Chapter 20 #2
“You’re cute.” The words slip out before I can reel them back.
It takes everything in me not to scoop her up right there, haul her upstairs, and strip her bare.
“Where is everyone?” she asks instead, her mind not as deep in the gutter as mine.
“At the Badger Den, I think.” I shrug, trying to act casual when my pulse is anything but. “Fishbowl margarita night.”
“What does that even mean?”
I laugh. “I forget you’re not savvy to the ridiculousness of college. Basically it’s a giant margarita, the size of a fishbowl. It’s a shitton of tequila and a promise of a terrible hangover.”
She grins, that wicked little tilt of her mouth I know too well. “You know what I could go for right now?”
I arch a brow hopefully.
Her fingers curl into my shirt, tugging me closer. “The Jefferson Parks Special.”
“You don’t mean my cock, do you?” I laugh under my breath, already caving. How the hell could I ever say no to her–to whatever she wants? I’d give her everything. “If that’s what you want, Angel, that’s what you’ll get.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re weaving through the crowd at the Badger Den, Ingrid tucked against my side as I push us toward the back table.
The place smells like fried food and cheap beer, the floors sticky, the music too loud, but when she slides her hand into mine, I feel ten feet tall walking her in.
There’s a ripple of excitement as people recognize us–her. I’m used to the looks from men and women when I come into the bar. Being a hockey player at Wittmore comes with instant recognition, but the energy this time is different. It’s both quiet and loud.
“You sure this is okay?” I ask her, the sense of protectiveness surging in my veins. “Should we call Marv?”
I’ve gotten used to her bodyguard’s quiet, but intimidating presence. Ingrid’s fingers squeeze mine. “He’s around here somewhere, and this is nothing. I can handle it.” She tilts her head. “The real question is, can you?”
People try to slyly take photographs, but honestly I don’t care.
I drop my mouth to her ear. “I want everyone to know you’re with me, Angel.
And if anyone tries to overstep, they’ll have to deal with me and my friends.
” I just want her to know that she can relax a little and have fun. We’ll keep her safe.
At the table, everyone greets her with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for championship wins.
Hugs, hellos, the girls pulling her into quick side squeezes before launching into compliments about her outfit and chatter about where they got their own.
They ask about Madison, who is getting to town late, due to dealing with some last minute tour logistics.
The guys, less subtle, shove a frosty pint into my hand from the pitcher already sweating on the table.
“What happened to holing up and staying in all weekend?” Reese asks.
“She realized Parks in bed for an entire weekend wasn’t worth the hype,” Axel snarks back.
“Shut it.” I snap. “She just wanted to experience college life a little.”
The guys seem, well, happy for me, which is weird.
I haven’t done anything but show up with a girl to a shitty bar.
When the girls settle back in at the table, I drag her chair right up next to mine, feeling her warm leg against mine.
Josie, the waitress, brings a fresh round of fishbowls to the table. Ingrid’s eyes widen at the huge glass.
“Pace yourself,” Reid warns.
Nadia takes a sip out of her straw, draining her glass, and leans forward, blunt as ever. “So did Jake really show up backstage after your concert?”
The table goes quiet, all eyes on her.
Ingrid doesn’t flinch. She just takes a sip of her own drink, eyes steady. “He did. It was pretty awkward,” she admits. “For him, more than me.”
“Did he see you?” she asks me.
“We met,” I answer gruffly, thinking about how if I see him again, I’m going to have a hard time restraining myself.
“He totally showed up because you’re dating someone new,” Twyler says. “Never underestimate a man wanting what another man has.”
“Where’d you get that? In a horoscope?” I ask.
She leans into Reese’s side. “Wise words told to me by your captain.”
“Fuck, tell me he pissed on your leg after that?” Axel howls. “He did, didn’t he?”
“No.” Twyler grins. “But he did give me his hoodie emblazoned with his name.”
“I like that.” Ingrid grins, twirling her straw in her hands. “I may put it in a song.”
“Go for it,” Reese says, tipping back his beer. “I give you permission.”
I slip an arm around the back of her chair, protective, even though she doesn’t need me to be.
