Page 4 of Rookie Recovery

I nearly let my glass slip from my fingers as recognition struck. Struck hard.

Photos had not done Archie Bowman justice.

At all.

The Internet had him looking cute and charming, like he might still ask your dad if he could take you out on a date. This man …

“I’m guessing you know who that is?” Katie purred in my ear.

“Sure do.” I turned to set my glass on my counter, remove the risk of dropping it should any more shockingly beautiful men march through the bar door. And remove the temptation of staring at the previous one. “He’s practically a teenager.”

“He’s twenty-five, and he’s gorgeous.” Katie kicked at me with her sneaker. Clearly my anti-wingman rebuffs earlier had really hit home. “G-o-orgeous.”

“Like I’d be interested in a kid like that.” But somehow, my gaze had drifted to the corner, where Archie Bowman was bestowing his grin upon the guys around the pool table. They all grinned right back. Delighted at the prospect of sharing the spotlight with a star.

“Not interested?” Katie leaned her face in front of mine so I wouldn’t miss her very dramatic eye roll. “Sure you’re not, Grandpa. Did I mention he’s British?”

As if on cue, a roar of laughter—JJ—ballooned up over the bar. “Shit. You as good at pool as you are at hockey, Bowie?”

And the response was, indeed, very British. “Of course. I’m bloody brilliant.”

Fuck.

He had a voice to go along with that face. Soft and smooth and, well, British. Damn it. That accent was my kryptonite. And Katie knew it, too. From the way she was grinning, I’d never live down whatever smitten expression I’d made.

“Told you.” Katie polished off her beer, and the bartender zoomed over with another. “British and hot. Maybe you should buy him a drink.”

I let my eyes return to the pool table for one more glance. But even that one glance was enough to tell me what I needed to know. The way he stood. Threw his head back to laugh. The way they all laughed with him. Turned towards him. Mimicked his posture. He was the center of attention, and he knew it.

That was the problem with stars: they had the ego to go with the talent. Hot, yeah. Talented, no way to deny that. “He seems like a major dick.”

Katie scoffed. “Doesn’t stop you from staring at him.”

“Not saying he’s not attractive.” I pried my eyes away to meet hers. Which, I might add, sparkled with mischief. “But I’m not interested. There’s a reason I don’t date hockey players.”

Katie’s face lost some of its amusement—for a second—as she read something between those lines. But then her smile popped back quickly. “So, if I said they were coming over, you’d be cool about it?”

“Fuck.” I turned in time to see the crew ambling up to the bar.

Rowan crashed in next to me in his typical stormy manner, giving me another good look at those knuckles.

“That asshat center still playing for the Cavs?” Rowan leaned past Aaron and Zac towards the lithe blond figure who’d propped his elbows on the counter. Naturally, Bowman was the middle of the group.

“Who, Lövgren?” Bowman asked as the bartender slid six shot glasses onto the bar. For another crack in time, I thought I saw the boy at the door again, shoulders hunched, head down, tongue sliding out to wet his bottom lip. Not that I would fixate on something like that.

Then he tilted his gaze towards Rowan—and by proxy, me—and that big, cocky grin washed over his perfect face. Fuck, he had green eyes. “You’re Five-Donuts, aren’t you? Oh, man he loves you.”

JJ tipped his head back in a whole-body laugh as Rowan’s hands clenched into such tight fists one of his knuckles split under the pressure. I opted not to point out that he was now dripping blood onto the bar top. Felt like something he might try to hit me for, the mood he was in.

Not that I’d let him.

“Just for that,” JJ said, “I think you’re taking my shot.”

JJ slid his glass in front of Bowman, and Zac slapped him on the shoulder. “Hell yeah. We’re fuckin’ celebrating tonight!”

“Shit.” Bowman’s grin went crooked, and my insides definitely didn’t do any funky swooping or diving. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

“I hope so.” Aaron raised his glass. “You ready, Bowie?”

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