Page 4 of Playoff (Toronto Blaze #4)

To avoidance

Jess

I almost ran back to the bathrooms at the Top Shelf. There was an exit, leading into an alley. I'd have bet all the money I had that Justin left that way.

The hallway was quiet, with no lineups for the restrooms. I pushed the exit door and checked the sidewalk outside.

It had started to snow. I stepped out and drew my coat tighter around me, the January wind trying to find its way through my clothes.

There was a dusting of white on the pavement, little enough that if it had been warmer, it would have melted on contact with the ground.

Justin's boot prints led to the main sidewalk where they were lost in other tracks and additional snow.

What was I supposed to do? He might have gone home to the condo.

He might have found another bar, though that was less likely.

The players on the team were too well known, and he wouldn't want to talk about the trade with anyone.

Knowing my twin, he would walk, possibly for hours, venting his anger and frustration physically until he was tired.

I sighed, debating options, before turning toward our place. I'd check the bars on the next couple of blocks, just in case. If I didn't find him, I would call a ride to go home and wait for him. He had to show up sometime.

The snow fell more thickly. I shivered. I hadn't dressed for a hike in Toronto in January. Our condo wasn't far from a subway stop, and I’d assumed we would get a ride back. Then again, I’d assumed we were done with the Denbrowskis messing up our lives.

I passed a couple of noisy bars. One had a big television with the Canadian Sports Network on, pictures of Alek Denbrowski and the traded Blaze players on the screen.

Denny had long hair and a full beard, like some kind of mountain man or lumberjack.

A good-looking one. I wrenched my gaze away.

His appearance didn’t matter. Handsome or plain, wearing rags or an expensive suit like Cooper would change nothing.

What his family had done to mine, and how this was still affecting us was the important thing.

Denny, in Toronto, was going to mess up our family dynamics badly.

Technically not his fault, but the name was enough to twist my stomach in knots.

I kept walking, telling myself to find the nearest subway stop or call up Lyft and go home. But going home meant dealing with Justin, and most tryingly, our parents, once they heard. Being cold was better than that.

I shivered. I'd have to either go home or warm up somewhere else because my toes and fingers were starting to tingle.

Someone stepped out of a smaller bar, warm air releasing onto the sidewalk. I checked inside. There wasn't a lot of noise. Dark paneling, gold lights fairly dim, and no televisions. No talking heads discussing the trade for Denbrowski. No hockey jerseys anywhere that I could see.

Maybe Justin had found this place. I could stop for a minute. Warm up. Postpone going home a little longer.

Once inside, I took in a lungful of warm air. Notes of whiskey, wet wool, and cologne. Whatever music was playing was muted, and only low-voiced conversations could be heard. No sign of my twin though.

I was tired. Tired of being the person my family needed.

So tired of managing the four of us and the stress that involved.

As soon as word of this trade spread, I'd hear from our parents.

Justin would stop talking. I'd have to handle the three of them, and I had my own problems. The prospect felt overwhelming.

I decided to take an hour and prioritize my own shit.

I braced my shoulders and headed to the back where a few barstools were empty.

I didn’t want to sit at a table on my own because company was the last thing I wanted.

I unbuttoned my coat, pulled off my gloves and boosted myself up on a stool.

When the bartender, an older woman with brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, came over, I asked for bourbon on the rocks.

She didn't react, just got to work and soon the glass was in front of me.

I stared at the dark liquid surrounding a large cube of ice. It was pretty. I wrapped a hand around it, lifting it up. "To you, Mrs. Garvin." Then I took a swallow.

I almost choked on the burn. Whoa . I was not a whiskey drinker, though my client was.

Had been. Despite her cancer diagnosis, she was a strong woman.

She’d been widowed for twenty years and thrived on her own.

She had a sharp mind and loved bourbon. Hearing she'd died hurt.

Yes, she'd only been a client, but we'd connected.

I'd helped her when she knew she didn't have long to live, making sure her finances were set up the way she wanted them.

Ordering the bourbon for her seemed like a fitting tribute. But now I had a glass of bourbon to deal with. I swirled it around, hoping the melting ice cube would dilute it enough to make it drinkable.

Two glasses of wine, a mouthful of bourbon, a walk in the cold, and the warm room swept over me. I slumped onto my elbows on the bar. My phone buzzed but I ignored it. Parents, brother, whoever. I didn't want to deal right now.

"Are you drinking that or watching it?"

Was that question for me? I twisted on my stool to see the speaker and almost fell off . While I'd been looking for the secrets of the universe in a glass of bourbon, a very attractive man had taken the seat beside me.

He was around my age and looked tall, even sitting on a stool.

