Chapter 12
Beau
McFolley’s Pub is packed following the game. Fans and players mingle together in the crowded bar. I’m overwhelmed by a barrage of pats on the shoulders, and “nice scoring” and “knew you were a great trade” and “great playing tonight”. It’s kind, but it’s almost too much.
I should feel invincible.
Unstoppable.
I should feel like I’m the king of the world right now.
What does not feel incredible, though? What is kind of harshing the vibe I am trying to set for the night?
The hot-as-fuck bartender who keeps flirting with Milo.
I stew in a corner on the opposite side of the bar, watching as Milo orders another fancy little alcohol -free drink from Jamie, who’s been more than happy to help him out all night long.
Fucking Jamie.
He is a sexy twunk of a man, with a strong jawline and scruff on his face.
He’s dressed in a short-sleeve black shirt and dark jeans, but his clothing fits him so snugly.
I can practically see his pecs. I ordered my drink from him earlier and thought he was kind of cute, even if he’s not really my type. But seeing him with Milo all night…
Milo, who’s still figuring out what he likes.
Milo, who’s still nervous to ask for what he wants.
Yeah, that’s why I’m full of bubbling rage. Because I want Milo to feel safe with his next partner. Not because I’m jealous.
Jamie runs his fingers through his curly brown hair as he laughs at something Milo said. His smile is soft, and I can see from here how expressive his dark eyes are. He’s leaning over the bar, his pecs pressed against his forearms. He looks every bit the yummy bartender he’s playing.
Oh fuck, it’s honestly not fair. He gets to just openly flirt with my… With Milo. He gets to make that blush spread across freckled cheeks. He gets to stare endlessly into seafoam-green eyes. He gets to take care of him in front of all these people, and people just think it’s his fucking job.
Because yeah, it is, but also, the flirting.
Milo must say something especially funny because Jamie reaches across the bar and playfully shoves his shoulder. Milo smiles a thousand-watt smile, and I feel like I’m blinded.
“What’s up your ass?” Paxton saunters up to me, two drinks in his hands. He hands me the glass, and I immediately shoot it back.
“Fuck, man!” he exclaims as the burning sensation slides down my throat. “That is a sipping tequila. You do not shoot that shit back.”
I start to cough a little, embarrassed at my outburst, but overall enjoying the burn.
“You’re just trying to kill me, Matty.” I try to laugh through the coughs, making it worse. When I look up, Milo is watching me carefully. Jamie is nowhere to be seen.
I wipe the dribble of spit from my chin with the back of my hand after hacking up a lung, and he watches the movement carefully. It feels almost sensual. As if it’s just us in the room, everyone else fading away.
Is it dumb to feel that way while wiping my own spit from my mouth? Yes.
Do I care? Nope.
I let my eyes stray from his, not wanting to be too obvious with this annoying little crush, and watch as Oskar approaches Jamie. He smiles and winks, and I swear Jamie flushes, though it’s hard to tell under the warm light. Oskar is such a flirt.
I snort as I scan the room again. Kirill walks over to me, with a stoic look in his eyes and a drink in his hands.
“Behave,” he says with a straight face as he hands me my fifth drink of the night. “Yes?” I take a sniff, and it’s more tequila. Awesome. I’m about to get wasted.
Kirill is a scary presence. He’s tall and tan, with dark hair and tattoos. He’s every bit the enforcer off the ice that he plays on the ice.
“Yes, yes.” I laugh and hold out my glass to cheers with him. It looks like it pains him to do it, but he does clink glasses with me. Then he turns abruptly and walks away. I watch him go, letting loose a little chuckle.
He walks over to this couple standing in the corner and crowds them like he knows them.
I swear I see a smile break out across his face as the three talk.
I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen him smile—like, genuinely smile.
He steps in close, leaning in so much that I would swear his lips are touching the man’s ear.
The woman they’re with rolls her eyes at them before sauntering away to the bar.
Kirill is handsome. He and that guy would look so good together.
I shake my head. That’s an odd thought to have. Maybe I’ve had too much to drink?
I chuckle to myself, my internal thoughts rolling like credits through my head.
