Page 9

Cian

“O’Malley’s for after game drinks!” The call went up in the locker room as the team buzzed with our fourth victory of the season. San Jose had fought hard, and I had the bruises to prove it, but they came undone in the final period. Laughter echoed around the shower stalls as we released the adrenaline of the game with banter and predictions for the season.

“Are you coming out?” I asked Oscar as he peeled his undershirt away from his body. He let the sopping fabric slap to the ground. I grimaced as I dropped my own on top of it.

“I’ll check what Mia’s doing, but I’m keen. You in?”

“Yeah. I might see if…” I trailed off, wondering if I should finish the thought with so many ears around.

“Do it. Mia’s been asking to meet her.”

“It’s not anything. I just want to be her friend.”

Oscar gave me a look I pointedly ignored as I focused on removing my socks.

“Guys and girls can be friends, you know.”

“Yeah, but if the girl says no and you keep going… Man, there’s a thin line between persistence and stalking.”

“I’m not stalking her!”

Locker room, idiot.

“I’m not stalking her,” I muttered, stripping off my boxers and wrapping a towel around my waist.

“Look, I’m thoroughly enjoying all the angst. I’ve never seen anyone get under your skin like this, but for her sake, will you figure out what you want? And don’t tell me it’s to be friends.”

This conversation was going nowhere and my skin felt tight with dried sweat. Time for a shower. Instead of answering him, I grabbed my shower gel and headed for the first available stall. Being a people person meant that I liked making friends. The fact that I couldn’t let go of the idea of Blair and I getting closer was commentary on what a cool person she was. No ulterior motives here, I just didn’t want her to hate me anymore.

Twenty minutes later, clean and feeling a lot more human, I found her outside the locker room talking in a low voice with Ethan Harrison.

“I just need you to post regularly on your account. I send you the content, but I can’t physically hit post for you. Your fans want to see you on their feed. Yes, it seems like it’s going through the motions, but I promise it’ll help.”

Ethan’s head was bent, folding his six foot two frame down so that Blair didn’t draw attention to them. His hands were tucked in his pockets and everything about his posture screamed wanting to be anywhere but here.

Maybe I should have let her keep on him, but seeing as I had several days of posts sitting in my own inbox to go up, I decided to help him out. I was a nice guy like that.

“Hey man.” I slapped him on the shoulder, dividing a smile between them. “You headed to O’Malley’s?”

Ethan straightened and shrugged. The tension slid out of his features and seemed to channel into Blair’s.

“Maybe. I’ll see how I’m feeling.”

“Good. Good.” Blair’s hair was its usual chaos of curls, like a windstorm in fall. But there were dark smudges beneath her chocolate and toffee eyes. The season was tough on us, but sometimes I thought the support staff had it harder. Maybe I should have offered to drive her home and let her sleep, but she didn’t seem to socialize with anyone outside of work.

When she waved, I realized Ethan had taken the opportunity to duck away, but I was still stuck on her.

“So, are you coming?”

She turned back to me with a small crease between her brows.

“To O’Malley’s,” I clarified, stepping a little closer and inhaling the lavender scent that always lingered around her.

“I have a lot to do,” she hedged, glancing down the corridor.

“Come on. Just for a little while. You deserve a break, and I know the guys would love to see you there.” I wanted her there, but I wasn’t sure if that fact would be a help or a reason for her to bail. Blair lifted a hand, her fingers hovering above my chest like she wasn’t sure whether to push me away. A half step closed the distance, and I leaned in toward her ear, my voice dropping to that point in my chest where her hand warmed me.

“Live a little.” The challenge was an invitation for so much more. Blair’s eyes flared with surprise, her fingers flexing against my shirt as her mouth parted with a small gasp.

“I’ll even drive you, if you want to have a drink.” I hated that I couldn’t tell whether I was winning her over or failing miserably. All I knew was that her hand was still on my pec, and I didn’t want her to let go.

She startled, her gaze dropping to her hip where my hand had come to rest. Huh. I gave a little squeeze, then let it drop as she put some unneeded distance between us.

“I’ll meet you there.”

“Bet.” I grinned, hoping to cover the small shot of disappointment I felt. She rejected the ride but agreed to hang out. Small wins.

Her lips quirked as she took another step back before turning away.

