Page 28
Bowen
My first in-person view of the Venom arena isn’t a particularly impressive one. It’s an overcast day in Las Vegas, but despite the cloud cover, it’s miserably hot. I’m already sweating so badly that my shirt is sticking to my skin in ways I didn’t know were possible.
You’re not in Minnesota anymore, I remind myself . You’re in Vegas, baby.
I park the car in the mostly empty lot, half-distracted by my fantasy of what it will look like when the lot is full and the place is lit up in the dark. I don’t plan to stay in Vegas for more than a few years, and the fact that I got picked up by an up-and-coming team isn’t ideal, given that I was originally a number one draft pick. I keep telling myself that I’ll get traded to a better team once I’ve played a season or two. Hopefully to one that isn’t based in the middle of the fucking desert.
Still, if there’s one upside to the desert, it’s the women. Vegas might be hot as hell, but at least it comes with a buffet of easy chicks. And after a few dry-ass seasons in Minnesota—where pussy’s about as rare as a warm day in January—I’m ready to eat.
I head to the back entrance, curious to see more of the place where I’ll be training, and where I hope to establish myself as one of the best players of my generation. Not a flash in the pan. Not a legacy player who skated by—ha, ha—on his daddy’s reputation.
Since I’m new to the team, I have to wait to be retrieved by someone from the front office.
I fight back a grimace when Destiny comes down to greet me, though her delight is obvious.
“Hey, there, Bowen,” she purrs. “Nice to see you again after last night.” She lets her eyes roam over me and bites her lip in the most unsubtle way possible. As she ushers me inside, she lays a hand on my arm.
I’m gentle enough when I remove her hand from my person, but her smile immediately drops. Destiny is strikingly pretty, striking enough that when she picked me up at the airport yesterday, I asked her if she’d like to stay and check out my hotel room. She agreed.
“Hey,” I say, trying to keep my voice gentle but firm. “I don’t know what you think last night is, but I told you, I don’t do relationships.”
She tucks a curl of dark brown hair behind one ear. “Yeah, but I thought we could at least be friendly. Seems to me like we made pretty explosive situationship material.”
“I don’t do situationships, either.” I thought I was clear on that. In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have slept with someone I’ll interact with at work, but I thought Destiny and I were on the same page. “I’ve got rules, Destiny. Sorry if you got the wrong impression, but last night was fun. That’s all. That’s one reason we agreed that you wouldn’t stay the night.”
Destiny’s fiddles with a lock of her hair. “I know that’s what we said. But things seemed like they were going well, so I figured…”
I check my phone. At this point, I’m going to be late for my meeting. “You figured wrong. Every woman I’ve ever met has thought she was the one who was going to make me want to be a better man. I’m not that guy. I am who I am. Hockey is my life, my wife, and my mistress. Now, I have a meeting. I have to go.”
Now, instead of frowning, Destiny’s expression suggests that she just stepped in a pile of steaming dog turds. “Wow,” she says. “Okay. Let me show you to your very important meeting. ”
Okay, so I may be the asshole in this situation. But I don’t get it. Women say they want a guy who communicates, but then sometimes they act like Destiny. I made my terms clear. If she didn’t want to sleep with me, she could have said so. I would never coerce anyone into doing something that they didn’t want to do, but I truly don’t know how to deal with the kinds of women who think they can ‘fix’ a playboy by getting clingy. Most puck bunnies know the score, and on the occasions when my very explicit boundaries are deal breaker… well, I’ve got hands. I can always rub one out if I get desperate.
This isn’t what I want to be dealing with on my first day with my new team, that’s for sure. I follow Destiny to one of the upper floors, trapped in a silence so frosty I might lose an extremity. I’m pretty sure I know which one she’d want it to be. Destiny all but shoves me into the room where my meeting is supposed to take place.
“Good luck,” she says. “Welcome to Vegas, Bowen Murphy.” She shuts the door behind me so sharply that the framed posters of the Venom’s logo rattle against the drywall.