I stumble toward the bar, and it’s fucking Jamie who comes over to help me, flashing that gorgeous smile. His dark curls fall in his face. He looks like a goddamn model, not a bartender.
“Jamie,” I sneer at him. But my snark is overwhelmed by my drunken slur, so much so that I doubt he can even make out the sneer.
“I think you’ve had about enough, my friend.” He smiles at me, patting the forearm that’s resting on the bar.
“We’re not friends,” I say, hopefully too low for him to hear. The thousand -watt smile he sends my way tells me I’m in the clear.
Phew.
A few of the guys walk over to me, Milo included. I really don’t like him seeing me so drunk. Shame rolls through my belly as I think about what a mess I am. Maybe I can convince him otherwise? I’m sure I could act sober if I really put my mind to it.
Milo smiles at me, hoisting my arm over his shoulder, and Brennan takes the other side. “Time to head home, big guy,” Milo says, his voice chipper and entirely sober. Did he not drink at all?
Brennan rolls his eyes, and they start walking me to the door.
“Let’s go, champ,” he mutters.
“Guys, I’m not even that… I’m not… What’s the word again?” I stop walking with them and ponder for a few seconds before flinging my hand up. “Drunk! I’m not even a little bit drunk.”
Which is a lie, because I am, in fact, a lotta bit drunk.
Milo smiles and shakes his head at my antics. Brennan looks annoyed as hell, rolling his eyes again.
“You don’t like me,” I say to him point-blank. Not even a hint of a slur in my words. “You’re mad because they traded Max for me.” Brennan blushes furiously before shoving me into the open car door.
I knock my head into the doorframe. Fuck, that’s going to hurt so bad tomorrow. Milo falls in behind me.
“I don’t want to go home, Milo,” I whine. He shakes his head again and smiles before turning and thanking the Lyft driver. “You wanted to take Jamie home, didn’t you?” He splutters and squawks in indignation.
“No, I did not!”
Fuck, I should not have said anything.
Well, Jamie is, like, a gender-neutral name, right?
It’s probably fine.
But Milo looks … He looks unhappy with me.
“Did you really think that I wanted someone else?” His voice is kind of small. I hate when he makes himself small like that.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly, because maybe he did like Jamie. Or maybe I was overreacting. “I guess I do, or … did? I don’t know.” I bury my face in my hands, shaking my head slowly.
I must sit like that, uncomfortable silence encasing me, for quite some time, because we’re home in what feels like no time.
I tumble through the front door and head straight for that cushiony couch. Fuck, it looks like heaven. I practically dive onto it and hear a small laugh behind me. I like his laugh. Like, a lot.
“I like your laugh too,” he says, chuckling.
Fuck, he can read minds?
“No, Beau, you’re talking out loud.” He laughs harder, shaking his head like he is disappointed in me. But that smile… Fuck, that smile kills me.
I don’t want this moment with him to end. This moment of just us two, sitting here and smiling at each other. The moment feels so clandestine, just our eyes caught in each other’s stares.
“Let’s watch a movie,” I say, maybe a little too loudly. But suddenly I’m excited.
I’m excited at the prospect of us sitting maybe a little too closely on the couch. Of maybe my arm flinging around the back and pulling him close. Of holding him to me, never letting go.
Fuck, this is getting too mushy for me. I’m not interested in a relationship. I’m not interested in relationship things, like cuddling. But then I think about waking up next to him, holding his body to mine…
I feign getting comfortable, pushing myself away from him because I’m too scared to face what I feel. At least, that’s what Bianca would say about me.
Fuck, Bianca.
Did she ever make me feel this way?
I did love her, at one point, but she never gave me butterflies. Not ones that felt more like a flock of seagulls taking off. Not ones that fluttered every time that smile was turned toward me.
When we broke up, she told me I needed to see someone because I was emotionally closed off. And honestly, it feels like she’s right. She’s always right about these things, and I never do a damn thing about them. Maybe I should see someone.
The thought gets lost in a drunken fog as the night moves on.
Milo puts on some action bullshit, and we watch in amicable silence. Somehow, as the night wears on, we find ourselves drawing closer. The night finally takes me under, and I feel myself fall back. I can’t find it in myself to care as I feel a warm body fall over my own.
Sleep takes me.