Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jason
The Longhorn Bar in downtown Dallas was hopping, and remarkably friendly toward the Chicago interlopers who had put the beat down on the hometown team.
NoBo brought over a tray of shots. “Courtesy of our friends behind the bar.”
Lars Nyquist narrowed his gaze. I liked the gruff defenseman and newly minted Rebels captain.
We were often paired on the same line, especially now that the powers that be were looking to create the magic of Theo and Lars.
In romantic terms, Nyquist was partnered with my niece Addy, so that made him family.
“Are we sure they’re not poisoned?” Nyquist asked. “We did just shut them out in pretty embarrassing fashion.”
Boden had already knocked one back.
“Royal taster,” I said. “Let’s give it thirty seconds.”
Our tender frowned while I watched for signs of imminent retching. “Those guys are legit. They’re just hockey fans.”
“Fair enough.” Bell, aka Dingaling, knocked one back. Asher followed like a little lamb.
Hatch returned from calling his girl. “Shots? Nice.”
Normally we’d be back to Chicago right after the game, but we had a double header with the Steers, so after a day off, the home team would have a chance to get their revenge. The younglings were in the mood to celebrate.
You know who wasn’t? This guy. I was still annoyed about Franky giving me permission to date—or fuck—other women. Like I should just carry on as if my world had not been rocked by the events in that Detroit hotel room.
We made a baby and now I was supposed to run around sticking my dick into women not carrying my child? Make it make sense.
“Hey ho, hottie at six o’clock.” NoBo lifted a shot glass to his lips. “You know something? I think she’s got Isner in her sights.”
“I very much doubt that.” Skeptically, I glanced over my shoulder and locked eyes with a hot blonde in a pink, bejeweled cowboy hat. She lifted her hand in a flirty wave. When I turned back to the guys, they were all grinning.
“Definitely likes ’em older.” Gaultier giggled. He got like that after two beers and a bourbon.
“Who you callin’ old?”
“Aw, you worried ’cause you found a gray pube down there?” Boden grinned and knocked back another shot. I hoped it was contaminated.
Hatch nudged me. “Maybe you should talk to her. Let off some steam.”
I had been acting like a cranky asshole.
This morning, I’d snapped at Hatchling because he was taking too long in the hotel room bathroom, and I’d spent two minutes in the sin bin for hooking during tonight’s game, which broke my thirty-six-game streak of penalty-free play.
We still won, but I couldn’t believe I’d let my emotions rule and affect my game.
“Sorry I was a dick earlier,” I murmured.
He waved it off. “I’m serious. It might make you feel better.”
Doubtful. I wasn’t in the mood for shots or puck bunnies, so I headed up to the bar for a beer. While I waited—these bartenders weren’t such big Rebels fans after all—I felt a nudge at my elbow. Turning, I got the surprise of my life.
“Nazarov!”
“Isner,” my old pal said seriously, before a smile touched his lips and I was wrapped in a huge hug.
Russian-born Alexei Nazarov had played NCAA with me at the University of Michigan before we were drafted and went our separate ways, me to LA, him to Miami.
We had run into each other semi-regularly over the years, but it had been a while owing to him being on IR with Seattle for the best part of last season.
“What the hell are you doing in Dallas?”
“I am visiting an old friend, but I caught the game. You played well, considering those bones of yours are aging rapidly.”
Still the same old Nazarov. “How’s Seattle? You back to fitness?”
“Getting there. And Chicago? You must be glad to be closer to your family.”
“Yeah, it’s great. I miss Sean—he’s still in Boston—but I like being near Mom and Theo’s brood. And Lauren, of course. You probably heard that she’s my agent now.”
“Yes, I knew that.” A flicker of something passed over his face before his expression reverted to his usual stoic self. Lauren had gone through the women’s program at Michigan at the same time as us, and my recollection was that she and Nazarov had once been friendly.
“You should visit Chicago,” I said, testing the waters. “We could all get dinner.”
“Perhaps.” He looked over to my crew. “They are getting younger.”
“Yep. Every rookie these days looks like a pimply-faced adolescent.”
“We got old when no one was looking.”
Over his shoulder, I spied the cowgirl whispering in the ear of a pal, then batting her eyelashes my way with a come-hither grin.
She was exactly my type—cute, curvy, and cheerful.
Hatch was right. A night with her would probably rejuvenate me more than the ice bath I sank into after tonight’s game.
Nazarov was studying me. “Something is different with you.”
“Yeah, Alexei. Wrinkles.” But no gray pubes yet. Fucking NoBo.
“That’s not it.”
Something was building inside me, a geyser bursting to gush.
“I’m going to be a father.”
His eyes lit up. “Jason, that is fantastic.”
“So I’m keeping it on the downlow. The mom is barely a month in and we’re not telling anyone for a while.” Now that the pressure valve had released a touch, I could go back to normal.
“I knew you were seeing someone in Boston.”
“No, that didn’t work out. This is someone else in Chicago.”
His expression darkened. “Lauren?”
“No, not Lauren.” Though that was interesting. “You don’t know her.”
His shoulders relaxed, the storm cloud passed, and his lips curved at my cloak-and-dagger efforts.
“It’s kind of complicated,” I went on. “We’re not a couple.”
“Ah. The condom broke.”
“No, the condom did not break!” I said that a little loud, so I lowered my voice and tried again. “It’s planned. We’re in this together.”
“That is good. Though it sounds like you wish for more.”
Nazarov was always good at reading people. It made him a great center and a wily competitor. He waited for me to spit it out.
What could I say? That the most independent baby mama ever born got what she wanted and was moving on with her life? She was probably looking for a real dad for her kid, some smarty-pants professor type like that London dude who got awards for articles about clams.
“She’s one of those DIY gals. Doesn’t want me to pay for anything or take my input or … other stuff.”
He remained annoyingly silent.
“Shut it.”
His barely-there smile reached his eyes. “Have you told her that you would like more from … whatever it is?”
“It’s not like that. But I suppose I’d like us to be a little closer.”
Sexually, for a start.
“Well, you have to figure out how to navigate the next few months without losing your mind. If you and the mother are not meant to be, then you must accept that. Or get over her by getting under a cowgirl. We are in Texas after all.”
His phone rang and he checked the screen with a frown. “I should …”
“Go ahead.” This interruption coincided with the bartender finally giving me the time of day. “Sam Adams Winter ale. And another round of shots for the boys.”
Someone placed a hand on my back, and I turned, expecting Nazarov or Hatch. The actual was far prettier.
“Hi,” she said, kind of breathily. “I’m Farrah.”
She looked like a Farrah, and with that tight, white T-shirt, showcasing tear-drop tits and the hot pink cowboy hat, perched jauntily on her head, she also looked like the kind of woman who could take a man’s mind off his troubles.
“Jason.”
“Oh, I know.”
One of the perks of the job. Everyone knew who you were and women were never hard to attract. I had permission from the doc to return to normal programming, right?
“What are you drinking, Farrah?”