Chapter 2 Nora #3
“I said, excuse me!” I nearly shout, my voice pitching from the mixture of alcohol and pure dizziness, and I nearly knock someone over as I shove through the two men crowding my only entrance.
“What the hell?” a voice says, having the audacity to sound offended.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I say petulantly as I reach out to steady myself, my hands settling on thick, hard muscles, and I freeze as I look up to see a familiar face.
Well, two familiar faces, technically.
“Oh…Nora, hey…you’re all good, sweetheart.” The heavy scent of cedar and spice mixed with tequila hits me like a tidal wave along with the jade gaze of Flash, the goalie for the Lansing Lions.
Or as most of us know him—Freddie Sterling. My ex’s brother.
“Nora! Hey, what are you doing here? Is my brother around?” Rush, the forward for the Lansing Lions and also my ex’s brother, meets my gaze.
I know technically Russell, Tommy, and Brett are half brothers, but their mother always seemed to insist her boys were all her boys, no matter where they came from. I know Brett didn’t hold the same sentiment.
Despite being close in age to Freddie, and Russ too—Brett rarely saw his brothers unless it was some sort of family thing, and seeing as he traveled a lot for games, usually it was me who had to make the appearance on his behalf, and when he was home…
well, let’s just say Brett would rather drink bleach than go to a family event with his brothers.
Still, running into your ex’s big, built, hockey player brothers, when you’re drinking and fresh from the fire, isn’t exactly how I envisioned my night out with my besties.
“Do not call me sweetheart,” I bite out as I turn from them and try to flag down the bartender, who looks utterly swamped. If I knew how to serve throngs of starving, thirsty patrons and was sure I wouldn’t get stiffed, I’d jump behind the counter and help out, but I digress.
I don’t know how to serve anyone, and the thought of having to juggle all those orders literally gives me anxiety, so instead I wave my hand vividly, trying to catch the bartender’s attention.
“Easy there, sweetheart,” Russ says with a chuckle. “Cat piss in your cornflakes this morning?”
I turn to glare at Russell, his jade-green eyes sparkling. My gaze roves over him—over his pronounced jaw and those sparkling green eyes, his dishwater-blond hair turning all shades of pastel underneath the neon light.
He was a few years behind me, since I came to to town my senior year, so I knew of him and his brothers and I certainly heard about Brett, who had just signed on with his team then.
But I never really got to know many of the folks I went to school with, especially if they were behind me.
Still, I’ve seen the Sterling brothers—Russell and Freddie, and of course, Tommy—and there’s no denying they are all impeccably and irritatingly attractive.
Freddie, the hefty three hundred pound forward with his big arms and kind green eyes.
Russell the boy next door with a surfer mop of blond hair and a more toned, lean figure but enough bicep and muscle that you know he could bench-press you if he tried.
Then there’s Tommy—the baby-faced blond who’s the perfect mash-up of a lost Backstreet Boy and Mr. Americana.
And of course, there’s Brett—the oldest with his dark chestnut hair, deep brown eyes, and a body with curves and dips of muscle in all the right places and then some. If the Sterling brothers are the angels of the ice, Brett is certainly the devil.
In more ways than one.
I shouldn’t answer Russ. I really shouldn’t. What I should do is just focus on ordering my drink and getting back to my friends.
“Hey!” Freddie whistles. The bartender looks up immediately, and I purse my lips when he walks over, looking directly at Freddie, not me. It’s like he doesn’t even see me, but then again, I am a whopping five foot four, so…
“What can I get ya?” the bartender asks.
Freddie nods to me, his deep green eyes soft and reverent. “Not me. Her.”
A strange sort of warmth festers in my chest when he looks at me.
Must be the alcohol for sure. Maybe I should take it easy…
But Abby said not to, because she knows me.
She knows how I talk myself out of things and how I’m less likely to do things for just me…
so I order Zayne’s extra cherries Shirley Temple and Abby’s Vodka Red Bull and then get myself another Highline Hitter and tell myself I’ll nurse it for the rest of the night.
“Thanks,” I say, tucking some hair behind my ear as I avert my eyes from Freddie’s gaze. Russell leans on the bar, propping his leg up on the metal bar.
“Actually, my brother’s cat is not the one responsible for my mood,” I say as the bartender sets to making my drinks. The words fall out of my mouth without warning. “That would be your cheating brother, who broke up with me. Over the phone.”
“What?” Freddie’s voice escalates as Russ curses. And then I realize I actually said the words.
Oh shit! Call it anger, call it frustration, or just call it plain stupidity, but there’s something freeing about saying the words out loud. Vindicating. Exposing Brett Sterling for the bastard he is.
“I thought you two were…like…going to run off into the sunset or some shit,” Russ says, his eyebrows furrowing.
“Yeah, well…guess not,” I say bitterly as the bartender slides me my drinks.
“That’ll be forty,” the bartender says, and I sigh as I move to grab my card out of the change purse in my pocket, but Russ stops me. His hand covers mine, and I freeze, looking down at it. His touch is oddly warm and sends a jolt of fire through my blood.
Yeah, definitely nursing that drink the rest of the night…
“I got it,” he says, and before I can protest, he looks at the bartender and tells him to put our drinks on his tab.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say, feeling strangely on the spot, like he’s only doing it because he feels bad or because he’s trying to make up for his brother’s mistakes.
“I know,” he says, his voice strangely soft. “But I wanted to.”
I grab my drink and take a long sip as I try to arrange the glasses, but Freddie steps forward. “I got ’em, sweetheart,” he says, his voice like silk.
Brett may be the oldest, and there may only be four years between him and Freddie, but Freddie has this aura about him that feels like he’s from another time.
He’s suave and swift, and I swear you could pop him into the nineteen twenties and he’d blend right in with his charm and gentle spirit.
He might be a big guy, but he’s the furthest thing from brutal or harsh in any capacity.
And something about his words, his voice…
the way he’s looking at me…makes my insides heat and my nerves settle a fraction as he picks up Zayne’s and Abby’s drinks.
“Um…thanks.”
Russ takes a swig of his beer as he pushes off the bar. “So…where are you guys camped out?” he asks, his usual charm peeking through from behind his jade eyes.
I turn to look at the crowd, scanning to see if I can find Abby and Zayne and breathing a sigh of relief when I do. “Over there.” I point to the high table they’re currently walking toward.
Russell nods as he settles one hand on the small of my back, nearly making me jump. I should push him off because it’s such an intimate touch, and it’s probably inappropriate, but…
Part of me likes it. His palm is warm against my skin through the fabric of my dress, and he presses it there so easily it makes my insides twist. It’s not a gentle touch by any means, but it’s stern enough to let me know he wants me to lead him and not the other way around, which if I’m being honest… I kind of like.
Brett is a naturally assertive—and some would say arrogant—guy. He would never dream of letting me lead him in anything, and I find my cheeks heating with both anger and frustration that I’m thinking about him right now.
That was not the plan! The plan was to forget about Brett Sterling and what he did to me. The plan was to drink and dance and just say fuck Bret Sterling and his cheating dick.
“Nora?” Freddie’s voice is strangely raspy, and I realize I must’ve dissociated because I’m staring at Russell—or more aptly, Russell’s mouth—like my soul has left my body.
“Right.” I clear my throat. “Sorry. This way.”