4. Benji
Benji
Unsurprisingly, my singular vote to change our bar scene was overruled. We ended up back at Wunderbar after our game, with more of the team in tow.
In a silent compromise, we’re all sitting with our eyes fixated on the television.
We’re playing the Chicago Force tomorrow, but the real threat is the Washington Pirates, and they’re currently playing, giving us the opportunity to scope them out before we face them.
I sip my beer as comments fly around me.
“We’ll have to keep an eye on that defenseman, Lee. He’s an absolute beast.”
“He’s a fuckin’ stud. He’s definitely going to the show.”
I smile to myself as I listen to the banter. Two years ago, when we lost several of our older bubble players to retirement and being called up to the major league, I assumed my first year as captain would simply be a season for rebuilding.
That hadn’t been the case. The team bonded quickly, a talented combination of scrappy and motivated. On and off the ice, problems are resolved quickly and the team is tuned into one another’s strengths and weaknesses.
In fact, I’m not even sure I’d still be on skates if it weren’t for the amazing team I came back to. I wouldn’t trade any of them for the world, especially Grant and Jordie.
They’re both on the first line with me, and they were the sanity I needed the last few months.
When we moved into our new apartment this summer, we got along just as well as hallmates as linemates.
I’m the serious to Jordie’s goofy, and Grant…
well, Grant is as unhinged as they come. But we all fucking love it.
“What do you think of Roberts being the new Force captain, Benji?”
The question rips me from my thoughts. I blink and turn to see Highcloud eyeing me. “What?”
Sam Highcloud, Levi’s roommate, motions at the TV on the side wall. I flick my eyes up in time to see a clip of a blond player, sporting blue and orange, making a beautiful goal against what looked to be the Avengers goalie. “Youngest player to captain the Pirates…” the anchor drones.
“Liam Roberts,” he supplies. Jordie and Grant have gone quiet, but Highcloud is none the wiser as he continues on. “He’s the new captain of the Pirates. You used to play with him, didn’t you?”
“I did,” I reply, clenching my jaw. Roberts is a pain in my ass, and we did our best to avoid interacting with one another any more than absolutely necessary while we played juniors together.
But fuck if he isn’t a good player. “I assume he’ll come out with even more in the tank now that he has that letter on his sweater.
We’ll want to keep an eye on him for sure. ”
“If I remember right, he plays dirty,” Grant says, cracking his knuckles.
I catch the gleam in his eye and smirk. He’s unofficially become known as our team’s enforcer, a reputation he loves.
Over the past year, other teams’ members have learned – either slowly or very, very quickly – to keep away from him due to his fighting skills.
If Roberts wants a fight, he’ll get one with Grant.
“I don’t know that he’ll be dumb enough to pick that fight,” I answer, swiping my beer back into my hand and draining it. “But by all means, if he tries anything with our players this season, get after him.”
Enforcers are becoming less and less common in our sport, but I’m still of the mind that I’d rather have a single fight to settle things than face ongoing cheap shots all season.
Those cause more injuries to players in the long run, and unfortunately, Liam Roberts is the type to deal those cheap shots out in spades.
Grant grins broadly. “Do we have to play the Force first?” He collapses dramatically against the back of his seat. “I think the Pirates are already due for another smackdown.”
“All in due time.” I sling an arm over both him and Jordie and smirk. “They’ll get their reminder about who’s on top soon enough.”
“Hell yes,” Jordie says, and Grant nods.
A chorus of belches and slams of glasses tells me we’ve all drained our beers or are close to empty. I rise from my seat, pointing to gauge who wants another, and turn back to the bar. My steps falter, however, as I see that the bartenders have switched over for a later shift.
The girl from the coffee shop is behind the bar now, talking with an older man seated across the bartop from her. Her eyes flick momentarily to me, as though sensing my approach from across the room. I swear they narrow slightly before she returns back to her conversation.
I settle myself on the opposite end of the bartop, listening half-heartedly to their conversion. Maybe I’ll get a better idea of what kind of person she really is.
“So… are you from Tennessee?” the guy asks.
My god, so people actually use that line in real life?
My throat closes, and my nose betrays me, an audible snort leaving my body before I can stop it.
I spin on the barstool, leaning across the bartop so that my face is shielded from them.
There is a lengthy pause before she responds, and I pray that it’s not because they both heard me.
