Page 14

Thierry

A n hour later, we were at Flame and sat at a nice booth away from all the hustle and bustle of the early dinner crowd.

I tucked into my training approved meal while both boys ate like they had hollow stomachs and third legs.

Ah, to be so young again. A pang of longing hit me as a memory of Pope and me filled my mind before I could squash it.

We were ten, eating pizza and watching stupid Halloween B-movies in the dark—like always.

We had the entire basement to ourselves.

No curfew. No rules. It was the last time we’d been able to have that kind of fun before the season started, and we had to be in the zone.

It was one of the best nights of my life, too. I don’t think either of us slept and when we did; it was only to recharge. Few hours later we’d grab a cold slice of pizza then watch another movie.

“Uh, Thierry?” Christopher said, tugging me back to the present. “You good?”

“Sorry, I was thinking about how much I missed hanging out with my friends. I guess I got a little too busy,” I lied, covering for my spacing out.

“Right?” he said. “I agree. It’s why we do this at least once a week.”

A frown pulled at my mouth. Didn’t they have more friends than just each other? A knot formed in my chest. I didn’t want to narc them out to Alexander, but I couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to the guys being left out than just their age.

“Well, as I live and breathe,” Mack said, joining us at the table. “Mindy said you were here. It’s good to see you again, Thierry.”

“Likewise.” I motioned to the restaurant. “This place just keeps getting better every time I step foot inside.” The ambiance was nice. Not too loud and not too bright. There was privacy without appearing closed off and cold. Even the bar had picked up the longer we sat there.

Pride beamed from Mack as he nodded. “When I opened the restaurant, I knew it would be the “it” place to be in Nashville. Every month we’re exceeding my expectations.” He glanced at the guys with me. “Teammates?”

“Yes. Christopher Murphy and Richard Sharpe,” I said, introducing them. “They’re our rookies this year.”

Mack shook their hands. “Any friend of Thierry is a friend of mine. It’s good to meet you boys.”

“You’re the guy with the banging wife who rebuilds classic cars.

” The awe and wonder in Christopher’s voice as he stared at Mack had me swallowing down a chuckle.

“Er, sorry. But your wife is hot. Anyway, my dad owns the shop where she gets some of the machine stuff done on the engines she rebuilds.”

“The place on Baker?” Mack quirked a brow.

Christopher grinned. “Yep. That’s his shop!”

“Interesting.” Mack cut his gaze toward me. “Anyway, enjoy your meal.” He turned to leave then stopped, glancing over his shoulder. “Hey Thierry, why don’t you walk with me for a minute.”

I excused myself from the table, not sure why Mack wanted me to join him. “What’s going on?”

“Are you coming to the party Friday night?”

“Kind of got bullied into it by Wes,” I said. “I figured if I didn’t show, he’d send one of those mean biker assholes to find me.”

Mack chuckled. “Yes, he would. We’ll see you there, then. I’ll introduce you to my banging wife.”

I snorted a laugh. “It’s weird being here after leaving the Thunderbirds. ”

“I bet.” Mack stopped at the bar. “Let me get you a drink. What are you having?”

“Can I get a beer?” A familiar voice asked from across the area.

I stared at Mack, curious what he’d setup, knowing full well who helped him. “I’m sticking with sweet tea. I have to drive back to Murfreesboro.”

“Hmm,” Mack muttered. “That’s too bad. I was hoping to introduce you to someone.”

The person I’d been drilling my gaze into turned around.

The spit in my mouth went dry. My body tensed.

Pope. Bang, bang, bang , my heart hit my ribs with each beat, echoing in my ears, drawing out everything around me, including Mack who continued to talk, even though I couldn’t look away from Pope.

He smirked, leaning back, showing off his impressive form and the myriad of tattoos covering his tanned flesh. I didn’t know if I was supposed to say hi or run away. Or once I said hi what came next.

Then as if the decision had been made, Pope moved.

He pushed off the bar in a languid move that sent a thrill down my spine.

His obsidian eyes clashed with mine and a vicious smirk pulled at his mouth.

Pope oozed sex appeal and rage. He hated me.

I’d known that for longer than I’d played professional hockey. So, why was he walking right up to me?

“Thierry,” he snarled.

Before I could say anything or even form an apology, he was kissing me.

