Chapter 1 Brooke #2
I was caught off guard by the fact that he seemed different than I expected—more raw. Real. His intensity, the way he growled into my ear—it felt like we were connecting on a deeper level than maybe either of us are used to. Add to that his solid thighs, rock-hard ass, and holy shit, his massive—
"Brooke!"
The sound of my name rips me from the memory of Drew's perfect…
everything, and I look up from where my gaze burns a hole in the red laminate floor of the kitchen.
Trisha, our very goth—very unfriendly—hostess, stands in front of me, her expression blank behind her thick black eyeliner.
She's naturally blunt, aggressive, and borderline hostile, but when she's standing by the restaurant door, she can turn it on better than anyone I know.
It's scary how she can be two completely different people, but you get used to the slight fear she instills in you every time she comes to tell you that she's seated someone in your section.
Sort of.
"Sorry, did you say something?" I ask, taking another sip of my soda before returning my drink to its slot next to Tess's.
She stares at me briefly, and my gaze wanders awkwardly around the kitchen. I've learned that avoiding eye contact makes you feel less like she has a voodoo doll of you at home.
"I said, I sat you. Table twelve." With that, Trish turns on her heels, mumbling under her breath.
Normally, I would laugh off her attitude—that girl is one puzzle I don't care to piece together. But I have no capacity to feel anything right now except for the paralysis of my mind thanks to her last damn word.
Twelve.
For the past ten months, anything that reminds me of Drew "Best Sex of My Life" Anderson, makes my stomach drop, my palms sweat, and my chest flutter with a weird anxiety.
I've had one-night-stands, sure, but none of the others still sit in the back of my mind.
I don't think about any of them when I'm alone at night or sleeping with the guy I've gone on a few dates with, who is dull as dishwater but hung like a horse—Sorry Shane, it's nothing personal.
But seeing Drew in the news, hearing him speak in an interview, having customers seated at his number's table…
all of it brings memories of that night flooding back to me.
Cracking my neck to either side, I roll my shoulders in an attempt to release some of the tension.
Get it together, Brooke. Drew Anderson was a one-off.
He's the Flames' star forward for God's sake, and he's not without baggage, that's for sure.
I know I'm just starting my real journey into adulthood, but something tells me pursuing a young celebrity isn't the most promising start.
Besides, it was my idea to make sure our bathroom sexcapades stayed within those four white walls. Who's to say he'd even remember holding my naked body against them while he slammed into me, my weight held effortlessly in his chiseled—
Holy shit, I've officially lost it.
Glancing into the dining room, I find table twelve, a booth with dark stained wood and red pleather seats tucked into the back corner.
I snicker when I see who is seated there, hands intertwined on top of the table, their plastic menus casually pushed to the edge.
I would swear they did this on purpose if they knew about that night.
But they don't. No one does. And ideally, I'd like to keep it that way.
Strutting over to them, I mouth the words to the song echoing around the room, resetting myself to the beat of the music. "Your love would be so damn nauseating if you guys weren't so disgustingly hot," I say when I finally reach their table.
Alex rolls her eyes before glaring up at me. Levi chuckles, leaning back into the cushion behind him, his hands slipping from Alex's grasp. "Hey, Brooke," he says, draping one arm on the back of the booth and turning his body to face me.
"McHottie," I say curtly, nodding to him. Levi shakes his head and smiles as I slide into the booth next to Al. "What are you guys doing here?"
Laying her head on my shoulder, Alex wraps her arm around mine now resting on the table. "Can't we just come see my best friend while she's working on cheesesteak night?"
I look down at her suspiciously, then over at Levi, who immediately raises his palms in the air.
"Don't look at me," he says. "I'm actually here for the sandwich.
" He reaches for the specials menu tucked into the metal holder at the back of the table and pretends to be captivated by the faded image of chipped steak and melted cheese wedged between a long sub roll.
Al's head slips off of my shoulder as I turn toward her and raise my brow. "So, are you going to tell me why you're really here or do I need to sic Trisha on you."
"Front of the house Trish or the real Trish?" she asks with wide eyes.
"I haven't decided yet."
With a shiver, she shakes her head. "Forget it. Both give me the creeps." She scrunches her face up before continuing to answer. "I need a favor."
I nod in faux understanding. "You guys want to borrow my handcuffs, don't you? I told you, you're always welcome to any of my—"
"Oh my God, no." She slaps my arm as a laugh rips out of me. "That is not what I mean."
I glance at Levi, who has his eyebrows cocked and his lips turned down, looking over the cheesesteak card.
