Page 23
CHAPTER 23
North
I really love coming to Mario’s and if we’re here, it means we won. If we lose, we’re licking our wounds, usually at home.
We didn’t have a place like this when I played for the Seattle Storm and I’m not sure why. I love having a place where we can choose to interact with the fans in a bit more of a close-up manner than just hurried autographs outside the players’ parking garage. Of course, there are the times we like more anonymity, so we head to Stevie’s bar.
Our victory over the LA Demons tonight was a decisive 5–0 massacre, which helps alleviate the sting of our losses in the last three games. Drake is riding high on his shutout and almost the entire team and their significant others came out tonight. But the evening is getting late and most are heading home.
Farren and I are finishing up our drinks at one of the high-top tables. Atlas is with us and Rafferty just left to go home. While I love that he’s got a woman like Tempe in his life right now, he’s admittedly having a bit of a hard time with her gone and didn’t want to hang out too long. I feel for the guy and wonder how I’d feel if Farren moved away.
It would fucking suck.
While I’m careful not to show any overt PDA with Farren, because she’s still firmly against that when hanging with the team, she is standing very close beside me with our elbows touching where they rest on the table.
She’s sipping a margarita, her gaze flicking across the room now and then.
“I’m telling you, that was not icing,” Atlas says, gesturing with his beer. “The refs were blind tonight.”
I snort with amusement. “Funny how you think they were blind when you get called on something, but they see just fine on all the calls that went our way.”
Farren laughs, her hand idly tracing patterns on the edge of her glass. “Don’t tell me you don’t do the same thing, North Paquette.” She bumps me with her hip playfully. “I know my brother sure as hell does that.”
“Yeah, we probably all do it,” I grumble.
“North!” A woman’s voice cuts through the noise, and I glance up to see a tall blond standing on the other side of the velvet rope that sets our tables apart from the rest of the bar. She’s dressed to kill—tight jeans, a low-cut top and heels that look like they could double as weapons. Her gaze moves to Atlas, and she smiles at him. “Think I could grab some pics with you?”
Atlas grins at me and in a low voice says, “That looks like trouble.”
“With a capital T ,” I gripe, already bracing myself.
This sort of thing happens all the time and ordinarily, I laugh it off. But the blond has that look in her eyes that she wants more than a photo and I’ve got my girl standing beside me.
The blond steps over the velvet rope and Atlas gives me a pointed look. “I’ve got this.”
Atlas meets the woman just a few feet from our table. She beams a smile at him, then looks to me and her eyes lock with mine. “Hi, North,” she purrs, her voice dripping with a kind of practiced flirtation that sets my teeth on edge. “I am your biggest fan. You played amazing tonight.” And then, as if she forgot Atlas was right there, she says, “And you did too, of course. I just love you both.”
I lift my chin and smile politely while Atlas runs interference. “Want a picture?” he asks, turning his body to stand beside her so she can do a selfie.
She gushes appreciation. “That would be awesome. Can North get in on this too?”
She asks this of Atlas, ignoring Farren. From the corner of my eye, I can’t see her expression, but her body language is as relaxed as it’s been all night .
“Sure,” I say and meander over to stand beside Atlas. That’s not good enough for the blond and she rearranges us so she’s in the middle.
I do the Keanu Reeves move, which I’ve always found to be classy as hell, and refuse to put my arm around her. Instead, I hold it out and away from her, although Atlas has no compunction about slipping his around the woman’s waist. I’d like to say he’s doing that to take the heat off me, but I wouldn’t put it past Atlas to try for her phone number.
The woman snaps a few selfies, tilting her head and pouting her lips. “Thank you so much,” she says when she’s done, and I return to Farren’s side.
The blond lingers, her gaze darting between me and Atlas. “Are you sure you don’t want to hang out for a bit? I’d love to buy you guys a drink.”
It’s an offer we’ve heard before and is no big deal, but in this instance it’s rude since Farren is clearly with me. I resist the urge to drape my arm over her shoulders, afraid she might elbow me in the ribs.
Atlas smoothly lets her down. “Actually… we’re sort of in the middle of something.” He nods to me and Farren. “But thank you for the offer.”
The woman pouts but eventually saunters off, her hips swinging like she’s trying to put on a show. As soon as she’s out of earshot, Atlas bursts into laughter as he comes back to the table .
“Classic puck bunny,” he says, shaking his head.
