Page 45 of Heartbreak Hockey

The tequila soothes their failed hook-up battle wounds.

From across the restaurant, a hot older silver fox is making eyes at me and Dash. I gesture between the two of us and the man nods. “What’d’ya say, Dash honey, threesome with me and him?”

“Fuckin’, eh. Bet he’d spank us both. He’s totally got the strict headmaster vibe going on.”

And, sold! Taking Dash’s meaty hand, I pull us over to silver fox. We surround him—not our first time doing this—and go in hard with the eyes. Dash has a smaller frame than I do and a full head of lettuce, in other words, a full head of sick hockey flow that’s dark and lush. He drives a Ninja and lives in black jeans, biker boots, and rock concert t-shirts. A little different from my preferred style of sweats and hoodies. I wore jeans tonight, but as soon as we get back to the condo the jeans are coming off and I’ll strut around in my boxers and a t-shirt.

“What are you doing here all alone?” Dash asks.

“Waiting for you two.”

“Smooth, man. What’s your name?” I ask.

“Sydney, but you can call me Syd,” he says with a cute English accent. “Can I buy you two a drink?”

“Indeed, you can, and we’ll buy you one,” I say.

I had the honest intention of getting laid when I came over here to meet Syd, but Mercy being here is an itch I need to scratch. I want the bastard to see me getting friendly with him. I’m a fucking catch and he’s missing out.

Imagine my delight when I turn my head in the direction of his table to find his cornflower-blue eyes locked on me. His jaw is hard, teeth set to grinding, and the smolder in his expression isn’t just for show. He doesn’t fucking want me over here with Mr. Sydney Silver Fox.

Recklessness fills me like a drug and mixed with my probably high blood-alcohol levels, I’m fucking lightning in the body of a hockey player. I get close to him. “What’s your poison, Syd?”

I wipe at my eyes again, which are still fucking leaking. Damn you, Alcohol, selling me out. I’m not evencrying-crying. It’s like the booze turned on my sadness tap and even though I’ve shut it off, it’s still dripping.

The problem with alcohol is that it removes mental inhibitions. The only way I was able to move on from Rhett in any capacity was to lock my feelings for him way, waaaaaay down into the deepest darkest crevices of my soul. I would take small peeks into the darkness now and then and deal with them one sip at a time because the pain all at once was paralyzing.

Eventually, it wasn’t so bad, but there’s a lingering residue and I don’t even know why I’m upset. So, Rhett called? So, I talked to him? It was all good stuff. He wants to get back together and he’s trying something. Apparently.

Then why does it move me to utter sadness?

“Hey, kid. Are you okay?” Syd asks.

“Yeah, fine.” I think Syd is way more Dash’s speed, so I lay off. I’ll stay and have a drink with them, but then I’ll find some other tail to chase.

If I can stop fucking leaking.

An all too familiar presence, one that tends to take up all the space in a room, plants himself in the chair next to me. “Sorry, man. These are my drunken hockey players and while they’re usually grown adults, kinda, I can’t help feeling a bit protective of ‘em.”

Mercy’s coarse voice rubs all the right places on the inside of me, sanding out the rough patches until I’m smooth again. I wipe my eyes. His hand clamps down on my thick hockey thigh and it says a lot.

Stay, Leslie. Mine. Kill.

He grills the hell out of Syd and then shakes the man’s hand.

“Uh-huh. Thanks for chatting. You can have that one, I’m gonna speak to this one over here for a minute.”

“This one” is me. Apparently. He grabs my hand and drags me over to a private corner where he shoves me against the wall, cages me between his sturdy forearms, and stares at me with a terrifying intensity that goes straight to my dick. He licks his lips and I think he’s about to kiss me, instead he tilts my chin up, using his pointer finger, and with his thumb, wipes the next falling tear.

“It wasn’t that guy so who was it that made you cry?” His tone has changed to rough fire almost as if he has an idea about my tears.

And wait. Is that why he came over to us like some dark version of a white knight? Could he tell I was upset?

“No one,” I say. “I’ve had too much to drink.”

He doesn’t believe me for a second. “I’ll kill them, Jack. Who was it?”

I’ve never seen him so feral. It’s hot andGod, I want him so badly. We want each other. Him kicking me out, trying to push me away is as bullshit as it is for me to keep him at a distance. Even my primitive drunk brain knows this.