Dash groans. “We’ve been so good. It’s our night off.”
“No one wants me calling Coach back here. Go,” Captain Stacey dictates.
Whatever. We do it like good little hockey players, but it’s the longest thirty minutes of all time.
* * *
Rodney’s is packed, but we manage to grab a table on the heated patio that sits on top of the water. We get rounds of raw oysters with beer—real beer—and a bunch of creamy clam chowder with extra bread. That’s just to start. By the time dinner finishes, we’ve broken into the tequila shots. Dirk and Dash try their hand at forechecking the flock of men at the bar top.
My phone rings in my pocket and I pull it out and place it to my ear. “Hello?”
“Sweetheart, you picked up.”
It takes a moment for the drunken haze of my mind to clear enough and realize what I’ve just done. I’m drunk enough that I didn’t bother checking the call display. I always check the call display for this reason. I’m not immune to his voice. It burns like whiskey; it’s smooth like butterscotch. The effect is immediate. Rhett’s voice has always brought me calm. It often put me to sleep. The man should narrate sex books.
“Yeah, hi.”
Casey and Stacey see that my face has morphed into abject terror. They make wild motions, telling me to get the fuck off the phone with him because they’ve already concluded who the “him” is. My expression says it all.
I’m in this now.
“I’ve missed you so much.” His voice cracks. “There’s so much I want to say, but I don’t want to overwhelm you.”
My eyes well up. It’s gotta be the alcohol bringing me to tears so quick. “I’ve missed you too.”
An invisible band of tension releases.
“Everything’s going to be okay. I’m fixing everything like I always do, okay? Just hang tight. When can I see you?”
I wipe my eyes. “Not sure. We’re flying a lot.”
“I’ll figure it out. Did you see me play the other night? A Gordie Howe hat trick just for you.”
I chuckle. A Gordie Howe Hat trick—a goal, an assist, and a fight in the same game. “I saw,” I admit. I gave up a lot of things Rhett, but I can’t stop watching him play. He’s still the most beautiful player on the ice.
“Oh look, Leslie. Coach is here and he’s brought hotties with him. You have to go,” Stacey shouts, but it’s Casey grabbing my phone and hanging up on Rhett.
“Hey, guys!”
It’s too late. They’ve confiscated my phone and I’m not getting it back. “Assholes. I was talking.”
“And now you’re not. Look over there,” Casey says.
I gaze to the door not expecting to find anything, assuming it was a distraction tactic, but it is Coach, and he has brought two hotties with him. One of them is his brother whom I recognize from the night at The Wicklow and the other is maybe another brother. Rumor has it, he’s got, like, eighty siblings or something. There’s a resemblance. He’s a lot younger than Mercy by the looks of it, but this place is technically a restaurant so even if he’s not of drinking age, he can eat with them. It’s still early and food’s still being served.
“Whoop-de-doo. As if I want to see that guy.” Mercy turned me down for sex of all things before I could really put out the Jack Leslie sex vibe, which is irresistible.
Maybe that’s why,my drunken mind says to me.If you had put out the sex vibe, he’d be putty in your hands.
My ego’s not bruised at all.
Casey shrugs. “I bet antagonizing him would make you feel better. Your eyes are still wet by the way.” He puts an arm around me and hugs me into his side.
Fucking Rhett. I wipe my eyes again. Also, fuck Mercy too. Fuck all the guys I’ve fucked before. I was right. I don’t need any of them. Fresh blood is always the way to go. I hail our server for five more shots of liquid courage. “Casamigos Reposado,” I say, springing for the good stuff. With all the money I’ve saved from not partying after practice, I’ve got money to spare.
Dash and Dirk return with nothing to show for their efforts. “Who comes to this place on a Saturday night if they’re not single?” Dirk says.
“And even if they’re not, I’m down for a threesome. C’mon,” Dash says.
