3. Dalton
THREE
DALTON
BOOBS: THEY’RE WORTH MENTIONING TWICE
For being packed with people, the bar felt comfortable. The murmur of conversations mixed with the sound of televisions playing various sports. I could see it becoming the new spot for the boys, especially since it was only down the road from the arena.
“I told you going out with us was the cure to all your of troubles. Boobs, booze, and boobs,” Jimenez slurred, his arm draped across my shoulders. I rolled my eyes at the goofy grin plastered on his face. He got it every time he drank.
“You said boobs twice.”
“They’re worth mentioning twice, jefe .” He slapped my back before socializing with someone on his other side, giving me a chance to scan the place. No one had given me a moment to breathe since the locker room.
Jimenez had practically poured alcohol down my throat, figuring I’d be less likely to bolt if I was buzzed, and then he’d plastered himself to my side like my personal handler. They were all afraid I’d bail .
Fair assumption, really.
In true Christian Jimenez fashion, he’d failed to mention that his long-time buddy owned the bar we were going to, and that tonight was their soft opening. He’d apparently promised we’d make an appearance at Goaltender so they could take pictures of the team for marketing.
They’d offered us free drinks in exchange, but there was no way in hell I’d let them do that. Clearly, the owner had no idea how many beers a hockey team could put away in one sitting.
The place reminded me of the dive bar we’d gone to in college after our games—minus the dive part. Goaltender managed to straddle the line between a high-end restaurant and comfort bar with its polished concrete floors and elegant light fixtures accented with some of the most iconic sports jerseys and memorabilia.
This is like the adult version of our college escapades.
The thought soured when I remembered who else had been there to celebrate our wins. I sipped my beer, hiding my frown with the rim, the cold liquid quenching my drying throat.
“They did great with the place, huh?” Jimenez’s attention was back on me, oblivious to my mood. “You should hire someone for your place once you’re done wallowing,” he said, waving at someone across the room.
I might’ve been the team captain, but Christian was essentially the team representative. People fucking loved the guy, and he loved the attention. We’d been friends long enough for me to know the signs of how badly he wanted to be out there schmoozing it up with the owner, Carlos.
The tapping fingers, his ass hanging halfway off the barstool, the way he practically pouted every time he looked over there. All of it was a clear indication that he hated the role of babysitter.
I nodded toward where a crowd milled around in the center. “Go.”
“You sure, Cap? I don’t mind being your wingman.”
I snorted into my glass at his bullshit line. “I’d have to be trying to pick up women to need a wingman, Jimenez. I mean it. Get out of here. I’m fine to sit at the bar all by myself.”
He held my gaze a beat longer, dark eyes searching for a reason to stay by my side. “Alright, but if you need me, wave me over,” he said, already halfway out of his stool.
I shook my head at the loud cheer he got before going back to scanning the crowd. Most of the people in the new bar ran in the same circle as us—athletes, agents, and marketing people in the business.
I’d spent the first hour giving out head nods like candy while shooting daggers at the back of Jimenez’s head since he’d promised me a “low-key and chill” night.
It made me slightly uneasy. This crowd was the same one Emma ran in. Thinking about our breakup and the following weeks left a bitter taste in my mouth.
Dating a sports reporter was all fun and games until they broke up with you. She’d loved the spotlight, and unfortunately for me, that meant that when she broke things off, my name was dragged into the press to keep hers relevant.
An infectious sound pulled me from my darkening thoughts. The woman to my right flung her head back, laughing, causing the corners of my mouth to tip upward involuntarily. Something about the laugh’s carefree nature gave me the same warm feeling as when sunshine hit my face.
The happiness was quickly chased away, though, my bad mood crashing down like a rogue wave, reminding me of how trapped I’d felt lately. When had I last felt open and free anywhere besides the ice?
Hell, I wasn’t even sure I felt it there anymore.
I had the oddest urge to walk over to her and ask what her secret was.
“That’s enough alcohol,” I muttered into the glass, downing the rest of my beer before signaling to the bartender.
“Did you want to close out, Mr. Langley?”
Internally, I cringed at the use of the name but didn’t comment. “No thanks. You can leave it open for the guys. Would it be cool if I stopped by tomorrow to pick it up? And could I get some water, too?”
The guy nodded, running off to get my drink, and like a magnet, my attention returned to the woman.
My mother would whack me upside my head for staring at a woman the way I was, but I couldn’t look away. Dark brown waves covered most of her back, hitting right where her waist tapered in slightly. Tanned skin peeked through the silky curtain whenever she moved her head.
Bet her skin is soft.
I jerked back at the thought. Where the hell did that come from ?
That should have been my sign to leave, but I was too engrossed in observing how animated she was as she spoke to the person beside her. Muscled, arms waved out to the sides, and a chuckle slipped out when I noted how her friend rolled her eyes at one particularly animated movement that made it look like the mystery woman was lifting weights.
I was lost in the moment, but the smile I hadn’t realized I had fell the moment I heard a familiar voice coming from the front door.