I stifle a sigh. Yup. Lesson learned. Don’t sleep with anyone associated with the team. From now on, I’m a puck bunny, stripper, or slightly tipsy tourist from Topeka only kinda guy.
The room where I’ve been deposited is small enough that I’m guessing it’s a private office. The guy sitting at the desk chuckles as he gets to his feet and holds out a hand. “Well, well, well, Bowen Murphy is here at last. Are you having relationship issues? Already? You work fast.”
I grimace as I accept his handshake. “Not really. The issue is that I don’t do relationships.”
“Ah.” The man nods. “I feel you.”
I cock my head. “You’re single?” I stare pointedly at his left hand, where a wedding band shines pale gold against his Vegas tan. If this guy is telling me he cheats on his wife, we might have a problem. I’m a bit of a slut, but I’m not a dick.
My parents have been married forever, and I mean forever—like, still slow dancing in the kitchen and finishing each other’s sentences kind of forever. I grew up watching what real love looks like. I just… don’t think that’s in the cards for me. Not with the lifestyle. Not with the distractions. Maybe after I retire or something. So yeah, I do hookups. I play it clean, clear, and consensual. And I don’t mess with people who mess with that.
He laughs at my expression. “No, happily married, but when I was your age, I thought I didn’t do relationships either. This was back in the day when I played with your dad, before joining the Venom. Nice to see you again. You’re a lot bigger than I remember.”
“Oh.” I answer his smile with one of my own and squeeze his hand. “You’re Briggs. Don’t know why I didn’t put that together. I know your brother.”
“How’s Shep doing?” Briggs asks. He waves me into a chair, and I sit down across from him. “Still doing his whole ‘Shep Flare’ routine that screams ‘I peaked in the minors’?”
“From what I’ve heard, he’s kind of volunteered himself as the Slammers’ unofficial secondary mascot. Shows up at every game with his wife and kids.” Before I was born, even before my dad joined the NHL, he and Briggs played on a cruddy little AHL team. Not that cruddy, I guess, since a handful of their players ended up going pro.
Briggs reaches for the stack of papers I still need to sign. “Let’s get this wrapped up, and I can give you a tour. We’re going to do a big announcement tomorrow, but let me be the first one to tell you, welcome to the Venom.” He beams at me. “I pushed for the boss to sign you, you know. He’s all about bringing in a second generation of Venom players, but I figured we need some fresh blood, too. I remember how good your dad was. I hear you’ve been following in his footsteps.”
My smile slips. “I got my contract because of my dad?”
Briggs looks me up and down, then bursts out laughing. “No way, kid. I’ve watched your films. I know your name because of your dad, but Dante wouldn’t have signed you if he didn’t like your style.”
“Dante?” I cock my head. “You mean Sergio?” Sergio Giovanetti owns the team now, after his father, Dante, retired.
Briggs dips his head. “Uh, yeah, that’s totally what I meant.”
Okay, there’s a story there. I’ll have to ask for the details later. In the meantime, something he said earlier is nagging at me. “Briggs… can I call you Briggs?” He nods, and I continue. “About what you were saying earlier. Would you mind finishing that thought?”
“About what?” Briggs scratches his jaw. “About leaving Minnesota? I would have stayed, but there was no escaping the huggles.”
I groan. Dad has a signature move where he kind of grabs you and holds you and starts humming, and you want to fight him on it but it just feels so nice . I loved getting them when I’m a kid, but it got old in high school. It’s a whole thing.
Briggs chortles at my expression. “Just kidding. I loved Sorrowville, but damn, it’s small. Dante called me with an offer, my shot at the big dance, and that was that.”
I shake my head and hunch lower in my chair. “I meant what you were saying about the rules. You know, not doing relationships?”
Briggs regards me. “I guess it got old. Lonely, too. I met the one woman, and I realized that she meant more to me than any number of one-night stands. That I’d rather spend a night on the couch watching some dumb movie with her than wake up with a stranger whose name I don’t remember.”
