Page 69 of First Puck

It had been ten minutes since I left Brad, and my body was still humming with furious excitement. I hadn’t wanted it to go that way. In all my years of preparing myself, I’d imagined scenarios where I’d grown so angry with him I’d just shouted at him and told him I loved him. But it wasn’t the same as actually doing it.

I knew I wasn’t going to sleep for an entire week, but this was too much. I couldn’t deal with listening to him snore away when I’d screwed it up so badly.

I was an idiot; I’d always been an idiot. But Brad kept giving me moments of hope, and I couldn’t resist him. I’d never been able to, especially when he was talking like that.

My phone pinged and I prayed it was Brad. Instead, Lance’s name flashed up.

Two minutes.

Tommy sat on a stool at the end of the bar. The only reason I came was because Lance knew he was there, and I only chose this table so Tommy could watch whatever performance Lance was cooking up.

All I wanted was to stare at the wall and preserve the feel of Brad on my lips, but I preferred this over walking around the town and working myself up.

Brad might even come down to the bar to find me.

Tommy suddenly perked up, and my gaze swung to the door as humid air rushed in, quickly drowned out by the A/C.

Lance entered the bar in his usual fashion: catwalk ready. Hefty black jeans clenched his thighs, a deep V-neck white silk shirt exposed his blonde chest hair, and the sparkling presence surrounding him all demanded attention as he strode into the room. I knew he’d clocked Tommy, but he fixed his gaze on me as he burst into a wide grin.

The team was used to him, but anyone who didn’t know him before was instantly caught by his star power. Hungry and curious looks of the bartenders and waiters followed him from the door to my booth as he slipped his hands into his pockets, his unnecessary scarf swaying over his broad chest.

“Hey,” Lance said with a low hum as he arrived. The second he saw my face, he reached out, softly pressing his thick fingers to the underside of my chin and tilting my head back to meet my tangled gaze. “You alright?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but I wasn’t sure where to begin. I eased back out of his grasp, searching for a real answer.

“Alex?” he said as he slid onto the leather bench right next to me, his concern genuine. He glued his shoulder and thigh to mine.

“What happened?” he asked.

His hand crept forward, the tips of his fingers gently prying mine away from the glass I clutched with both hands, tucking them under the table. I let him move me, but I shot him a look, and the concern which had creased his brow was replaced by another silky grin as he squeezed my hand.

I guessed we were going at it again. Tommy was directly in our line of sight, and it wasn’t hard to miss how his head snapped back to the mirror behind the bar every time one of us even looked his way.

“I should ask you that. Your texts sounded worried. Did something happen again?” I asked, noting the bags under his eyes which hadn’t come from a bad crash against a barrier.

Darkness flickered over his face as he swiped my untouched Coke, taking a gulp.

It felt like he was using it as a distraction.

“Hmm, the same stuff,” Lance said as he lowered the glass, his voice missing its trademark lilt. “It’s always ‘choose a team’ from Dad and ‘win for me’ from Mom. She’d rather watch me win ahockey game than visit her in hospital. How fucked up is that?” He flicked me a glance, a crease appearing on his brow, as if he realized he said too much. His expression morphed into the smoother, more collected Lance everyone knew as he hitched a brow.

“Besides, from the look you’re giving me, I’m guessing something happened to you, too. Did I rescue you from a sticky situation with my family drama?”

I could have ignored his change in direction and tried to make him talk about it, but he didn’t come out because he wanted to dig into his situation. He would have asked to go somewhere more private if he did.

“I guess, yeah.” I twisted my lips as I avoided his gaze. “So, er, Lance…” I cleared my throat. I didn't know how to tell him properly, so I was just going to say it. The total opposite of how I was with Brad.

“I don’t want to do this anymore.” I peeked at him from the corner of my eye. “Brad 9.0, I mean,” I mumbled as I focused intensely on my empty hand resting on the table and not Lance's weighty stare. “I think we should stop.

“Are you serious?” His face lit with amusement. “Are you fake breaking up with me? It’s only been two weeks,” he said, lowering the empty glass back to the table.

“And that’s enough. Some of the plans barely lasted three days.”

“Hmm, that is true. But I had such a good feeling about this one.” Lance’s hand returned to mine under the table, his fingers brushing over my knuckles. “You sure you don’t want to entertain me for just a bit longer? I really need the distraction.”

I pulled out of his grasp, shaking my head. “It’s too serious now. I don’t like it.” I pressed my lips together, looking for the right words to explain it. “I don’t like that it hurts more than when I never said anything to him.”

Lance lifted a hand to his left jaw, his trembling exaggerated as he stroked another purple bruise that meandered up around his ear.

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