Page 161 of Full Mountie

I pull the phone out and scroll through the last few updates.

Everyone is leaving the hospital now, letting the new mom and baby have some much needed rest.

I missed the gathering.

I head out to my truck. Damn it.

I drive back into the city. Instead of heading straight home, I park just off of Bank Street and head for my favourite coffee shop.

Any minute now, the news is going to break. This might be my last chance to soak up some adoring fan attention. Take some selfies, get some numbers of hot, easy hockey fans.

Can’t wait to see you in nothing but my jersey, babe.

Works every time.

A couple of co-eds recognize me in line, and the attention soothes my soul like a sex balm. Yeah, honeys. Room for both of you in that jersey if you squeeze tight enough. Tits together. Cuddle up on my lap. That would make me feel better.

After we take a couple of good shots for Instagram and SnapChat and whatever else they know about and I don’t because I’m old and broken and too damn expensive for my team—okay, now I’m reeling, the shock is wearing off—I excuse myself to order the coffee I came in for.

Might be my last in this city. Until I come back as just another guy who used to be famous here.

Didn’t you use to play for the Senators?

Sure did. You’d look good in my Vancouver jersey, though.

Doesn’t have the same ring to it, even if the Lumberjacks are heading into next year with a solid chance at the playoffs.

“So, like…throwing down with some barely legal puck bunnies is more important than celebrating your friend’s new baby?”

I brace myself against the coffee bar and count backwards from ten.

I get to seven before I spin around and give Sasha Brewster my best don’t-give-a-fuck-so-fuck-off smirk. “Bustin’ balls as usual, I see.”

She flips her perfect blonde hair and smirks right back. “Baby’s adorable, by the way. A boy. They’ve named him Noah. And we all agreed you can’t be left unsupervised with him until he’s thirty-five.”

“I’m a fine influence on children.”

“You’re a public menace.” She flicks her wrist. “Go hang out with your afternoon bedmates. You’re in my way and I have studying to do tonight. I need coffee.”

“All work and no play makes Sasha a b—” I cut myself off, even though her expression doesn’t change. “You know what? I was just meeting some fans. It’s a free country and I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

“I’m sure their parents will be thrilled to see a man old enough to be their father hanging on them.”

“I’m not—” Shit. Quick math says that I am.

She taps her tongue against the top of her mouth and makes a sound like she’s telling a horse to get going.

I see red. I move to the side, but I don’t go bloody far.

I wait, patiently, quietly, until she’s got her coffee, and then I follow her outside.

“What are you doing?”

“Following you home like a creeper,” I say mildly, because the length of time it took for her to get her coffee was just enough time for my rage to simmer and re-focus.

She smirks again. We’re smirk twins today.

But there’s something else I recognize in her expression. She’s fearless.

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