Page 18 of Power Play

I laughed. The End Zone was one of those giant sports bars downtown with dozens of big screens along every wall, with a bunch of draft beer specials. And wings. Lots and lots of wings.

It was not a place we ever hung out because we knew we’d be crowded all night by fans wanting autographs, groupies wanting selfies, and old guys who wanted to tell us how much tougher hockey players were back in their day.

“Dude, we’ll get crushed,” I pointed out.

“That’s the point. The fans. We’ll be right there with them,” Staski said, clapping my shoulder. “They will be so happy.”

Henrik, a twenty-year-old Viking from Sweden, nodded. “I like the uniforms the servers wear.”

The uniforms were tight striped referee shirts and shorts so short they could pass for bikini bottoms.

I drained the martini I’d been nursing. “Let’s do it.”

Twenty minutes later we were walking into the giant sports bar. It was getting close to last call but the place was still full. A west coast baseball game was on a few of the screens, but most of them were filled with a replay of game seven and Rousseaux’s many saves.

The moment the three of us walked in, there was a ripple across the room. A sudden silence.

“Holy shit,” someone said, and a hundred heads turned our way. All eyes on us.

“Drinks on me!” Staski shouted, and the bar went apeshit.

5

Kit

He was here.

At my job. A conquering hero surrounded by his devoted fans.

It was my worst nightmare come true.

He wore black dress pants and a black vest over a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up over those strong forearms dusted with golden hair. He wore diamonds in his ears and gold around his neck, with a big fat Rolex on his wrist.

He was gorgeous, flashing that smile around.

I immediately went into hiding, like a filthy little woodland creature who smelled of beer, sweat and wing sauce.

“Gotta change the Bud keg,” I said to Ben, my manager. Keeping my face averted so Liam couldn’t see me.

Please, I prayed to whatever god was still giving me the time of day, please don’t let Liam see me.

“Hurry back!” Ben shouted, filling pint glasses as fast as was humanly possible. “We’re getting crushed.”

Feeling just a bit guilty, I went down to the basement. What if I just left? Walked away? I could get another job. I mean, it’s not like I hadnoskills. I might not get a job with tips as good as what I got at the End Zone in my black short shorts and this stupid referee shirt.

I pulled the zipper that most of us wore halfway down our chests all the way up to my neck.

“Kit!” Amber shouted from the top of the stairs. “We’re dying up here.”

I hung my head for one second, unzipped the zipper back down my chest and gave myself the best pep talk I could.

You’re not ashamed of your job.

I swapped out the keg, and then went back up the stairs where the party was just getting started.

For a solid hour, I was able to avoid him. I worked the cocktail tables while he sat at the bar with Henrik, the young guy, and Staski, the slightly terrifying Russian. Fans surrounded them, firing questions, getting selfies.

But as the night wore on, the cocktail tables and the booths cleared out and everyone was at the bar.

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