"Speak for yourself," he whispers not-so-under his breath as he returns it to its place in the holder.
Alex looks at him as her mouth falls open, and he, once again, holds his hands up in surrender.
"What do you need?" I ask through a giggle, turning back to my blushing friend.
"The Flames' first game is next week in Grand Oaks—"
"Wait a minute. Isn't that the place where you guys started all this?"
"Uh huh," Levi answers.
"And where you banged for the first time," I add on.
"Mhmm," Alex says, her cheeks growing more pink by the second.
"And where Levi first went all good gir—"
"Yes!" she yells. Levi rubs his forehead trying to hide his smile, and I snicker.
"Yeah, it probably sounded just like that." I wink in his direction, and Alex groans before dropping her chin into her hand, her elbow resting on the table. "Okay, okay, I'm done. So, the game is in Grand Oaks..."
She huffs out a breath, then sits back up. "The game is in Grand Oaks, and we were thinking maybe we'd go back and try to sneak in some time together to celebrate our—"
"Your one year bangiversary?" I deadpan.
Alex closes her eyes and inhales deeply like she does with Cooper when she's about to lose her patience. She takes a few calming seconds before opening them back up. "Something like that," she answers simply. "But I would need someone to take Coop."
"Oh, I'm surprised he wouldn't go with you. Not for the banging part. But the hockey part."
Levi crosses his arms over his chest and leans his forearms on the table. "That's what I said."
"He'll be bummed to miss the game," Alex explains. "But last time he came because the trip was part of the spotlight. I don't want the guys or coaches to feel like they have to babysit on their first away trip. They do enough of that at the rink."
I glance around to make sure Trish hasn't sat anyone else in my section, but find nothing but empty tables. Thank God. I'll be cut soon, and I'm ready to hightail it out of here as fast as I can.
"Well, you know I'll take my nephew whenever you need me to, but I gotta say, I'm with Cooper on this one.
I'm so jealous. Not because of the game.
.." Tilting my head toward Levi, I grin.
"No offense. I just wish I got to get away with a sexy hockey play—coach.
A sexy hockey coach." The words fall out of my mouth before I can catch myself.
Dammit. I blame Trish for the idea of Drew now sitting at the front of my mind.
And I blame Alex for my sudden desire for a steady man.
If my best friend notices the flush that creeps up my neck, she doesn't say anything. She's too busy looking at Levi with suspicion.
"Wait, what?" I say, feeling like I missed something.
Levi clears his throat. "I said, why don't you join us."
"To which I said… excuse me?" Now Alex is the one who crosses her arms in her usual what did you just say pose.
"I didn't mean it like that. You know you're it for me, Bennett.
" He winks playfully at his wife before continuing.
"I was just thinking that instead of Cooper staying home with Brooke and missing the game, what if Brooke came with the three of us to Grand Oaks?
I could get the two of them their own room, and they can hang out like they would at home, but Coop wouldn't have to miss the game live. "
Alex shrugs her shoulders. "Works for me. I didn't think of that. I was just hoping we'd have our own room, that's all. What do you think, Brooke?"
I'm staring at her, but once again, I'm not quite listening.
This time it's not the image of Drew in the venue bathroom that's debilitating me.
It's the one of him on the ice, his hair dripping with sweat, his body looking even more powerful in full gear.
I know from experience what it's like to be in the same space as that Drew Anderson. Especially after the night that we had.
When I watched him win the Cup last season, just months after our moment together, it took everything in me not to glide over to him on the ice after we all flooded it to celebrate the win.
Just being that close to him with no boards between us made the air feel charged by more than the victory.
It's the reason I decided to duck out early—to "let Alex, Coop, and Levi have some time alone to celebrate.
" I couldn't risk him seeing me and coming over.
Or worse—risk him seeing me and ignoring me completely.
For a second, I contemplate saying no to the trip.
Apologizing to Alex and Levi and making up some sort of excuse as to why all of a sudden I've changed my tune about taking Cooper.
But I can't do that to them, or my nephew, and I damn sure can't tell them the real reason why I'm suddenly sweating through my shirt.
I'm not sure either of them would appreciate finding out I slept with Drew, or even worse—that I'm attempting to make some big life changes and being that close to temptation might detour my plans.
So, instead, I paint a smile and channel my inner Ivy—fearless and spontaneous. I slide out of the booth hoping the distance between us will keep them from smelling my hesitation, and I agree to putting myself in the same rink—the same fucking hotel—as him.
"Sounds great," I say, my voice cracking halfway into the second word. "I'm sure it'll be a kickass time."