“I’ll buy you a drink,” I called, definitely not watching how her ass moved in the tight pair of jeans she’d worn for the game. I loved how casually she dressed for her job. Not that Dante didn’t look badass in her power suits, but Blair could be comfortable and still hand the guys their balls. No costumes needed.

“Stop looking at my ass,” she called over her shoulder as she reached a junction in the hallway.

The comment was so unexpected that a laugh bubbled out before I could stop it.

“What if I say no?”

She turned the corner without reply, and I found myself walking a little faster than necessary back to the locker room to grab my gear and head out.

A mile from Austin Arena, O’Malley’s Irish Pub was an institution in Aces culture. Owned by former player, Tadhg Murphy, it was the preferred meeting place for social events and aftergame hangouts.

Standing room only took on a whole new meaning as I pushed through the door and had to sidestep the crush of bodies lined up to order at the bar.

The aftergame wrap-up was blaring from the television mounted behind the bar, barely audible over the eighties rock ballad pumping through speakers.

Between the noise, the press of bodies, and the stink of sweat and stale beer, it was a sensory overload that brought on nostalgic thoughts of college coupled with a trauma response to playing hungover in the first year before I decided I wanted hockey more than I wanted to get wasted.

It was all fun and games until you vomited on the ice.

Twice in one week.

Coach had rightly torn me a new asshole and told me in no uncertain terms I could be the player who makes captain, or the wasted talent who got benched.

No brainer, really.

“Oh, thank God. It’s packed in here.”

I blinked out of my memories, slowly registering the small hand on my arm.

She came.

“Come on, they keep tables for us at the back.” Using the crowd as an excuse, I gripped Blair’s hand and tugged her through the crowd. The going was slow as every second person stopped to ask me for photos, or congratulate me on the team’s win, but I kept hold of her hand through all of it.

“I can get through by myself,” she grumbled as yet another person called my name. She tugged against my grip halfheartedly.

Instead of stopping, I raised a hand at the guy who wanted my attention and reeled Blair in closer, taking a risk by placing a hand on her lower back and guiding her to where several tables had been pushed together and several of my teammates were already passing around jugs of beer.

“Look who I found,” I announced, presenting Blair like her arrival was a happy accident. Oscar waved us over to a couple of vacant seats across from him and Mia.

“Glad you could make it. This is my wife, Mia,” he said to her as soon as we were in earshot. I pulled a chair out for her, ignoring the suspicious look she shot me, and waited until she sat down with a huff.

“Nice to meet you, Mia,” she said as I grabbed two clean glasses from the center of the table and filled them, passing one to Blair like it was something I did all the time. She accepted the drink with barely a glance as she launched into a conversation with Mia about her psychology degree and burlesque dancing while I watched her quietly, enjoying seeing her relax and open up. Her grin sparkled as she laughed at something Oscar said, and I offered a refill on her glass as she drained the last of it.

She nodded, leaning in until her lips brushed my ear.

“Thank you for inviting me out. I’m having fun.”

I wasn’t sure whether she knew her hand was on my thigh, but the heat of it went straight to my dick, making my jeans tight.

“Cian O’Leary?”

I mentally cursed as Blair sat back, a blonde woman filling the space between us.

Not a woman. A puck bunny.

Ok, so she was a woman, that wasn’t fair, but I really wanted…

“What?”

“Can I get a photo with you?”

“Oh, yeah. Sure.” I pushed back my chair to stand and instead ended up with a lap full of hockey fan. I shifted to make sure she didn’t land on my rapidly deflating problem, then put one hand on the table and the other on the back of the chair. Hands always in sight was a fundamental rule of fan photos. Always keep things chaste and stay beyond reproach.

She took a lifetime to get the ‘right’ photo, turning this way and that, checking each shot like it would be submitted for a Pulitzer.

“Okay, I think we got it,” I grumbled as she sank further into my lap, like she was making herself comfortable.

“It doesn’t have to end here,” she said, leaning in until we were chest to chest. “I can be very good for you.” In case I missed her intent, she licked her lips and slid a hand down my chest.

“I’m good.” I caught her wrist and used it to help her to stand.

Once free, I leaned around her body to get back to my conversation with the woman I actually wanted to talk to.

The chair beside me was empty.