2. Chance Scott
CHANCE SCOTT
I was peeling the label off the untouched beer bottle in front of me, my gut heavy with the decision I had come to a while ago but hadn’t told anyone yet.
I was going to retire.
It was time.
My time.
Time for what, I wasn’t sure, but everything inside of me had started to ache.
I needed to take a step back. It wasn’t just my age.
At thirty-seven, I knew I was older but easily still had a season or four left in me.
Something had shifted inside of me, though.
After playing in LA last season, something kept churning inside of me that it was time to hang up my skates. Professionally at least.
I glanced around the somewhat busy bar. I knew I had been spotted by two different groups of guys at either area of the bar. They were talking and pointing in my direction, but thankfully, they were giving me my space. I’d make sure to send them a round on me when I left as a thank you.
I was retiring.
By this time next year, I wouldn’t be waking up at the butt crack of dawn for an early-morning run or early practice.
Life would be completely different. I still wasn’t sure what that would look like, but a part of me was really fucking excited for it.
I almost wanted to say fuck it and call it quits before the season started, but I knew better.
One more season.
I heard someone take the seat next to me, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up.
Fuck, thirty minutes in of being at the new bar my brother had asked me to invest in, and I had been recognized enough to be approached.
My eyes dipped down and caught an incredible set of legs, not necessarily long but toned and smooth with heels so damn sexy and high they should be considered weapons.
Puck bunny, I guessed and rolled my neck.
I wasn’t in the mood to shake a woman off tonight, but I wasn’t in the mood to bring anyone back to my place, either.
I was done with that part of my life. Easy sex was great.
Fun, too. And as a longtime player for the Houston Lonestars I’d had my fair share of women throw themselves at me in hopes to either rope themselves a hockey player or sleep with one to have a great story for their friends.
I’d done the latter many times. Too many times.
As my eyes drifted up the body of the woman next to me, every inch I soaked in only got better and better.
Holy fuck, I thought to myself. I shifted in my seat, unable to stop the way my cock started to take notice as it woke up.
My beautiful stranger must have felt my gaze on her because she turned, glancing up quite a bit.
When her sea-glass green eyes locked with mine, it felt like I was struck by fucking lightning.
Holy fuck. The woman next to me was trouble with a capital T.
My mouth was suddenly bone dry, my tongue way too big for my mouth. Our eyes locked. I couldn’t get myself to look away while we stared at one another for god only knew how long. I wasn’t positive because I was pretty sure time had seized to exist in that moment.
Those pretty eyes brightened, and I wondered if she knew who I was. But before I could offer her a drink, she gave me a tight smile and turned around. I sat there, slightly paralyzed for a moment.
Did she just… dismiss me?
Had I just been fully affected by a woman head to toe and brushed off?
I shook the rejection away, for some reason now remotivated to stay just a little longer. I turned to look at her, but Miss Trouble was now focused on trying to get a bartender’s attention.
I looked behind her trying to figure out what party she belonged to because there was no way a woman as stunning as the one next to me would go to a place like this all alone.
“What can I get you, gorgeous?” Greg, the bartender on shift, came over and asked, leaning his muscular forearms on the bar, showing off the veins and tats.
Her laughter sounded like the tinkling of a bell, something that with any other woman would have annoyed me, but with her I found so damn endearing, the green-eyed monster I didn’t know lived inside of me reared its ugly head.
“What’s good here?” she asked with a smirk I felt at the base of my balls despite not being on the receiving end of it. Her tone was so full of confidence and innuendo, there was no way she didn’t know exactly what she was doing.
Trouble was a flirt.
“That depends.” Greg smiled. His eyes skated down her body. My hand clenched tighter around my bottle. I didn’t like him looking at her.
“On?” Her head tilted with interest. The action made her silky dark hair sway to one side.
“She’ll have a mojito on the rocks,” I interrupted like a complete and utter jackass. She turned to look at me and blinked.
“Excuse me?” She frowned; the cutest little lines formed on her forehead.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” I challenged. Miss Trouble rolled her eyes.
“Some guys,” she muttered under her breath before returning her attention to Greg. “I’ll take a soda water with lime and a cherry and your brisket platter, if you still have it.”
“We got it,” Greg said and walked away to put her order in.
“Brisket platter?” I asked. She didn’t bother to look at me.
“Let me guess, you’re all about not eating things with a face?” she asked, and I chuckled.
“Not at all. Speaking of faces and eating, you have a pretty one.” A horrifying moment of silence fell between us. Shit, had I just made it sound like I was some kind of cannibal?
“Excuse me?” She frowned, looking at me as her hands moved inside the purse she had on her lap.
“Shit, I just meant eating faces.” Fuck me, I was making it worse, but the horrified expression was slowly melting away to what I could only hope was amusement. “Can I start over?”
“I hope so.”
“You’re beautiful,” I blurted out like some green-behind-the-ears boy around the first girl he ever found himself crushing on.
A slight tinge of pink colored her cheeks, which surprised me.
She was a woman used to compliments; there was no way she wasn’t with how fucking beautiful she was.
Yet I’d made her blush. Gold star for me!
“Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself, I guess… in the looks department, that is.”
“My pick-up lines need a little work.” It wasn’t like I had to usually use them.
“I would say so.” The genuine smile on her face shifted to the polite one before Greg returned with a brisket platter and her drink.
“Here you go. Brisket platter with all the fixings.” The asshole had the nerve to wink at her. My nose flared as I bit down on my tongue.
“Thanks, it looks amazing.” She smiled.
“Just holler if you need anything else,” he said before walking away, leaving us alone.
“That’s a lot of food,” I noted and winced at myself again.
What the hell is wrong with me? I held a finger up between us, and before she could say anything, I spoke again, “Let me take my size-thirteen boots out of my mouth.” Thankfully, this made her laugh.
Loud and carefree to the point she wiped tears away from the edges of her eyes.
“Wanna share?” she offered. I looked at the plate. I didn’t need the macros or the carbs, but fuck me, I’d find a way to burn off the calories before meeting my buddy’s baby sister tomorrow.
“Thanks.” I reached over and grabbed a fry, popping it into my mouth. A deep groan escaped from me at the taste of the salty crispiness. When I looked at her again, she was staring at me.
“How old are you?” she asked. It took me by surprise that was her first question, but fuck it, I was going with it.
“Thirty-seven.” She nodded. “You?” I asked, fighting away a smile.
“Twenty-seven. That too much of an age difference for you?” she asked boldly, and for a moment, I hesitated.
Is she a puck bunny after all?
“To hang out with you? Hell, no.” Honestly, I liked to date women around my age. I’d done the whole dating younger women thing, and as fun as that was in the sheets, we had shit in common outside of them.
One-night stands were a thing of the past… or so I thought.
I had a feeling Miss Trouble would get me to bend a lot of my rules tonight.