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Chapter One

IZZIE

T he background music at Triana is so loud, I can barely hear what customers are trying to order. I’ve been working at the trendy bar in the Miami Design District since it opened last year, and I’ve never seen it this busy on a weeknight. But tonight isn’t any other night. The Miami Lions just won the Eastern Conference Cup, and the entire team decided to come here to celebrate. Word got out, and we’re now at full capacity. Unfortunately, we aren’t staffed for it.

I lean over the counter, turning my ear toward the guy in front of me. “Could you repeat that?”

“One cosmopolitan and one whiskey and Coke!” he shouts.

“You got it!” I yell back, and then start to prepare his order.

I usually ask what brand of whiskey the customer prefers, but it’d take another five minutes of back and forth to hear the answer. Judging by the guy’s flushed faced and glazed eyes, I don’t think he cares anyway.

As I prepare the drinks, other thirsty customers yell “Bartender!” to get my attention. All I can do is make quick eye contact with them and nod. Manuel, my partner tonight, is just as busy at the other end of the bar.

Bartending is the ultimate art of multitasking, especially on a busy evening like this. The money is good, but I can’t wait to finish my residency at the vet clinic and start earning a living wage doing what I love—taking care of animals and, more specifically, horses.

I finish the drinks and while I’m ringing up the customer, Mari Carmen, Paco’s daughter and my little sister Lydia’s best friend, joins us behind the bar. She’s not twenty-one yet and technically can’t help. “What are you doing here?”

“Dad said you needed assistance.”

“Do you know how to prepare cocktails?”

“No.”

Great . “Do you know how to use the beer tap?”

She eyeballs the tap. “Uh, put the glass under and pour beer in it?”

I shake my head. This will be a disaster.

“Bartender!” a whiny female voice cuts through the loud music. “We’ve been waiting forever.”

I look at the blonde glaring at me. She’s pretty enough to be a model, and maybe that’s why she has an attitude. “I’ll be with you in a sec!”

I glance toward Mari Carmen again, but my eyes connect with a man standing on the other side of the counter. His expression is closed off. He looks like a marble statue, his face all sharp angles. But his eyes are electrifying, and his gaze burns into mine.

“What can I get you?” I ask, even though I’m certain he just got here, and it’s not his turn yet. That’ll piss off the blonde chick even more.

“The IPA you have on tap.”

“Sure.” I reach for a glass, but then remember that I need to teach Mari Carmen. Turning to her, I say, “You go ahead, hon.”

“You’re going to let a teenager serve alcohol,” he says in a flat tone, but loud enough that I can hear him clearly. It’s not a question, but I hear the criticism just the same.

“How do you know she’s a teenager?” I arch a brow.

He shakes his head. “Can I get my drink?”

I show Mari Carmen which tap to use and let out a breath of relief when I don’t need to tell her she needs to angle the glass a bit. But midway through the pour there’s a loud fizz, and then beer sprays everywhere, soaking us through.

“What the hell!” the guy exclaims.

I guess the spray got him too, but I don’t have time to offer an apology. I need to stop the beer from going everywhere. I try to shut off the tap, but the lever is stuck, which means I need to cut off the supply from underneath. I cover the tap with a towel, stopping the onslaught of beer, then call for Manuel.

“Joder! What happened?” he asks.

“Don’t know. Can you shut off the valve?”

He drops into a crouch, and a moment later, the pressure eases off until no more beer is coming out of the tap. Boy, that was fun.

I remember the grumpy guy and, no surprise, he’s staring daggers at us. “I’m so sorry. Do you need a towel?”

“No.”

“Then anything else to drink? On the house.” I smile, trying to make the situation a bit better, but he doesn’t reciprocate.

“What I need is a properly staffed establishment that doesn’t rely on the help of children on a busy night,” he grits out.

I flinch. I get that he’s pissed, but the tap going kaput had nothing to do with Mari Carmen or her underage status.

A drunk guy slides up next to him and throws an arm around his shoulder. “Dude! You were a fucking legend tonight.”

Shit. This guy must be a hockey player.

He stiffens. “Thank you.”

“Let me buy you a drink.”

“Thanks, but I gotta go.” He moves away and disappears into the crowd, leaving drunk guy with his jaw hanging loose.

“Do you know who that was?” drunk guy asks us.

“No clue,” I say.

“That was Jackson motherfucking Darcy. The Lions’ captain!”

Crap on toast . Not only was he a hockey player, but the captain to boot.

“Did I mess things up for Dad?” Mari Carmen asks tearfully.

“No, carino,” Manuel replies. “That guy was a gilipollas. Most hockey players are.”

I don’t necessarily agree with Manuel’s comment, but in that guy’s case, he was a total jerk. He’d better hope I never cross paths with him again. I’d give him a piece of my mind.

* * *

JACKSON

Damn it. I thought I was done with the beer showers tonight. I had plenty of that in the dressing room right after the game. If I hadn’t made a vow last year to get stupid drunk only after we won the cup, I wouldn’t care that I’m drenched and filthy. I should have accepted the bartender’s towel offer, but I was too angry and caught off guard by her big brown eyes, and then that fan showed up. I’ve already used up my social battery. I can’t cope with fans anymore.

The first person who notices me when I work my way back to the team’s table is Logan Kaminski, our young forward. His brows shoot up, and he grins. “What happened to you?”

I grab the stack of napkins in the middle of the table and then sit down. “I asked for an IPA and didn’t realize the glass was optional.”

Logan chuckles. “Gee, is the bartender still alive?”

“Yes,” I grumble. “She was a kid, and I don’t murder children.”

Chad’s eyes bug out. “Wait. What?”

“Darcy’s yanking your chain.” Gavin takes a sip of his beer. “Although I didn’t know he was capable of humor.”

“Piss off, Wickham,” I retort.

I try to rein in my immense dislike for Gavin Wickham, a washed-up D-man who’s done nothing but harm our defense. He’s been with the Lions for as long as I have—we were drafted the same year. I was the first pick overall, and he was picked in the second round. I’ve known him longer, though. Growing up, we attended the same training camps and have been rivals since then. When we got picked by the same team, I was willing to put the past behind us, but Gavin never let go of his grudge against me.

Chad has his phone out, and the screen lights up with an incoming text message. He grabs the device too quickly for me to read it. Not that I want to snoop anyway, but his broad smile makes me curious.

Before I can ask, he stands. “Sorry, guys. I’m heading out.”

“Where are you going?” I ask.

His cheeks flush. “Uh… just home. I’m tired.”

Chad, you’re a terrible liar. He’s up to something. I’ve known him my entire life. His parents are friends with my aunt Catherine. When Chad joined the team four years ago, we became even closer. He’s shy and awkward, like most goalies, but he’s a great guy, albeit naive as hell.

“Dude! You can’t go home. We’re supposed to party until sunup,” Alex Kaminski, Logan’s identical twin, pipes up.

“I’m all partied out,” Chad replies. “Later, guys.”

Logan jumps out of his chair and blocks Chad. “No way. You were the motherfucking MVP of the game. You have to stay.”

The other guys join Logan, voicing their opposition to Chad leaving. Chad looks at me, pleading for help with his eyes.

“Let him go,” I butt in. “We’ll party until sunup when we win the Cup.”

“Fine,” Logan grumbles, moving out of Chad’s way.

Chad looks at me and mouths, I owe you .

I nod. That you do, buddy. Tomorrow, I’ll get to the bottom of this.