The conversation moves on to graduation in two weeks and summer plans.
Ingrid and I stay close, thighs pressed together under the table, her laugh slipping into my shoulder every time the guys say something dumb.
And fuck if the guys weren’t right. It’s nice–better than nice–having someone here who’s mine, instead of prowling for something quick and empty.
At some point, she leans back, lips shiny from the greasy burger she inhaled, eyes soft as they catch mine. “Thank you for showing me this,” she says, almost shy. “I never had a life like this. Mine was always work and carefully orchestrated play.”
“You’re welcome,” I murmur, leaning in to kiss her cheek. She smells like beer and fries and her expensive perfume, and I want to bottle the moment forever.
“That’s what I want this weekend to be about,” she adds. “Seeing your world.”
“Anyone up for darts?” Reid asks, sliding out of the booth. “There’s a free board.”
“Yes, please!” she says, rising up to follow him to the dart board in the corner. “You coming?”
“Let me finish this,” I say, pointing to my uneaten dinner. I’d been too focused on fun, focused on her to eat. “Go have fun.”
She flashes me a smile over her shoulder before disappearing into the little crowd near the dart board, and the table feels quieter without her beside me.
Reese lingers back, shoulders loose but eyes steady–Captain through and through. Stoic, calm. A leader at heart and the first out of all of us to fall hard.
“I like her for you,” Reese says, finishing his fries with a shrug like it’s no big deal.
“Thanks for your approval,” I retort, smirking, but it means something and he knows it.
“I heard the guys were giving you shit for being hesitant to commit, but don’t listen to them,” he says, leaning in a little.
“You know I was afraid of falling into family footsteps. I was afraid I’d lose Twyler over hockey the way my dad and mom got divorced.
So afraid I almost fucked things up big time.
Axel ran like hell away from his oppressive and controlling father and found someone who accepts him for who he is.
Shelby, too. And Reid? He was looking so hard for a stable family system that he almost settled for the wrong girl. ”
He tips the pitcher, filling my glass and his until the last drops of beer slide out in a thin stream.
“Ingrid may not be the one,” Reese continues, “but she may be the one that shows you this is something you want. Fucking around, chasing sorority girls and puck bunnies is fun as hell, but nothing–” he holds my eyes, his voice firm, “and I mean nothing comes close to falling in love with your best friend.” He coughs into his fist. “Girlfriend, that is.”
“That’s some kind of speech, Cap.”
“Well, we’re running out of time, and I need to get them in while I can.” His grin is faint and a strange seriousness settles between us.
I lift my glass toward him. “Thanks. For everything. For being my best friend. For being an awesome team leader. I’m going to miss you.”
“Eh,” he says, grinning wider now, “I’ll see you on the ice. Don’t cry when I kick your ass.”
It’ll be crazy playing against one another, but I also can’t wait. The road ahead is exciting, and I can’t wait to get to it.
Across the room, I see Ingrid start toward the back hall where the bathrooms are located.
I swallow the last of my beer and then cross the room.
It’s dim back here, quieter, with the bass from the speakers thumping faintly through the walls.
When she pushes open the bathroom door, I grab her wrist and tug her into the shadowed corner, pressing her back to the paneling.
Her brows lift, amused. “What’s this?”
I cage her in with my arms, leaning down until my lips hover over hers. “Part of college is getting drunk and making out in dark corners.”
Her laugh is a whisper against my mouth before I kiss her, hungry and messy, like I’ve been waiting all night to taste her.
She hooks her fingers in my shirt, pulling me closer, and I let one hand slide into her hair, the other gripping her hip.
She tastes like beer and salt, her mouth opening under mine like she was made for this.
The world fades–no crowd, no noise, no spotlight–just her, pressed to the wall, kissing me like she doesn’t care if anyone walks by.
And maybe that’s the real point. This isn’t staged, or polished, or carefully controlled. It’s raw, unfiltered. Ours.
“You want to finish this here or head back home?” I ask her. If she’s down for a dirty fuck in the alley behind the Den, who am I to stop her?
Her hand slides down the front of my pants and she squeezes my erection, “Jefferson, please take me home.”