Emma.
Like a trigger response, my ass was out of the chair and moving before my brain fully processed what was happening. The need to get out of there before she spotted me was visceral. I cringed, realizing that was impossible, considering my whole team was there. And a six-three man darting through a crowd of people like his ass was on fire wasn’t exactly inconspicuous.
A curse slipped out as someone stepped in my way, slowing me down while my pulse did the opposite. God, this was the same feeling as when we were a goal down with ten seconds left on the clock, but the other team had the puck.
Dread slid through me like a toxic sludge, contaminating any happiness I’d felt tonight. Looking over my shoulder toward the door, I checked where she was at.
The knot in my chest loosened a bit.
Emma still stood at the entrance, her lips pursed in a way that made her look irritated, blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. Any relief I’d felt at the distance vanished because her head snapped my way, sending my heart slamming into my rib cage. I nearly gave myself whiplash to avoid eye contact.
Shit. She’s for sure going to make her way over to me.
A mantra of “get out, get out” played on repeat in my mind until it was interrupted by the laughter from earlier.
Like a freaking moth to a flame, my body moved toward the woman, toward that laugh. She now sat alone, laughing with the bartender.
I had no clue what came over me, but one moment, I was practically sprinting out of the bar to avoid my ex, and in the next, I did one of the dumber things I’d done in my life—I slid next to the random woman.
I was never drinking again because what was I doing?
I should have been halfway out the door by now, avoiding Emma, not sitting on a barstool that was too small next to a woman with what? A nice laugh and back? I was seconds away from standing and apologizing before making my exit when she turned, stopping in my tracks.
Large brown eyes peered over at me through thick black lashes. My pulse jumped into my throat, a nervous excitement that set my blood on fire.
She was gorgeous.
Soft waves framed her face, giving a clear view of her high cheekbones and glossy lips, which were clearly moving. It took my brain a second to catch up with what she was saying.
“Can I help you?” she asked again with irritation, her dark brow quirking up in an arch.
“Um.” I cleared my throat, trying to jumpstart my vocal cords into working.
Demon possession had to be real, because what I’d meant to say was, “No, so sorry for bothering you,” but instead, what came out was, “Actually, yes. I realize this is extremely weird, and I am not trying to hit on yo?—”
“Saying you’re not hitting on me sounds exactly like trying to hit on me.” She cocked her head to the side, eyes daring me to argue with her. But I was too distracted by her glossy lips wrapping around the straw, taking a sip.
Heat crawled up my neck at the inappropriate thoughts the sight invoked. “Point taken, ma’am, but this is worse than some pickup line,” I admitted, smiling at the way she narrowed her eyes at me in suspicion.
God, I needed to touch some grass. This was not how I usually reacted to a woman.
“Okay, I am going to humor you because my cousin’s in the bathroom, and at the very least, this will provide a great story to tell her.” Her big brown eyes raked over me in a way that felt like she was assessing me for weaknesses.
It was fascinating that she didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by me. Not that I wanted to intimidate her—quite the opposite—but with my stature, most men , let alone women, looked at me with caution.
Not her, though.
I leaned forward, resting my elbow on the polished bar top, moving into her personal space. There was no way I wanted anyone else to hear what I was about to ask. A warm and sensual scent hit me, and I had the strangest urge to run my nose along the column of her throat.
Instead of backing away, she only arched her brow higher. “Watch yourself, cowboy. I’ve got damn good aim when it comes to kicking someone in the balls.”
Of course she did. That only made me like her more .
“Good to know, but I hope you haven’t had to use that move too often.” The idea of men bothering her had protectiveness stirring in my chest, which didn’t make a lick of sense.
She shrugged a shoulder. “Most of the time, my glare is enough to scare them off. But that didn’t seem to work with you…” A small smirk played at the corner of her mouth when I didn’t respond. “So, Longest Ride, were you going to ask me your question or continue to stare at me? Oh, and by the way, if you’re going to ask for my number, the answer is no.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Probably because I’d been out of my damn mind to think it was a good idea to stop and talk to a random woman.
What was I supposed to say?
That her laugh reminded me of sunshine?
This was ridiculous .
I couldn’t pull a stranger into my shit.
“You’re right, that’s what I was going to ask, so I’ll just…” I moved to stand up, but a small, calloused hand gripped my wrist with surprising strength.
“If you’re going to lie, at least try to sound convincing. Because, unfortunately, there is this sick trait in me that can’t allow you to leave now without you asking me your real question. Otherwise, I will lay awake all night long wondering about what you were really going to ask.”
“Would you pretend to be my date?” The words tumbled out before I could stop them, immediately horrified I’d voiced the idea.
Who the fuck asks a random person that?
She blinked a few times before throwing her head back and laughing.
It was even better from this angle. It didn’t matter that she was laughing at me—I couldn’t stop the stupid grin plastered on my face.
When she looked back, her face fell.
“Hold on, you’re serious.”