Page 1 of Game Changer (Wynn Hockey #5)
Jax
“What are you looking for in a relationship?”
I eye the woman across the table from me in the restaurant where we just had dinner. I’m pretty sure “a way out” is not the correct answer here.
It’s the honest one, though.
I met Kiera at a club the other night and asked her out. I keep doing that. I just want to have fun. And hot sex. Is that too much to ask? I don’t want commitment or—Jesus!—the M word.
“I’m not looking for a relationship,” I say, smiling to soften the message.
Why are we even talking about a relationship the first time we’ve ever gone out?
Her bottom lip pushes out and she gives me sad eyes, but then smiles. “You just haven’t met the right woman.”
“You could be right.” And I still haven’t.
I repress a sigh. Kiera’s beautiful—tall, great rack, fantastic legs.
All male eyes…no, let’s go with all eyes in the restaurant turned to her when we walked in.
She’s wearing a dress that’s wrapped around her like an ACE bandage and heels that could cause a serious ankle injury if she falls off them.
She picked this uber trendy restaurant, with dim lighting probably designed to hide the tiny portions of mystifying food.
They can’t fool me, though, because I’m still hungry.
Her conversation has been limited to how much she hates her job at the bank, what a dick her ex is, and how much money hockey players make.
(I’m a hockey player—that didn’t just come up out of the blue.) And the biggest turnoff?
She talks to the waiter as if he’s her personal servant. I fucking hate that.
“I’d love to be your date for your friend’s wedding this weekend.”
Sweet buttery Jesus on a breadstick. That is not happening.
“I’m sorry.” I smile again. “I RSVPed a long time ago and I didn’t include a date. It would be rude to show up with one at the last minute.”
“The groom is a hockey player. I’m sure they can afford one more dinner.”
My eyebrows rise. “I don’t think that’s the issue.”
“Oh, come on.” She leans forward and actually bats her eyelashes at me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that done before. “I’m sure they don’t expect you to go alone.”
“I’m sure they do, since that’s what I told them I’d be doing.”
My teammate, Steve Shevchuk, is getting married this weekend.
I’m going stag to this event. I absolutely could have replied to the invitation saying I was bringing a plus one; I’d have no trouble getting a date.
Does that sound douchey? Don’t mean it to, it’s just the truth.
Anyway, taking a woman to a wedding is the worst idea.
They get all emotional and damp-eyed and start thinking about their own wedding, which leads to hurt feelings when I tell them I’m never getting married.
Also, when you bring a date to a wedding, only about a hundred people will ask “When are you two getting married?” It makes me nuts.
A few of the other guys are also going solo, and we’ll have fun at the open bar generously provided by Steve and Molly.
“Would you like to see the dessert menu?” Our server pauses at the table.
“Ugh, no,” Kiera say dismissively.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Just the check, please,” I say with a smile for the server.
“Are we going somewhere else for a drink?” Kiera asks. “Maybe dancing?”
“Sorry.” I tilt my head. “I have an early meeting with my agent tomorrow.”
“I thought your season is done.”
“It is.” We were knocked out of the playoffs a few weeks ago. “But I’m a restricted free agent and we need to talk about my next contract.”
“Oh.” She blinks.
I take care of the check, adding a generous tip to make up for having to deal with Kiera, and I usher her out of the restaurant and onto North Lasalle Drive. It’s a beautiful June evening in Chicago, the sun setting and twinkling lights coming on around us.
“We could go for a walk,” Kiera suggests, taking my arm. “On the Riverwalk.”
She’s persistent. I’m starting to feel like a jerk for turning her down. “Sorry. Can’t. I’ll take you home.”
I parked in a parking garage a couple of blocks away, so we set off down the sidewalk. I keep talking, mostly so Kiera can’t suggest something else for us to do that I don’t want to.
Once I’ve dropped her off at her apartment in River West, I let out a sigh of relief. I like women in general and I’m usually a helluva lot better at picking someone to have a fun evening with.
I know it’s a dick move, but instead of going straight home, I stop by the Irish pub where I know my buddies Heart, Rico and Gander are having beers. Just for one. I really do have a meeting with Paul in the morning.
“Hey! Jax!” they all great me as I approach the table.
“Hey.” I pull out a wooden chair and drop into it. “How’s it going?”
“Excellent. Where’s your hot date?”
“Just dropped her off at home.” I grimace and shove a hand through my hair.
They all make a low sound of understanding.
“Welp, have a beer,” Rico says, lifting a hand to attract the waitress’s attention. She speeds over with a big smile, and I order a Goose Island Belgian Ale.
The White Sox are playing the Royals on the big screen TV I’m facing. I check out the score—White Sox leading five-three.
“Ready for the wedding this weekend?” Heart asks. His name is Brian Erhardt, but we call him Heart or Hearts.
We all groan.
“I’d rather stay home with a case of beer, a bag of Doritos and the remote control in my hand,” Rico says.
“I’d rather rotate my tires,” Gander says.
We all laugh.
Rico sighs. “Flowers, decorations, finger foods, frilly female clothing, missing sports on Saturday afternoon. So much fun.”
“Women love weddings,” I say. “This girl I was out with tonight was trying to get me to bring her as my date.”
“Jesus. She doesn’t even know Chucky and Molly.”
“I know.” I shrug. “I don’t get it.”
“She’d get to buy a new dress and shoes and cry during the ceremony,” Rico says.
“We’re so cynical.”
“Yep.”
“If men planned weddings…” I rub my chin. “They’d be different.”
“Oh hell yeah! We’d wear sweats and our old T-shirts and sneakers.”
“Serve beers and pizza,” I add.
“We’d crack open cold ones as soon as the minister pronounces them husband and wife,” Rico says.
“We’d walk down the aisle to Led Zeppelin,” I add, grinning. “ ‘All My Love!’? ”
“Yeah! Perfect!” Rico and I bump fists.
“And the reception would be a big party with beer pong and boat racing.” I lift my ale in a toast as we all guffaw in delight at planning our dream wedding. “No speeches,” I add.
“Hell, no.”
“Somehow I don’t think that’s what’s happening this weekend,” Rico says with a sigh.
“Nope. But you know, Molly’s pretty down to earth. It probably won’t be crazy over the top with doves flying around and fireworks and a rose petal cannon.” I nod.
“Rose petal cannon? Is that a real thing?” Rico’s mouth hangs open.
“Yeah, I went to a wedding last summer that had that.”
“Jesus. But, yeah, I agree, that’s not Molly’s style.”
Molly Flynn, the fiancée of our teammate Chucky, is a sweetheart.
She and Chucky have been dating for a couple of years so we’ve all gotten to know her pretty well.
I feel like I know her better than most, because we discovered a mutual love of trivia one night at a bar.
We ended up on the same team, and we were goddamn unbeatable.
She’s a schoolteacher, so she’s smart and she knows a lot, as do I, so we started going to trivia nights together since Chucky hates it.
“I trust there will be no crapping doves,” I say again. “To Molly.” I lift my beer, and we all toast the bride even though we all want to go to this wedding as much as we want to have our butt cracks waxed.