He was wearing a T-shirt under a leather jacket, not nearly warm enough for this cold night.

His dark hair was buzzed to his skull, but he was lucky enough to look good that way.

He was clean-shaven, but his head and jaw were pale, as if he'd gotten the cut after he'd been on vacation.

The shirt and jacket were stretched over a muscled chest and well-developed arms. At work, the men I saw were business types. They might run or play tennis or go to the gym, but they weren't built like the guys on Justin's team. This guy resembled the hockey players.

Oh shit . I ran through my mental rolodex. No, none of the Toronto players from either team looked like this guy.

I shrugged. "Mostly watching."

He cocked his head. "Not a fan of—" He reached a hand over and picked up my glass, bringing it up to his nose. "Bourbon?"

“Someone I knew died today. This was what she liked to drink."

He set the glass down. "I'm sorry for your loss. A relation?"

"No, a client. But we became…friends, I think." I didn’t have many of those.

He lifted his hand to get the bartender's attention. "Another bourbon, please." He turned back to me. "What was her name?"

Warmth spread inside me. This stranger was taking enough of an interest in my problem to join me in remembering someone he'd never met. It didn't hurt that he was good-looking as well. "Mrs. Garvin."

When his glass of bourbon arrived, he held it up. I lifted mine and touched the glasses together.

"Mrs. Garvin," I repeated. The bourbon went down better this time.

"So why is a pretty woman sitting alone in a bar to remember her friend?"

I did my best not to react to the pretty comment. "It's been a day. I've got other problems to face, and, well…" I looked around the bar, slightly noisier now but still full of people I didn't know. "I'm avoiding them."

"Avoiding people, problems, or both?"

As if on cue, my phone buzzed again. "Both."

He lifted his glass again. "Sounds a lot like my day. To avoidance."

"To avoidance." The bourbon was smooth this time. My drinking buddy finished most of his in one long swallow. I pulled my glance away when I realized I was staring at him, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his neck as strong and appealing as the rest of him.

Perhaps that was enough bourbon for me.

I focused on my neighbor again. "How long will you be able to avoid real life?"

He let out a long breath. "Tomorrow is going to be a shit show."

I thought of my mother, and the messages that were probably piling up in my voicemail. Justin, who was who knew where. "Same."

The man's long fingers swiveled his glass on the bar. "Are you local?"

"Not originally, but I've lived in Toronto for five years now. You?"

"I haven't been here for ten years except for flying visits."

I looked at his jaw and hairline again. "You look like you've just come back from vacation." His eyebrows raised. I waved my hand at his head. "You have a tan, except for where your beard would be, and if your hair was longer."

Why was I commenting on his appearance? It was more personal than was appropriate with a stranger in a bar. I should have just watched Mrs. Garvin’s drink.

He grinned. "I lost a bet. I'll have to decide if I want to grow the hair again. What do you think?"

I reached a hand to run down his jawline. How strong was that bourbon? "I'm not sure." His eyes met mine, heat pooling between us. I snatched my hand back. "Sorry."

"Don't be." His voice was low, and it sent shivers down my spine.

What was going on here? Was it the alcohol? Because this guy was doing things to me that my previous boyfriends hadn’t, and we’d barely touched. This must be the chemistry I'd heard about. Heard about, read about, but missed previously, and damn.

"I'm going to make a suggestion." His voice was low, still giving me goose bumps. I hoped his suggestion involved us together.

"Okay." Was that my voice, all breathy?

“First, how much have you had to drink?”

“Over four hours, two glasses of wine and some of that bourbon.” I touched my nose with my finger. “I’m not drunk. I know what I’m doing.”

He touched his own nose. “I’ve only had the bourbon. I just flew in today, and my hotel is around the corner. We could avoid our problems together. Naked."

My nipples pebbled and my thighs clenched while my mind filled with images of the two of us, naked in bed. I cast another glance at the bourbon glass. Could it be the reason I was acting totally out of character?

Right now I just didn’t have the willpower to be the responsible one. Because I was going to say yes. Whatever this chemistry was between the two of us? I wanted it. For one night, I’d shove my responsibilities aside.

I wasn't completely reckless. I made sure the locate my phone that I shared with my brother was on. His was off, but just in case someone had to look for me tomorrow, this would give them a starting point. I thought of asking the guy for his name, but decided why bother? I wasn’t going to see him again.

He threw some money down on the bar then held up my coat for me. As we began to weave our way out of the bar, I asked, "Do you not have a coat? A winter coat?"

He shrugged. "We're not going far."

That clinched it. He was a grown man, and not my problem. Tonight could be about me. He could freeze, grow out his hair, do whatever and it didn’t matter. As long as he gave me an orgasm or two.

“Lead the way.”