Blue Line Collision (Desert Elite Hockey #1)

Chapter 1

ONE

EVAN

I swung the driver’s door open and dropped into the car, taking in the fragrant scents of spring in the evening desert air.

It had a certain smell to it, not sweet per se, but sharp.

All the Palo Verde trees in the yards sported masses of yellow flowers.

It was April, and I was about to head into the playoffs with the Coyotes. Shit, I should pinch myself.

After starting the engine, I drove off. It didn’t seem right to go home already. Celebrating with a little nightcap would be fitting. The next few weeks or months might be grueling with travel and practice. I’d have to step up my game and show the coaches I was ready for this.

Turning onto the larger boulevard, I breathed in deeply. I’d park at my apartment, then walk to The Coach House in downtown Scottsdale. It had become a favorite hangout. Outdoor spaces dominated the casual place, and the drinks were fantastic.

After parking my car at my apartment, I strolled down the sidewalk of Old Town Scottsdale, my gaze set on the bar, its large patio surrounded by metal bars making up a perimeter fence while in the back, stood a covered, partially enclosed bar with hand-hewn poles in a rustic, Western vibe.

Entering through the gate in the fence, I meandered past patrons sitting under bulbed string lights at wooden tables with metal stools.

Because it was still relatively early, the place wasn’t crowded.

But it was Friday, so it would overflow later.

Festive lights had transformed this location into a shining beacon during the holidays, drawing out-of-towners.

I bellied up to the wooden bar, hitching onto a barstool with a black cushioned top and planted my elbows on the bar top, thinking back on the scene I’d just left.

Colton, my best friend from high school, was about to graduate and move away with his boyfriend, Tex, a lineman with Arizona State’s football team.

The Denver Broncos had drafted Tex. Colton was a lucky man.

A bartender all in black stepped toward me, and I ordered a margarita. We’d had tequila shots at the house. I didn’t want to mix my alcohol too much. Tomorrow promised a grueling day at the gym with my new teammates. My NHL teammates. A smile tugged at my lips.

The bartender set my drink down, and I sipped it, the lime mixing with a faint sweetness and a finish of earthy tequila tones. Life was good, and hopefully, it would get even better soon.

I scanned the bar. Maybe I’d find a hookup? To the right, women at a table shared giggles and conversation.

I’d been lucky here in the past. But then, I was lucky pretty much everywhere I went.

Maybe it was the hockey body. I glanced at myself in the mirror behind the stack of liquor bottles and my brown hair falling in a wave to my cheekbones, my blue-eyed gaze staring back at me. I had good flow tonight.

As I rubbed the stubble across my chin, my gaze landed on a dude in a corner booth, sitting by himself, with a lowball glass resting in front of him.

My heart pitched. Holy fuck, he couldn’t be…

I peered at him. Ronan Vale from Vanta Crown?

My favorite alternative rock band? I swallowed hard.

Whenever they played their songs in the arena, my game improved.

His long black hair fell to his shoulders, and silver necklaces dangled below his neckline. His black shirt was unbuttoned halfway down, exposing a toned chest. The hint of black eyeliner rimmed his dark, brooding eyes. His gaze locked on mine, and a smirk ghosted across his plump lips.

The man was a god, and he was directing his attention at me.

I breathed through my racing pulse. Should I wave at him?

No, he didn’t know me from Adam. I glanced around me.

Did he have a bodyguard around here? No, this was Scottsdale.

Celebrities frequented this area, often unnoticed by onlookers.

Hell, even Mason Hopkins and Jett Jarvis, star forwards for the Coyotes, ate at restaurants around here mostly unbothered.

Twisting my drink on the bar top, I dropped my gaze to it.

Who could I tell? Colton was busy with Tex right now.

But Lucas? Yeah, he’d appreciate this. Maybe I could take a sneaky photo of Ronan?

As the corner of my lips lifted, I slipped my phone from the pocket of my board shorts and opened the photo app.

Resting the end of the phone on the bar, I waited for Ronan to turn his head and snapped a photo, catching his angled jawline and high cheekbones.

The guy was so…talented and amazing on stage.

Sexy even. Yeah, I thought that, even though I was straight.

It wasn’t gay to think that way. I could appreciate a sexy man when I saw one.

I tapped a text to Lucas Hopkins, the defensive partner I’d played with on the Phoenix Firebirds and hopefully would play with again in the playoffs.

Evan

Hey, I’m at The Coach House and you’ll never guess who’s here.

Lucas

Dude, you have your first training session with the Coyotes in the morning. What are you doing there?

I shook my head. Of course, he’d say that.

