Page 69 of The Secret Play

I needed to get out of my own head, even if just for a little while. If I stared at the same four walls all night long again, I’d go crazy. The relentless quiet of my house was more than I could take. So I grabbed my jacket and headed to Smokey’s, the kind of bar where the lights were dim, the drinks were strong, and everyone loved hockey.

Gabriel Moreau was a right winger out of Alberta, and when he came to Atlanta, he had opened Smokey’s. His son, Xavi, was a great defender for the Fire, so between the two of them, they had plenty of real memorabilia on the walls of the bar. The place was otherwise wooden—the floor, the walls, the bar itself. All highly polished and well-maintained. The perfect place for a drink after a long day.

Maybe it was the post-sex haze, but I’d forgotten the guys would be here to celebrate going for the Cup.

Smokey’s was overtaken by a raucous party. Beers and cheers in every direction. Sliding onto a stool at the bar, I nodded at Gabe and ordered a whiskey. The first sip burned going down, but I welcomed the sting.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a few of the guys from the team sitting at a table in the back, laughing and talking. Some flirted with the puck bunnies that hung around the bar, just waiting for my players to show up. None of them had seen me yet, and I wasn’t in the mood to join them. They were celebrating, while I was…well, I just needed a quiet drink, and a little time to let the noise in my head die down.

I was halfway through my second whiskey when a woman slid onto the stool next to me. She was tall and slim, with dark hair and a confident smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Before Gemma came along, I might have been interested. Now, she was just a pretty woman, and the world was full of those.

“Rough night?” she asked, her voice smooth and casual, as if she hadn’t just arched her back a little to thrust her breasts into the conversation.

“I’ve had rougher.”

“You don’t seem like the Smokey’s type.”

I glanced at her then, raising an eyebrow. She was a little older than most of the crowd. Like me. As far as I could see, neither of us belonged at Smokey’s. “And what’s Smokey’s type?”

“No one drinks alone in a place like this,” she said, smiling as she motioned to the bar around us.

I huffed a quiet laugh, shaking my head. “Maybe I’m just bad at blending in. Never really mastered the skill.”

Her smile lingered, and I turned back to my drink, hoping she’d take the hint. Sadly, she didn’t. “So, what brings you here?”

“Just needed a drink.”

“Alone?” she pressed, her tone shifting to something more suggestive. She rested her hand on my forearm.

Before I could respond, an enormous man appeared behind her, his expression hard and his size imposing between us. “You hitting on my girl?”

I turned slowly, meeting his glare with a calmness I didn’t feel. Must have been the whiskey doing its job. If he slugged me, I’d probably fall right off the stool. Right now, I didn’t care that much. The truth was, the moment I realized I wasn’t good enough for Gemma and Winnie, I had given up.

I wanted to figure something out, but the questions kept coming, and I had no answers. So, letting this guy beat the tar out of me sounded like as good a plan as any other.

But he was huge, and I liked my teeth. “Not hitting on her, no. We were just talking.”

“Didn’t look like just talking to me. Looked to me like you were touching her.”

“I wasn’t touching her. She was touching me,” I said, holding up a hand. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“Too late for that,” he said, raising his fist.

Before the guy could take a swing, someone caught his wrist. “Hey!”

I turned to see Nico and a few of the guys from the team standing nearby, their expressions just as hard as the gorilla threatening me.

“That’s our coach,” Nico said, releasing his wrist. “You got a problem with him, you got a problem with all of us. I don’t think you want a problem with all of us, do ya, pal?”

“Coach? What are you, some kinda cheerleading squad?”

Luke stepped up to him, big guy to big guy. “We’re the fucking Atlanta Fire, asshole. You wanna fight a hockey team? And their fans?”

It was then I realized the whole bar had watched this play out. The music had died. Gabe stood behind the bar, baseball bat in hand, ready to jump in. Xavi had popped behind the bar to grab a stick off the display over the cash register. Every person in this bar was ready to jump in.

The man’s jaw clenched as he assessed his odds. Glancing at the group of large, imposing hockey players, as well as an entire bar staring him down must have shaken him out of his fighting stupor. He muttered something under his breath, grabbed the woman’s arm, and stormed out of the bar.

The music came back on, and Gabe shouted, “Free round on the house!” which lightened everybody’s mood, turning things back to the party atmosphere his place was famous for.

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