Page 3 of Love Me (Charlotte Monarchs Hockey #1)

Bree

M y first assignment as a traveling nurse brought me to Charlotte, North Carolina, a place I’d never been before. I’ve been so consumed by learning the intricacies of the hospital that I haven’t had much time to explore the city. Which sucks because I’m used to spending my free time outdoors.

Ocean, beach, mountains—California has it all.

“Hey, Bree!” Mindy, one of the CNAs I work with at Charlotte Children’s Hospital, greets me when I open the door for her.

“Hey!”

She thrusts a kelly-green T-shirt at me as she slides by.

“Ummmm…is this a youth small?” I ask, holding it up for inspection. Though it’s technically the size I told her when she asked, it looks like it would fit a toddler. Had I known how tiny it would be, I would have opted for a medium or even a large.

How am I supposed to drink all day if I have to worry about sucking in my gut?

I glance at Mindy, who’s wearing an identical shirt, though she’s made some modifications to hers. The crew neck has been cut into a low, jagged vee, and the sides are laced together with shoestring, allowing skin to show from under her armpits to the top of her low-slung jeans.

She looks hot—and like she’ll be cool all day. I wasn’t expecting Charlotte, North Carolina, to be in the eighties in mid-March.

“You told me you didn’t have anything green at the last minute on St. Patrick’s Day weekend. You get what you get, and you don’t pitch a fit,” she says.

I almost burst out laughing at the unique Southern phrase. Every day I learn something new.

“Fair.” I head toward my bedroom. “I’m gonna throw this on. Be right back.”

“No worries,” she says. “Can I grab a beer?”

I stop and turn around, watching as she opens my fridge and peers in. “Aren’t we going bar hopping?” I ask.

Pregaming for a day of drinking we’re starting at noon seems aggressive.

Maybe I should’ve thought twice before agreeing to hang out with Mindy and her friends.

Outside of the few conversations we’ve had at work, I don’t know anything about her.

She may be way wilder than I have patience for anymore.

I grew up around spoiled trust-fund kids who’d been drinking and doing drugs since middle school. The lifestyle got old for me quickly.

“It’s cheaper here,” she answers.

And just like that, I feel like a judgy jackass. Even with holiday specials, drinks are expensive. It makes sense to get started here and save a few bucks.

“In the fridge,” I say as I leave her in the kitchen then add, “Grab me one, too, please.”

I rush into my bedroom and replace my white T-shirt with the tiny green one Mindy brought me.

Before I leave, I stop to fluff my hair and glance in the full-length mirror hanging behind my door.

It takes a few double-palm pushes against the inside of the shirt near the middle, but I finally stretch it enough to give me a little extra room in the tummy area.

I slide my palms over the wrinkles, and I’m ready to go.

When I enter my living room again, Mindy is at the sliding glass door checking out the amazing view from my balcony. From there, you can see into BB&T Ballpark, where the Knights, Charlotte’s minor league baseball team, play their home games.

“You’ve got a view of the entire field,” she says, craning her neck to the left.

“I know. It would be awesome if I liked baseball.”

“You don’t need to like baseball to think the players are hot,” she says, handing me a beer. She swallows hard after taking a sip, which tells me she may not be a fan of the craft brew I picked up from the grocery store a few blocks from my house.

I laugh. “I never thought of it that way.”

“Do you like any sports?”

“I like hockey. And sometimes soccer. Who doesn’t love Ronaldo?”

I’m not the world’s biggest soccer fan. I can’t tell you the names of many guys or what clubs they play for. But international hotties like Cristiano Ronaldo and Jude Bellingham are definitely on my radar. And all over my Instagram feed.

“You like hockey?” Mindy asks, leaning her backside against the balcony. “Have you been to a Monarchs game?”

“I haven’t had a chance yet. Do you go to them?”

“I’ve been to a few. A girl I work with at the radio station is dating one of the players, so I’ve gone with her a few times. That’s who we’re meeting up with today.”

My heart speeds up. While I won’t go as far as to say hockey players are my weakness, I will admit to being extremely attracted to them. In fact, except for one person, I’ve only ever dated guys who play hockey. It’s not like I seek them out. They’re who I’ve always been around.

As a former collegiate hockey player himself, most of my dad’s friends are now retired players. And Mason, my twin brother, played up until a few years ago.