Evan

I’m having a little celly. Don’t worry, I’ll be great tomorrow. Answer the question.

Lucas

Okay, who?

With a glance at Ronan, who flicked his gaze to mine, I smiled. Fuck, it really was him. I tapped my phone’s screen.

Evan

Fucking Ronan Vale from Vanta Crown.

I sent the photo.

Lucas

No shit? He’s hot as fuck. Are you going to talk to him?

I bit my thumbnail. I’d sound like an idiot if I tried speaking to him.

Evan

Hell, no. I’m sure he doesn’t want people bothering him.

Lucas

Your loss.

Fingers with thick silver rings covered my phone. “Did you take a photo of me?”

My heart leapt into my throat. “Uh…” Letting out a stuttered chuckle, I raised my head and focused on Ronan, standing in front of me, his piercing dark gaze burrowing into my soul. What should I say? “I’m, I’m sorry. I was just, uh, cool to see you here, and I wanted to tell my friend.”

A sly grin played across his lips. “Cool, huh? And who is this friend who now has a photo of me?”

“It’s uh, it’s Lucas Hopkins from the Coyotes.” I swallowed through the tightness in my throat. Had I pissed him off?

“Coyotes? You mean Mason Hopkin’s little brother? You’re friends with him?” He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as his gaze raked over me.

“I am. In fact, we were D-line partners on the Firebirds.” Was he a hockey fan? The pounding of my heart eased a bit. Could I use this to my advantage? “I’ve been called up to play as a Black Ace in the playoffs with them.” Nodding at my drink, I said, “I’m, uh, having a little celly here.”

“Really.” He offered a wide smile. “That’s something to celebrate for sure.” He placed his hand on my shoulder. “I was just celebrating the end of a successful tour. Want to join me?” He leaned in close, his breath whispering across my ear, and said, “People shouldn’t drink alone.”

My side shivered, and my shoulder tingled. Thank God, he was cool about this. “Yeah, sure. I’ll join you.” What could it hurt? I’d stick to just the one drink. I mustn’t suck tomorrow.

“Come on. Join me at my table.” He took a quick glance around the bar. “I prefer a low profile, and sitting back in the corner gives me that.”

“Do you have security here?” I hopped off my stool with my drink, followed him to his table, and slid in beside him across the black vinyl cushion. How the fuck is this even happening? Wait until I tell Lucas about this tomorrow.

“No, I have had no problems around here. Only when I travel to certain parts of the country.” He fingered his glass and then focused on me, his gaze dipping to my mouth for a beat. His lips curled into a warm grin. “So, you play hockey? What’s your name?”

“I, I do. My name’s Evan Crosby. The Coyotes drafted me from juniors, but I’ve played on their AHL team for five years. I guess Coach Dupont finally wants to take a chance on me.” Fuck, I sounded like a loser. With a sigh, I fingered the stem of my margarita glass.

“What’s this Black Ace thing you mentioned?” He shifted closer to me, his body heat warming my side.

Shit, the guy was bisexual. Everyone knew it.

Did he want to hook up with me? But I wasn’t queer.

My friends, yes, but me? No. I peeked at him watching me intently with those smoky eyes, the pouting lips.

Damn it, he was handsome as fuck. “It’s common for NHL teams to call up a player from their AHL affiliate for the playoffs, so they have extra guys to play in case one of the regular roster guys gets injured or they need to mix things up. ”

He scraped his teeth across his lower lip. “Yeah? So, does this mean if I watch the playoffs, I’ll get to see you play?” Angling toward me, he rested his arm along the back of the booth, behind my shoulders.

“Yeah, maybe. I sure hope so.” My pulse sped up. Is he hitting on me? No, he’s just being friendly. Why would a guy like him hit on me? “So, what do rockstars do at the end of a tour?” Stupid fucking question.

“We rest, write songs, and record the next album.” With his lips parting, he flicked his gaze at my mouth.

What do I ask next? I already knew so much about him—like the fact that he was born and raised in poverty in Seattle, like how he wrote a lot of songs with Drew Kincaid, the bass player. “So, I guess you live around here?”

“Yeah, I have a house on the border of Paradise Valley and Scottsdale.” He skimmed his finger along the rim of his glass, a caramel-colored liquor spreading across the bottom.

“Nice, that’s an expensive area.” I watched the motion of his finger, the tip grazing the rim, and heat burned low in my belly.

Everything this guy did was fucking sexy.

Sex oozed out of him. I squirmed and sipped my drink.

This was so fucking weird. I’d never spoken to a rock star before, or any guys in bands.

I’d only hung out with athletes. Okay, and Colton.