me.
I told it to fuck off. “You good?”
“I'm fine,” she said. “I should have been looking where I was going.”
Her voice was low and husky. My balls decided now was a good time to take notice. I told them to shut up too. They'd get me into trouble if I let them.
“Sure,” I said, half under my breath. As if pretending to run into someone wasn't the oldest puck bunny meet-cute in the book.
Yes, I know all about meet cutes; my sister reads a lot of romance novels. I won't admit to having borrowed them from her shelves, and read them before sneaking them back into place. No way.
Okay, yes I had, and I wasn't ashamed of it. I just wouldn't admit it if someone like Nate asked. There were things about me he didn't need to know. Mostly because he'd tease me mercilessly and there was nothing wrong with men reading romance novels. It was a good way to learn what women wanted without having to test that on a different woman every night.
He had his methods, and I had mine. I stood by it.
“I don't even know what I'm doing here,” she admitted. “This was all my sister's idea. She thinks I need to get out more. ”
“Right.” I started to step around her. It sounded to me like her sister had a lot in common with Nate. No doubt they'd get along perfectly. That was also not my problem.
She stepped sideways with me. “Can I buy you a drink to apologize for running into you?” She held out her hand for me to shake.
I looked down at it and kept my hands by my sides. Apparently I needed to make my lack of interest clearer. She was gorgeous, but it was better if I walked away right then. Better for me and for her.
“I don't fuck puck bunnies.” I might as well be honest with her, before she made any assumptions, or further attempts to get my attention. Some women didn't like to take no for an answer. I'd save us both the hassle and nip this in the bud before it grew into a clingy weed.
She blinked again. She must have been an excellent actor, because she seemed genuinely confused. “Excuse me?”
I looked at her coldly. Before she could say another word, I placed my palm on the wall behind her. Leaned in until my breath brushed her pale, freckled cheek. Her breasts were almost touching my chest. I ignored the way her breathing became faster and shallower .
Her hair smelled like lavender. My grandmother used to dry the stuff and put it in teddy bears to sell at the local market. Somehow the scent made her seem, I don't know, innocent. I wanted to tell her to get the hell out of Shells. Stay away from players before she got played.
Instead, I whispered in her perfectly shaped ear, “I. Don't. Fuck. Puck. Bunnies.”
I pushed myself off the wall and stalked away, out of the bar.