He leans back, thoughtful. “The little stuff—the way she laughs, the way she tucks her feet under mine when she’s cold—that ends up meaning more than the wildest night with someone who doesn’t know a damn thing about you.”
I consider his words for a long moment. “Yeah, no. I have rules. And the woman who’d make me break all my rules doesn’t exist.”
Briggs’s eyebrows shoot toward the ceiling. “Wow, kid. You’re the kind of guy I’ve warned my daughters about.”
I hold up both my hands in a gesture of surrender. “Don’t worry. I keep my extracurricular activities private.”
Briggs shoots a meaningful look at the door Destiny slammed not so long ago.
“That… may have been a lapse in judgement,” I admit. “I thought we were on the same page, though. I didn’t lead her on. I clearly communicated just like they want us to. It’s not my fault if she thought she could reform me. I don’t like entanglements.”
“Cold,” Briggs says. “Well, that’s your business, as long as you follow the morality clause in your contract.” The warning in his voice is clear and cold.
I sit up straight. “It’s not like that, sir. I would never take advantage of someone. That would go against the rules. My rules, I mean.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “You’re saying that like you have them written down.”
“I do,” I assure him.
Whatever tension was in the air just now eases. Was he really worried that I’d make a move on one of his daughters? Why the hell would I want to sleep with the daughter of the Director of Player Acquisitions for my new team, anyway? That sounds like a recipe for disaster.
We move on to other topics, and Briggs gives me a tour of the building. It’s nicer than I thought it would be—sleek locker rooms with mood lighting, spa-grade hydrotherapy tubs, a cryo chamber, two private chef stations, and an altitude chamber that feels more like something out of NASA than the NHL. There’s even a meditation pod lounge, though I’d bet half the guys use it for naps.
No surprise. Dante Giovanetti doesn’t just build teams—he builds legacies. And legacies don’t sweat over budgets.
Maybe with a player like me, they’ll stand a better chance this season. I imagine what it would be like to get my hands on the Stanley Cup. To go all the way to the top, even if it’s only once.
I smile at the thought. Who needs a relationship, when I have a dream that big?
* * *
“Any more questions before we call it quits?” Briggs asks at the end of our tour.
“I’ve got one that isn’t work-related,” I admit. “Can you point me to a bar that isn’t on the Strip? One where I can get some good food and not be mobbed.”
“Oh, sure.” Briggs digs through his desk to hand me a business card with a QR code on one side and the words The Puck Drop splashed in fancy font across the other. “That’ll get you a free drink, too. The owner’s an old Venom player. Ever hear of Cooper Harrison?”
“Oh, yeah.” I bob my head and take the card. “I didn’t know he owned a bar.”
“Technically, it’s a restaurant. We spend a lot of time there as a team. And don’t worry, hockey players don’t get bothered there, though I’m not sure people around here will recognize you yet. Don’t worry, they’ll be screaming your name soon enough.”
“Er, thanks.” I lift the card in a wave. “I’ll check it out, then.” It stings that he thinks hockey fans might not recognize me. After all, as a former number one draft pick and one of the superstars of the NHL, signing me is a huge deal for the Venom, but okay, whatever. He’s right about one thing: once they see me play, they’ll know exactly who I am.
The bar turns out to be pretty close to my new place. My hotel is located in Serenity Shores, a planned community located next to a manmade lake. I’m in the process of buying one of the nearby condos, too, although I’m still waiting on the paperwork to be finalized. They’re more like what we call townhouses back in Minnesota with more than one story and front entrances. I head back to my hotel room to change before walking to the bar, with the drink ticket tucked in my pocket.
Even though we’re off the beaten tourist path, The Puck Drop is pretty busy. I sidle my way between the tables of diners and head straight toward the bar. As I pass, I take note of the cannolis being served to a trio of women. They look amazing. Most of the entree items seem to be Italian fusion, all of which looks homemade. No wonder the place is so busy. I look forward to carb-loading here in the future.