Being around so many good-looking, athletic guys made my dating life pretty easy—despite how pissed Mason would get every time I went out with one of his friends or teammates.

Mindy slips back into the condo and slides the door shut behind her, draining her beer as she walks to the kitchen.

“Ready to drink, eat, and dance with thousands of new best friends?” she asks, setting the empty bottle on the counter near the sink.

“Let’s do it!” I grab my new Kate Spade crossbody from the kitchen table, maneuver the strap over my head and across my chest, and let the bag sit at my hip.

Mindy waits as I lock the door, then we head to the elevator.

“I love that bag.” She reaches out and touches my crossbody. “Kate Spade. Fancy.”

Though I chose a career in human services, I learned to love the finer things in life from my parents, who created their wealth by building multiple companies from the ground up.

Growing up around the hard work and excessive hours they put into their businesses instilled a work ethic in me I didn’t see in my peers.

I went to school with kids who were living off the fortune their great-grandparents made. I’m not knocking it, but while many of them were getting kicked out of school and being sent to rehab or facilities for emotionally troubled youth, I was watching my parents create their empire.

When I chose nursing as a profession, I didn’t want to be “a nurse.” I wanted to be a pediatric oncology nurse. The best pediatric oncology nurse in the country. Not that there’s a solid measurement for that. It was more about working my ass off to get to the top instead of living off Mom and Dad.

Being the daughter of driven entrepreneurs has its perks, but it also comes with the pressure and expectations of people who “want the best for me” even if our definitions of what’s best are completely different.

Marrying one of the party-boy, trust-fund kids in my parents’ social circle is not my image of an ideal match.

I saw more things snorted before I started high school than during my entire time in college.

That was never my life. I always wanted to be outside hiking and surfing rather than on the beach drinking and sunbathing.

Once Mindy and I are on the street outside my apartment complex, I grab her hand and pull her across the street to walk through Romare Bearden Park.

If cutting through the park is an option, I always do it. I love a patch of nature in the middle of a city.

Out of the options offered by the temporary agency that placed me, I chose an apartment in Charlotte’s city center.

For all I knew about Charlotte, it could have been a few buildings surrounded by farmland.

I figured having a place in the heart of the downtown area, within walking distance of restaurants and grocery shopping, would be my best bet.

CCH is only a five-minute drive, which is much better than the hour-long commute to get from my parents’ house in Carona del Mar to the children’s hospital I worked at just outside of Anaheim.

Based on mileage, it should only take about twenty minutes to get from house to hospital, but traffic is absolutely brutal.

“At the risk of sounding super lame, I don’t know if I’ll be able to hang very long if I’m drinking all day,” I say, jumping onto the bricks of a raised flower bed. Years of gymnastics as a kid kick in, and I step heel-to-toe across the bricks as if I’m walking a beam.

“There’s a strategy, my dear,” Mindy says, letting go of my hand so I can focus on my balance. “It’s a marathon, not a sprint. You have a drink, maybe a few waters in between, walk around until you’re hungry, then duck into a place to grab some food.”

“I’m glad I have an experienced guide for my first St. Patrick’s Day celebration.”

“I can’t believe you’ve never been out for St. Patty’s Day. It’s un-American.”

I laugh. “Well, I’m not Irish, and I’m not a huge drinker, so it’s never been a big deal for me.”

“Last year, I got so sloppy drunk I was passed out in the Alley before five.”

I laugh and shake my head before dismounting, completing a half spin before landing on my feet.

“But don’t worry, Bree. I’ve matured since then.”

“God, I hope so. I take care of enough people at work. I don’t need to do it on my days off, too,” I tease, though I’m only half-joking. After years of administering to the sickest of sick children, holding back a drunk girl’s hair doesn’t bring out my sympathetic side.

At the end of the park, we cross over Church Street and enter a small bar called Valhalla.

I’ve been here once before because it’s so close to my apartment.

Normally, I’m not a junk food person, but I did try the Loaded Loki Fries last week when I stopped in after my first day of work.

I hadn’t eaten anything during a full day of training and meeting patients and needed a carb fest.

Who knew waffle fries topped with Jarlsberg cheese, sweetcorn, pineapple, and jalapenos would be the most amazing flavors ever put together?

The dish normally comes with ham and bacon as well, but I nixed those, and it was still amazing.

The extra time at the gym in my apartment building the next day was well worth it.