Page 2 of Dancing in the Rain

“Get the hell out of here before we call the cops,” one of the big bouncers said to him in a low voice, giving him a shove.

“Gotta pay for my drinks,” he mumbled, reaching for his wallet.

“Forget it. On the house.”

Drew stumbled out of Jimmy’s Kitchen and Bar, one of his favorite local watering holes, onto Southport Avenue. What. The. Fuck. Drunk, bleeding, and now he was fucking laughing. Damn, that had felt good. He shook out his throbbing hand as he walked unsteadily down the sidewalk to his Porsche. He had his hand in his pocket looking for his keys when he paused.

He closed his eyes. Okay, he was drunk and he’d been doing a lot of stupid, risky things lately…It was only a few blocks to his place. Driving was so much easier than trying to track down a cab, but…aw, fuck. Even he knew better than to drive drunk. With a sigh, he walked past his car and kept going toward Wrightwood.

—

Drew flashed the cute barista a smile the next morning as he accepted his large Americano and turned to leave the coffee shop. At nearly eleven in the morning, the café was almost empty. He’d slept in after a late night, but what difference did it make what time he got up when he had nothing else to do?

His temples pulsed with a faint headache, the result of those Fireball shots and too many beers last night, not to mention the small bar brawl. He was about to slide his sunglasses back onto his nose and step outside into the bright September sunlight when a woman stopped in front of him.

“Drew?”

The blond hair first made him think of Savannah from last night. But no. He eyed her. Not one of the women he’d partied with lately either, so probably just a hockey fan who recognized him. He summoned a smile despite the small hockey sticks tapping inside his skull. “Yes?”

“Drew Sellers?”

“That’s me.” He studied the woman, taking in her thin frame and pale face, stylish short blond hair, and dark blue eyes. Something about her tweaked his memory, but he couldn’t place her.

She was studying him, too, those blue eyes big and hesitant as her gaze swept over him, lingering on the cut above his eyebrow. “You don’t remember me, do you?” she asked quietly, not in an accusing or even disappointed tone, as he’d heard a couple of times when he’d run into women he didn’t recall meeting before. “That’s okay.”

“I’m sorry…we’ve met?”

“Yes.” Her teeth sank into her bottom lip and her fingers twisted the strap of her purse around and around. “A long time ago, though.”

This was getting awkward and he wasn’t sure how to extricate himself. Damn, he needed some Advil. “I’m sorry,” he said again, lifting his eyebrows.

“Sara Watt.” She shook her head. “I don’t think you ever knew my last name. We met one night at Notre Dame.”

“University of Notre Dame?” He frowned.

“Yes.”

Jesus, that was going way back. He’d played two years of hockey at Boston University, and they’d played against the Fighting Irish a couple of times a season.

“I didn’t know your last name, either,” she continued quickly. “Until a few weeks ago.”

“Uh…okay.”

Her smile stretched her lips but it held no humor. “We, uh, hooked up one night.”

Drew nodded. Yep, awkward. Not remembering that was insulting, but even if he did remember, it would still be awkward twelve or thirteen years later. He rubbed the stubble on his jaw. “Forgive me,” he said, trying not to be an asshole.

She licked her lips quickly. “It’s okay,” she said. “It was one night. It’s not like you broke my heart.” That tense smile appeared briefly again. “Look, um, I know this is weird. But I need to talk to you.”

Drew’s body went cold and still. Because those words were always enough to strike frozen fear into the heart of any man. Fuck, no…it was too ridiculous. This woman he didn’t even recognize appearing out of the blue was not about to tell him he had a child he’d never known about. Why was he even thinking that?

He wouldn’t be the first guy that had ever happened to, but it would be pretty fucking bizarre if it happened now,, when his career was over, his wife had dumped his ass, and his life was basically a goddamn wasteland of broken hopes and dreams. Sure, there were women who tried to claim a pro athlete had knocked them up. Didn’t this chick know he had nothing to offer? It wasn’t like he’d just signed a five-year, thirty-million-dollar deal with the Blackhawks. He wasdone. Done like lobster in butter sauce.

So that couldn’t be what was happening here.

He held up a hand. “Look, honey, I don’t know who you are, but you’ve got the wrong guy. And maybe you haven’t heard, but I’m a washed-up, retired winger. There’s no point in even trying this.”

Her mouth dropped open. Those big blue eyes stared at him, and then cobalt sparks flashed in them. She snapped her mouth closed and her lips thinned. “I think you should hear me out.”

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