When I finally make it to the bar, the bartender barely looks my way. He’s mixing drinks with the speed of a madman, though his implacable expression suggests that this is a fairly standard night for him.
“Excuse me?” I say, trying to flag him down. He darts past me to the ticket machine and pulls off a long string of orders. “Excuse me…” I try again, but he’s already on to the next task, which involves flutes of some fizzy yellow drink I can’t identify.
I’m about to try again when a figure pops up at my elbow. “Hey, Joey, can I get a drink?”
The bartender looks right past me to the petite woman who just materialized at my side. I do a double-take. She’s not just short—she’s tiny. Like, blink-and-you-miss-her tiny. Like Disney princess ran away to Vegas tiny. I’d be surprised if she’s even five feet tall, but there’s nothing small about her presence.
“What can I get you, Vi?” the bartender asks.
“Limoncello. Duh.” The tiny hot chick grins at him, all ease and sparkle, like this is her place and we’re all just lucky to be orbiting her lemon-scented sun. “Make it a carafe for the table.”
The bartender nods once and moves like he’s been issued orders from the queen.
“How did you do that?” I ask. “You can barely see over the bar.”
She turns those eyes on me—Jesus. Electric blue, framed in thick lashes, and so full of mischief I feel it in my bloodstream. They’ve gotta be contacts. No one has eyes like that.
Her light brown hair falls in long, soft waves down her back, and she’s got that delicate, retro glam thing going—like if Zooey Deschanel and Florence Pugh had a baby and raised her in a cocktail bar with a feminist manifesto in one hand and a martini in the other.
She’s not just gorgeous. She’s… interesting. Unique. Like she wandered in from a dream I forgot I had.
“What are you drinking?” she asks.
I gesture to the empty stretch of bar in front of me. “Nothing. Yet.”
Her full mouth quirks up at the corners. “Cute. What do you want ?”
“Beer. Guinness, preferably, but I’ll take whatever.”
The bartender returns with the woman’s carafe of yellow liquid. Apparently that’s the popular drink around here.
The woman places one hand on my arm and shouts over the chatter of the other patrons. “For the purpose of this conversation, my friend here would like the closest thing you have to a Guiness.”
The bartender nods and, finally , acknowledges my existence. “Be right back.”
The tiny woman takes her carafe and starts to turn away, but tap her shoulder before she can go too far. “Thanks for that. I’m new around here. Would you mind if I sit with you?”
Her eyes flick up and down in a once-over. “I’m here with a friend.”
I smile at her. I’m told this is a very effective smile. The ladies love it. “I thought I was your friend.”
She licks her lips. I can tell that she doesn’t know how to feel about me yet, but that’s fine. Even if she’s not interested in a hookup, I’m never going to complain about spending time in the company of a woman as stunning as she is.
“Buy a round of shots for the table. Two for us, one for you. Then you can be my friend. And that’s assuming my original friend likes you enough to let you stay.”
Friend, she says. Not date. “Any preferences?”
Her blue eyes rise to my face. She’s not wearing contacts, I realize. Her eyes really are that blue. “Surprise me,” she says, before turning on her heel and striding back to her table.
Oh, yeah. Tonight’s going to be fun. I just hope that this mystery woman is okay with the rules, because I can already tell that she’s exactly my type.
Smart mouth. Ridiculously pretty. Half my size but somehow takes up the whole damn room. She doesn’t fall for the smile—at least, not right away. Which only makes me want to earn it.
I turn back to the bar, heart thudding like I’m already on a breakaway. Joey slides my beer toward me without a word, and I raise it in a silent toast in her direction.
To Vi. Whoever the hell she is.
I should be careful. I know that. Women like her? They’re the ones who blow up a rulebook.
But tonight’s just drinks. Banter. Maybe a kiss if she’s feeling generous.
And if I play this right? She’ll never even see me coming.