Not some chaste kiss like we’d shared when we were fourteen and in my basement.

No, this was cruel, filled with spite and tasted of sin and hunger.

My dick throbbed, starved for attention as his tongue slashed at mine.

Our teeth clashed. Our lips swelled. Used in such a way I knew for several hours afterward I’d feel his mouth upon mine and ache for him like I had for years after we’d gone separate ways.

Bastard.

“Now,” he whispered across my mouth before licking my bottom lip as his obsidian gaze locked on mine, “we’re even.”

He strode toward the exit without even a backward glance.

Hate and fear and rejection sparked within me.

My stomach soured. My heart squeezed as long dormant emotions threatened to spill over.

A tingle of awareness slithered along my spine as the world around me slowly melted back into focus and several pairs of eyes stared in my general direction.

He’d made a scene. On purpose.

“I didn’t know,” Mack murmured. “I hadn’t even seen him until a few minutes before Mindy said you were here. Had I known he’d do that...”

I shook my head. “Not your fault. I deserved that.”

“Not in public you didn’t,” Mack said, anger snapping through his tone.

“I’d have wished it was in a private setting,” I agreed. “We both know Pope isn’t the private type.”

“Guess we all didn’t mature at the same rate,” Mack muttered, curling his lip. “I’m sorry, Thierry.”

“Don’t be,” I replied. “I’ll see you and your banging wife at the compound.” Maybe. Now I had second thoughts about going.

Mack snorted. “Fucking kids.”

The rest of dinner was spent talking about the game Thursday night and the upcoming games this season all the while images of Pope swirled within my mind to the point of distraction.

Christopher asked if I was okay and I bobbed my head, assuring him I was just fine, even though I was anything but, and he should continue.

So, he did. I learned useful information from the rookie. Things I needed to know. Unlike the NHL who played games at least once a week, sometimes twice depending on the schedule, these guys could play three games in four days and sometimes back-to-back.

I also learned they’d been having issues in their defense since Rudiger, their right defensemen and part-time coach, left and headed for the Portland Thrashers .

Having someone like me to coach them and find the right person to fit the position, was a blessing and a curse.

A blessing because I could do the job in my sleep, which meant I could coach up the person who earned the spot.

A curse because as soon as the Thunderbirds saw their potential, the player would be snatched up and we’d be back to square one.

The only solution I could come up with was to train all of them to play the positions, that way the team was covered should something happen.

When we left the restaurant, we went our separate ways with plans to meet up the next day for an early lunch, since we’d have a game to prepare for. It was strange playing in a facility that only held a few thousand people instead of an arena that could hold tens of thousands of fans.

This felt more intimate.

Like the players could engage with their fans more often.

What I tried and failed at was not thinking about the kiss during our meal.

I couldn’t brush the moment off as revenge or pettiness.

The hatred in Pope’s eyes. The disdain that leached off him in noxious waves, sucked me under while turning me on.

Beneath it all, he was still Pope. The guy I’d had masturbation fantasies about.

The guy I’d been friends with until I wasn’t.

He smelled of cigarette smoke and spicy cologne and looked like a model for Versace .

Damn him.

Damn him for coming back into my life when I didn’t have my head on straight and was still fucked up about Derrick and having my knee replaced.

Any other time I’d have rolled with his antics and called him to clear the air and apologize.

Instead, I stood there with people staring at me, feeling like a fool.

Saying I was embarrassed was the least of my concern.

Admitting how much I wished he’d have hate fucked me then and there, sent a bolt of shame slamming into my chest.

Why did I have to be so damn pathetic when it came to Pope?

That night I went home and repeated all the cool down exercises I’d been given by Dr. Jay then iced my knee before taking a hot shower.

For it being my first day back and my first day as a coach, I’d been rejuvenated.

Like the well of my optimism was replenished, allowing me to drink down a fresh cup of determination.

Even with the little scene with Pope. I came to the conclusion, after post-nut clarity, I wouldn’t allow myself to be distracted.

Not right now. Not when the season was on the line, and I had work to do.

Rather than focus on Pope’s mouth, I reminded myself how much those players needed me.

Pope on the other hand only wanted retribution.

Hopefully, he’d gotten it out of his system, and I could close that emotional connection, tethering us together once and for all.

If not?

I didn’t want to think about it.