“Puck bunny?” Farren asks, although her tone suggests she knows what Atlas is referring to.
Atlas nods, eager to explain. “It’s what we call women who want to get themselves a hockey player. They’re everywhere. Dressed to get attention. Looking for the hookup and hoping it leads to more. Women like her are a dime a dozen.”
Farren doesn’t smile. In fact, her eyes look at little heated. “Yes, I know exactly what a puck bunny is. And yet I only heard her offer to buy you a drink. Maybe that’s all she wanted.”
I frown at Farren, defending the woman who clearly had eyes for both me and Atlas, her intent clear. “Didn’t it bother you she was coming on to us in front of you?”
Farren scoffs. “I couldn’t care less if she came on to Atlas, but as for you, again… I only heard an offer for a drink.”
“That she made with you standing there,” I point out, incredulous I have to state that it was inappropriate.
Atlas nods gravely. “She was looking to score with one of us, Farren. Trust me… this happens all the time.”
“Maybe so, but I find it a little distasteful that you have names for women and they’re the butt of your jokes.”
My frown deepens. “We don’t mean anything by it. And it’s an inside joke only. ”
“It doesn’t sound like a joke,” she says, her eyes flashing. “It sounds like a bunch of guys ganging up on someone who probably just likes hockey.”
“Farren, come on,” I start, but she shakes her head.
“It’s fine,” she says, but her tone makes it clear it’s not.
Atlas looks between us, his grin fading. “I’m gonna grab another drink,” he mumbles, slipping away to give us space.
I reach for her hand and I don’t care if that crosses a line with her. She tries to pull away, but I hold tight. “Hey, I wasn’t trying to be mean to that woman. In fact, you saw we were both being polite. It’s just that there are people who aren’t genuine, and we’ve seen it a lot. But you’re right. That doesn’t mean we should make fun of them. I’m sorry, and I’m even more sorry it bothered you.”
She exhales, her shoulders drooping as she gives me a tepid but apologetic smile. “No, I’m sorry.” She huffs out frustration that I believe is self-directed. “I don’t know why I’m so sensitive. I clearly saw she was flirting. I just don’t like the whole ‘us versus one’ thing. It reminds me of…” She trails off, clearly lost in a memory that I’m guessing wasn’t very good. But she shakes her head and gives my hand a squeeze. “Never mind. I was being overly sensitive.”
“Again, I’m sorry,” I reply and before she can think to stop me, I brush my lips over hers. “I’ll do better, although I can’t speak for Atlas or the others.”
Her lips twitch into a small smile. “Okay. Fair enough.”
“Does that kiss indicate it’s safe for me to return?” Atlas asks, a fresh beer in hand.
Farren flushes slightly at the reminder and moves a few inches from me. She swirls the straw in her margarita but the smirk on her face tells me she’s fine.
“Excuse me.”
Another female voice and I brace, groaning that another puck bunny—or rather, a woman who likes hockey—is approaching us.
I glance over to a petite woman with raven-black hair and the lightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen standing near the velvet rope. Her hands are folded before her and she looks nervous. She’s very pretty but dressed what I would call sedately in a baggy cable-knit sweater, jeans and boots, a thick coat draped over her arm.
Her eyes dart between me, Atlas and Farren, and the smile she finally offers is genuinely apologetic. “I don’t mean to intrude…”
“It’s fine,” Farren says, waving her over the velvet rope. I’m guessing she’s now going to champion any woman who wants access to us, choosing to give them all the benefit of the doubt.
She approaches warily, looking around at the handful of other players left. “I’m sorry to bother you, but… I’m looking for Penn Navarro.”
Atlas and I exchange a look. Farren’s brow furrows.
“Um… he’s not here,” Atlas says.
The woman shifts on her feet, looking frustrated. “Was he here tonight? Do you think he’ll be out after tomorrow’s game?”
Her words should be setting off stalker warning bells, but there’s something about her that screams innocence instead. “Actually, he doesn’t really hang with the team,” I say. “Can we help you with something?”
“I just… I need to talk to him. It’s important.”
“If you’re looking for an autograph or something,” Atlas drawls, indicating he’s trying to ferret out her intentions, “your best bet would be to wait by the players’ garage exit.”
“It’s not about an autograph,” she says quickly, her voice trembling slightly. “I’m a friend. From a long time ago.”
I study her carefully and a glance at Farren tells me she’s doing the same.
“A friend?” Farren asks, light and breezy.