“I’m not, unfortunately. I’m from Wyoming. And even there, that line is surprisingly outdated.” Another pause, and then she lets out a little laugh and adds, “But I have to commend the effort. Another beer, Joe?”
I frown, fighting the temptation to turn back around. Even to the man who has just used an abominable pickup line, she is being polite and warm – the opposite of her attitude with me this morning. What’s her angle?
“Wyoming? I’ve been there! Whereabouts?” The man completely ignores the question clearly meant to move him along.
“Cody. Where have you been?” The question sounds light, but he notices the tightness in her tone. She’s still being polite, but she wants the conversation to end.
“Cheyenne. I don’t think that’s close to Cody, though.” The man sounds disappointed. “Have you been to Cheyenne?”
Damn. This conversation is becoming increasingly desperate, and my men are thirsty, though maybe not as thirsty as poor Joe here. When Levi shoots me a confused look, I decide it’s time to interfere.
I stand and move toward the trainwreck down the bartop. The girl’s gaze snaps to me as she notes my arrival, and I swear she deflates. My eyebrows raise, and I glance between her and the man at the bartop pointedly. Haven’t I just given her an excellent out?
She averts her eyes and returns to her conversation. “Unfortunately not. Sorry, but can I get you another Dunkel? It looks like there’s a line starting.” She motions to me, and I return the gesture with a smirk.
Thirsty Joe visibly wilts, but nods. When she turns to pour him another beer, the man turns to frown at me, and I bristle.
I’ve done nothing more than hurry up the service and save him from a failing conversation.
I rest an arm on the bar and maintain eye contact, letting him know I’m thoroughly unimpressed.
Though I’m not wearing anything Leopards branded, I wonder if he knows who I am, because once he gives me a once-over, his frown turns to something like recognition. When the bartender slides him his beer, he grips the frothy mug tightly, mutters a soft thanks, and makes a quick exit.
Finally, the bartender turns to me. Instead of asking for my order, she places her hands on her hips. “Don’t act like you’re doing me any favors, after that stunt you pulled this morning.”
None of the warmth she’d had with Joe, as fake and polite as it had been, remains in her tone. Though I know exactly what she’s talking about, I’m caught off guard by her irritation. “I had my reasons,” I reply. “This is…how many run-ins between us in the last three days? Four?”
“I can’t help it if your habits bring you to the two exact places I work at. Maybe I should be the one accusing you of stalking me for everyone to hear.” She gestures broadly to the full bar around us.
I can’t believe this woman. Is that how it’s going to be? “You plan on making a scene here, too? So you want attention from my whole team, then, not just me?”
Her mouth falls open for a moment, but she quickly snaps it shut, leaning over the bartop. I’m hit with a waft of a fresh, fruity scent, and despite myself, I inhale the scent deeply. It throws me off even more, and I blink as she gets closer to my face.
Her sharp blue eyes scan me, as if she’s trying to answer some question, then narrow.
“You got me fired, you know that? I was fired on my very first day. Do you know how embarrassing that is? The last thing I need is for you to ruin this for me, too. So.” She leans back and rearranges her face into impeccable coldness. “What can I get you, sir?”
Despite the condescending tone, her use of the word sir only serves to rouse an unwanted reaction in my groin. I shift and clear my throat. “Three lagers, please.”
She turns around, busying herself with lining glasses up. My mind turns over her words once, twice. Finally, I blurt out, “Did you really get fired over that?”
She pauses, analyzing me. I shift again under her scrutiny. There’s something about it that feels deeper than a normal once-over, and it unnerves me.
“I’m sorry,” I say. Even though I still feel justified over my reaction – and I still have many questions about this woman – I didn’t know this would be the outcome. “They shouldn’t have fired you over that. I can talk to them, if you’d like.”
She shakes her head and turns to the tap wall behind her, grabbing one of the glasses. “I don’t need your pity, and I don’t want your support. I’ll get by on my own.”
I remain quiet as she fills the glasses. The tension thickens with each second of silence as I try to think of what to say, and how to make sense of the way her words and actions don’t line up. Finally, she turns to set the first drink in front of me, and I clear my throat. “The rodeo capital.”
She gives me a confused look. “Excuse me?”
“Cody. Wyoming,” I explain. “It’s the rodeo capital of the world.”