Page 1 of Overtime Goal (Buffalo Warriors Hockey #4)

riley

Holky was mid-rant about the size of his steak when he elbowed me in the ribs. “Let her set your plates down.”

Logan and I had been so busy talking about the game, I hadn’t noticed the server waiting behind me with our food.

“You two want your own table or what?” Holky asked, grinning like a jackass.

“Fuck you.” Logan waved him off. “I can barely hear Riles, and he’s sitting right next to me.”

“That’s weird,” Gabe said. “You’re hearing us fine now.”

Holky snorted beer out of his nose, and Dog nearly choked on a chip. I focused on my plate and dug in, remembering I had enchiladas to eat and a reputation to maintain.

We’d played the Thunder earlier and squeaked out a 4–3 overtime win, then got stuck in Dallas thanks to some mechanical fuckery with the team plane. While the logistics crew hauled our bags to the hotel, the bus detoured to Mendoza’s, our favorite spot in town.

Beer, chips, and Tex-Mex food were exactly what we needed. The boys were yelling their heads off to be heard over the crowd while I tried to keep things normal. For me, a big part of “normal” was picking up women, whether I was in the mood or not.

When the server returned with drinks, I turned on a fuckboy grin and leaned back in my chair. “Hey, quick question. Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I skate by again?”

She didn’t even blink while she set Logan’s margarita down and gave me a flat smile. “I believe in gratuity. You planning to tip twenty percent, or should I walk by again?”

The guys lost it. Holky practically fell out of his chair, and when he stopped laughing, he gave me another smartass grin. “Buddy. She dangled you and toe-dragged straight past.”

Logan looked over, lips twitching. “Add that to your highlight reel. Right under ‘missed empty net.’”

“You gonna be okay?” Dog asked. “Or should we order an emotional support queso?”

The only thing I could do was bluff, so I held up my beer and grinned. “I regret nothing. Except maybe sitting here with you clowns.”

I was on the spot, nothing new for someone who wasn’t exactly known for thinking things through. Though I’d been hoping the server wouldn’t bite, I hadn’t counted on the smackdown or the chirp-storm that followed. Now, the boys were watching like I was on pay-per-view.

Fine. If they wanted a show, I’d give them one. My gaze drifted to the bar, and there she was: gorgeous brunette, mid-laugh, eyes daring the bartender to ask for her number.

I nudged Holky. “Three o’clock. Absolute smokeshow. I’m going in, so if I don’t come back, you’ll know I died doing what I love.”

“Yeah, good luck.”

Dog glanced at the bar, then at me. “Are you talking about the woman with the inflatable flamingo purse or the guy in the Thunder jersey?”

I glared at him like the traitor he was. “Wow. Zero faith in my radar. She’s the one with the black dress, big boobs, and ponytail. Laughing at the bartender’s jokes like they’re funny.”

Holky snorted. “So you’re jealous of the bartender?”

“I’m inspired,” I said. “Give me two minutes.”

I stood and adjusted my shirt. At the bar, I sidled up next to the brunette, asked the bartender for a Dos Equis, and turned to her. “Hey. I was wondering… Are you emotionally available and into guys who play professional hockey?”

She sighed as her lips curved downward. “I’m married.”

I glanced at her hand. No ring.

“To the bartender,” she said.

Right on cue, he reappeared and set the beer in front of me. “That’ll be seven-fifty. And we both skate better than you.”

I held up my hands. “Understood. Respectfully retreating.” I tossed a ten on the bar and walked away, forgetting the damn beer.

The boys were laughing their asses off when I made it back to the table. Packy pointed at me. “Was that how you wanted it to go, or should we start your injured reserve paperwork?”

Even Logan was chuckling. “He was out there doing God’s work. For about twelve seconds.”

Holky slung an arm around my shoulders. “Don’t worry, bud. You died with honor.”

We spilled out onto the sidewalk half an hour later, a little drunk and way too loud. It was warm for April, which eased the pain of waiting while our Ubers were caught in traffic. Not long ago, leaving without a woman would’ve bummed me out, but tonight, I was glad it was just the guys.

Logan nudged me. “You okay after all that?”

“I’m fine.” I looked away, hoping he’d stop there, but I could feel his eyes on me. After a second, I lowered my voice. “It was all for show.”

“I know. What would you have done if she’d said yes?”

“Faked a seizure? Climbed out the bathroom window?”

He leaned closer. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

And then, like the universe was on a mission to fuck with me, someone bumped into me from behind. I turned, ready to snap, but she stopped me cold: tall, blonde, tight jeans, and a red top hugging everything like it was painted on.

“Oops,” she said. Her smile was all teeth and trouble.

“Um… no worries.” As a longtime flirt, I knew what was going on. A familiar spark, the all-systems-go signal, zinged in my chest.

But all systems weren’t go. The spark was there, but the actual desire to do something about it was nowhere to be found.

She and her friend laughed and walked on while I stood there like an idiot. The girl was hot. Like stop-traffic, billboard-model hot. What the fuck was wrong with me?

Packy tapped me on the arm. “You good? You look like you saw a ghost.”

“Just worn out.”

He gave me a knowing grin. “There’s still time to go after Miss Dallas. She could give you a second wind.”