The woman nods. “Yes. I know it’s weird, but I really need to get in touch with him. Do you think you could give me his phone number or maybe his address?”
“You know we can’t do that,” I say kindly, and she nods in agreement. It was a desperate attempt and I can tell she didn’t expect it to work. “But I can call him and ask him if it’s okay. Would that be okay?”
She blows out a sigh of relief. “Yes, actually. That would be great.”
I pull out my phone and flip through my contacts, locating Penn’s number. I’ve never used it before, not even for a casual text, but I have all the players and some other important Titans staff in my contacts.
He answers after a few rings, his voice wary. “Hello.”
“It’s North,” I say, my eyes locking onto the woman. “We’re at Mario’s and there’s someone here looking for you who says she’s a friend.” I lift my eyebrows at her, a silent request for her name.
“Tell him it’s Mila.”
“She says her name is Mila and—”
“I don’t want to talk to her,” Penn says flatly and then the line goes dead.
I stare at the phone, stunned, my eyes darting between Farren and Atlas before pinning on the dark-haired beauty. “He said he didn’t want to talk to you.” Her face falls, tears welling in her eyes.
I feel a pang of guilt. Something about her feels important. Like she’s more than just some random person from Penn’s past.
I glance at my phone, an idea forming. “Farren, Atlas. Can I have a private word with you?”
Mila takes a step back. “I should go. ”
“No, wait,” I say, motioning to the table. I set my phone down beside my beer. “Stay here. We’ll be just a minute.”
The woman looks dubious but she nods, stepping closer to the table and looking around. I walk off, Farren and Atlas following me. I move a good fifteen paces and huddle up, keeping my eyes on Mila.
“What are we doing?” Atlas whispers.
“Pretending like we’re discussing something important,” I reply, watching as Mila’s gaze falls to my phone.
“We aren’t discussing something important?” Farren asks.
“No,” I reply, cutting her a quick look with a smile. “Just giving the stranger a little bit of time.”
Farren starts to look over her shoulder but I stop her. “Don’t look. Just act casual like we’re talking about something.”
“I’m so confused,” Atlas mutters, but then says, “Did anyone see that documentary on Netflix about mushrooms?”
Farren laughs but I stare intently as Mila bends slightly over my phone. I see her lips moving, as if she’s repeating something she’s reading.
Memorizing, actually.
Then she glances up, catches me staring and flushes red. She turns and scurries off into the crowd and I quickly lose sight of her.
“Mission accomplished,” I murmur and then take Farren’s hand. “Come on. It’s safe to go back.”
Atlas and Farren turn and see that the table is empty. “Where did she go?” Atlas wonders.
“My guess… straight to Penn’s house.”
“What?” Farren asks as we reach the table. Her eyes fall to my phone and go wide with shock. “You left Penn’s address up on the screen?”
“Oops,” I say with a sly smile.
“You think that was safe?” she presses with worry. “She could be a serial killer or something.”
“Oh, come on, Miss Criminal Profiler,” I tease. “Did you get evil vibes from that girl?”
“Well…”
“Didn’t you just lecture us on giving women who approach us the benefit of the doubt?”
Farren rolls her eyes. “Okay, I see what you’re doing, calling out my double standard, but you gave her his home address. What if she’s got nefarious intentions?”
“She can’t,” Atlas says, his expression telling me he’s finally getting it. “She gave us her name. She had us call Penn. She said they were friends and he clearly knows her. She’s not going to hurt him.”
“But Penn didn’t want to talk to her,” Farren points out.
“He doesn’t want to talk to anyone,” I counter .
“Fair point,” she replies.
Atlas picks up his beer, takes a sip. “You think she’s part of the puzzle, don’t you?”
“I think she’s tied to Penn’s past, so maybe she’s part of the reason he’s the way he is. My gut says that maybe things need to be stirred up a little.”
Farren looks thoughtful but conflicted. Atlas holds his fist out for me to bump. “Brilliant.”
“I guess we’ll find out.” I turn to Farren, glance down at her nearly empty margarita. “You ready to get out of here?”
She picks up the glass and drains it. “I’m ready.”
“You heading out?” I ask Atlas.
“Nah. Going to hang for a bit. See if I can locate that puck…” His eyes slam into Farren and he flushes red. “I mean… that very nice and outgoing blond hockey fan who wanted our picture.”
Farren chuckles and pats Atlas on the shoulder. “Good boy. You’re learning.”