Page 57 of Hooked On Them

About half the normal crew was already there, a few of them flanked by their significant others. I spotted Atwater’s wife, Smith’s boyfriend, and Hensley’s girlfriend who, as usual, looked like she’d stepped out of a fashion campaign.

“Guys,” I said as we approached the cluster of tables they’d pushed together, “this is Nora.”

“We know who Nora is.” Hensley grinned, raising his beer in our direction. “What we didn’t know is that you were tapping that?—”

“Hensley!” I barked, my cheeks heating as several players snickered.

Hensley’s girlfriend elbowed him in the ribs, and the sudden urge I had to punch him dissipated.

“Sorry.” Hensley held his side, a slight pout forming on his lips.

“Why is he like this?” Nora murmured beside me, but I was relieved to feel her relax slightly against me.

“You’ve been holding out on us, Cap!” Jenkins slid over on the bench, making room. “How long have you two been sneaking around?”

“We weren’t sneaking.” I guided Nora toward the open spot. She slid in first, and I followed, hyper-aware of how our thighs pressed together in the cramped space. “Just keeping things professional.”

“That’s one word for it,” Porter said suggestively.

“I think it’s sweet.” Stevens, bless him, leaned forward to look at me and Nora with a reassuring smile. He was our youngest defenseman and still had that Iowa farm boy vibe. “Coach Hastings is always watching you during practice, Cap. Not sure what she sees, honestly.”

I take back my previous statement. He was the devil.

Nora choked on nothing. “I do not! I watch everyone. That’s my job.”

“Sure, sure.” Hensley winked exaggeratedly. “And I’m being thorough when I stare at my girlfriend’s ass.”

Hensley’s girlfriend gave him a death glare, and I wondered how long this one would last for him. He always seemed to have a girlfriend, but he went through them about as frequently as socks.

The table erupted in laughter and high-fives. I caught Nora’s eye and gave what I hoped was an apologetic grimace. She responded by sliding her hand onto my knee under the table, which sent a jolt through my system before I realized it was part of our act.

Right. Fake boyfriend. Focus.

“What’s the suit doing here?” Porter jerked his chin toward Carter, who had come in from his call and was now hovering at the edge of our group. He looked a bit like a lost dog.

A nervous hush fell over the table.

Jenkins looked at his empty beer glass. “Should we, like, not be drinking in front of the boss?”

Carter laughed, dropping into a chair that someone hastily pulled up for him. “Please. I’m here as a friend.” He glanced at Nora with a look that made something twist in my gut. “And the next round is on me along with any food.”

A cheer went up, and just like that, Carter was accepted. Is that what money did? Made people instantly like you? Or was it his easy charisma, the way he leaned back in his chair like he’d known these guys for years?

“So, Campbell.” Stevens turned his attention to Carter after a waitress had taken our drink orders. “That was a hell of a game tonight, huh? That third-period play where Hensley caught the drop pass after Wilson faked the shot was a total beauty.”

“Absolutely.” Carter nodded enthusiastically. “Epic moment. And that hit in the second quarter? Was totally unnecessary roughness. Should’ve been a penalty.”

Nora covered her mouth to conceal a strangled laugh. I glanced over at her, and she had her attention on Carter, amusement in her eyes.

“Second quarter, you say?” Porter leaned forward, a shit-eating grin forming on his face. “When their defenseman nearly took Collins’s head off?”

“Yeah, really brutal,” Carter said without missing a beat. “That guy should have had a time-out.”

My eyes narrowed. Hockey 101: we don’t have “unnecessary roughness” penalties. That’s football. And we definitely didn’t call being sent to the penalty box a time-out.

Or have quarters.

Interesting. Very interesting.

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