“Not tonight.”

Logan put a hand on my arm and guided me toward a car. “This is us, Riles.”

I climbed into the back, and he slid in beside me. He was reaching for the door handle when Richie Mason appeared. “Okay if I ride with you? Holky and Dog’s car is too small.”

“Sure,” Logan said. “Hop in.”

Goddammit. I’d wanted a minute alone with Logan. Instead, we’d be listening to Richie talk about his new baby all the way to the hotel. Not that I had anything against babies, but I wasn’t in the mood.

Logan handed me a banana and took the chair next to the couch where I’d slept. My spine popped as I sat up and tossed the blanket aside. By the time I’d unpeeled the banana, he was already halfway through his, scrolling through his phone and ignoring me.

He sat there with his thumb stalled on the screen while I ate. Then he snuck a quick sideways glance, one I knew too well. It usually came right before he told me to get my shit together. Needing a shield, I grabbed my T-shirt and pulled it on.

We hadn’t talked about what was in the way between us, but we hadn’t not talked about it either. It was just there, like gravity and his weird obsession with bananas. Or the way he read poetry at night and pretended it wasn’t a big deal.

Meanwhile, I was struggling to figure out what the hell had happened in LA, or at least what it meant. I was in a tough place, feeling things that didn’t make sense, and I was hurting Logan because of it. As best friends, we needed each other.

He looked up and lobbed his banana peel at the wastebasket. It sailed in clean. “Swish,” he said, finally meeting my eyes.

We played a lot of one-on-one basketball, and as good as he was, I was better. I sized up the shot, calibrated my throw, and looked away as I launched my peel in a high arc. Another glance confirmed it had landed dead center.

“Swish,” I said. “No look.”

Logan tried hard to bite back a smile. “You looked.”

“Did not.”

“You looked before you threw.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t look during the throw. That’s what counts.”

He lifted a brow and glanced away. After a moment, he asked, “You planning to shower here?”

Before I could answer, he went back to his phone like he didn’t care what I was going to do. Shit. We were friends, and we were better than this.

Part of me wished he’d go ahead and get mad. He could yell, call me a selfish prick, or even tell me to fuck off. At least then I’d know where I stood. This quiet shit felt like we were both bleeding to death, and there was nothing I could do to staunch the flow.

We’d become the unlikeliest of friends over the four years since I got to Buffalo.

On paper, it made no sense. Logan was twelve years older, quiet where I was loud, and calm where I was chaos.

Yet somehow, it worked. Steady in a way I’d never been, he knew when to talk, when to listen, and when to do nothing and let me fall apart without making it weird.

He was a rock, and that meant more than I’d ever admit.

When I first hit the league, I was a mess.

I dealt with it horribly, all swagger and bad decisions, and it’s a wonder I didn’t get myself into trouble.

There was still a lot of that in me, something I’d proved the night before at Mendoza’s.

One of the best things about Logan was that I didn’t have to keep up an act.

He accepted me for who I was, and I’d gotten used to having him in my corner.

I snuck a glance at him, and nothing had changed. He was still staring at his phone, with his lips pressed together like he was either holding something back or trying not to explode. Maybe both.

Hell, I couldn’t stop thinking about it either. If we didn’t talk soon, the silence would turn our friendship into dust. Since I was the one who’d made the subject untouchable, it was on me to find a way back.

I stared out the window at the hazy Dallas skyline.

Reunion Tower blinked in the distance while I tried to figure out how to start a conversation with Logan.

I’d promised myself to bring it up last night, but when we got back to the hotel, he said he was tired and went to bed.

A few hours later, I appeared at his door after having a nightmare.

It didn’t seem like the best time to dig into something that might blow up in my face.

I don’t know how long I stared out the window, but when I looked at Logan again, he’d put his phone down. He was watching me, drumming his fingers on his thigh.

“You ever think about that night in LA?” I asked before I could lose my nerve.

He froze, and the temperature dropped from comfortably warm to arctic chill. “You said we weren’t going to talk about that.”

“Yeah. I was being dramatic.”

He didn’t move as the silence between us grew taut. “Being dramatic?” he finally asked.

I shrugged. “We need to talk, Logan.”

His expression didn’t change, but I’d seen enough storms to know when lightning was about to strike.

He shifted in his chair. “Why are you asking about this now?”

Because I hadn’t stopped thinking about it. Because he was sitting there in his ratty gray sweatpants and Warriors T-shirt with worry lines covering his face. Because I’d helped put those lines there, along with the vacant stare I’d never seen before the team went to LA.

“I don’t know.” It wasn’t exactly true, but there was no simple answer.

“You don’t know,” he echoed, still watching me.

“Maybe I was hoping?—”

“The hell, you were being dramatic.” No heat, no judgment. It was only a clean, sharp sentence with no wiggle room. He stood and glared at me. “I’m hitting the shower. See you on the bus.”

The bathroom door clicked shut, leaving me with a clenched stomach and a plea stuck in my throat. I wished I’d stopped him and made him talk, but I was more afraid of losing him than staying quiet. Since I couldn’t force him to open up, I had to figure out a way to make him want to talk to me.