“There he is,” a brunette hailed from the front of the bar where the unfortunate familiar crowd gathered. I was pretty sure the brunette was Gina Malone in the flesh. Hard to forget the head cheerleader whose sole mission was to screw every senior jock she could before graduation.
Her mission was short of one—as far as I knew; me.
But since I was the identical twin of Troy Hartman—who she nailed on prom night—she considered it hitting two birds with one stone.
I shook my head.
I ought to give this girl a piece of my mind tonight—at the very least tell her to have some goddamn self-respect considering what Harper walked in on them doing that fateful night. But that wouldn’t be Troy-like, would it?
“Come on over here, hot shot,” someone from the crowd called.
I cursed brutally under my tongue, peeled myself off the wall and set the empty shot glass on the wooden bar before making my way over.
The Brooklyn Blades’ Ryan Flemming walked in, looking every bit the giant that he was. He spotted me before being attacked by half my fan club—sorry—my brother’s fan club. By the look on his face, I knew instantly, Ryan knew which Hartman brother I was.
I plastered on a smile—the same one I used for my best clients—allowed a few hugs that came my way and bumped a few fists. Faces were a blur—could have all been the same person for all I knew. The typical unimpressed expression on my face tonight shouldn’t be a red flag for anyone, considering my supposed loss tonight.
This’ll be fine.
Ryan finally made his way over to me. “Do I want to know?”
“Just intervene wherever you can,” I muttered. Ryan knew I was nothing like Troy and that this wasn’t my scene—people.
Even less—people I didn’t like back in high school any more than I would now.
“I’ve got your hockey lingo if needed,” Ryan offered, leaning in.
I scoffed. Yeah, no need.
Steve Carp, bigger than me and captain of our old football team threw his hands up. “What happened tonight, man?” The guy was massive and loud, so of course everyone circled around us to get the story.
Here we go.
Someone slapped me from the back. “Oh don’t feel so bad. Detroit won the Cup last year. You didn’t stand a chance.”
I gritted my teeth.
“Seriously where’d you lose ‘em?” another voice asked—one I didn’t recognize.
Ryan put a hand on my chest to step in for me and I stiffened.
Don’t fucking touch me.
I held my tongue and put up a hand instead, giving him an easy grin. “Let me. Truth is guys, I had ‘em in that first round—you saw that. I had a great set up.” That got me a few nods of agreement. “Then I lost it up at the board, trying to get that puck in defense…” I cringed remembering the attack, “I just couldn’t get it back fast enough. Theyplannedthat move in advance, I tell ya, if I’d just turned to my right a second earlier, I’d have seen him coming and swerved. Still learning guys, but bottom line, they didn’t play fair tonight.”
Ryan stared at me in utter bewilderment.
A few guys shook their heads in disgust. “Aww, but what a way to start.”
I winked. “I’ll get ‘em next time. You can count on it.”
“We’re with you all the way, Troy.” Someone slapped my back and I turned with a glare sure to make him second guess touching me again.
“Thanks for coming out tonight. All of you, really, you don’t know what this means to me—your support, now and back in Coach Rosinski’s late practices. All those laps he used to make do,” I chuckled.
“All the cheerleaders who stayed to watch,” Gina chimed in with firm hands on my bicep.
“Yeah. Them too.” I didn’t bother looking down at her when I spoke. Instead, I looked around. “Although I don’t see too many of my favorites around tonight.”
