Page 43 of Second Shot

Two hours later, we’re packed into a restaurant called The Rusty Axe that feels like it walks the line between both a tourist trap and local hangout. The walls are covered with old logging equipment and black-and-white photos of Twin Pines’ lumber mill heyday, while a jukebox in the corner plays classic rock at a volume that makes conversation possible but not easy.

Our victory seems to have earned us grudging respect from the locals, or more likely they’re just happy to take our money. Either way, the bartender, a woman with dark hair and intricate sleeve tattoos, and a smile that suggests she’s used to horny, drunk hockey players, keeps our drinks flowing and our table stocked with wings and nachos.

“How about a toast to Caldwell,” Foster shouts, raising his beer high enough that half the bar turns to look. “Finally got his first W as a Seadragon.”

The guys cheer and clink glasses, and I feel heat creep up my neck at being the center of attention. But it’s good heat this time. I feel relieved that at least we have one win under our belt. Victory even makes the beer taste better.

“And to Jacobs,” Petrov adds with that quiet authority that makes everyone listen. “You and Caldwell are money together.”

“Hey, we all played well tonight,” Gabe says, looking down at his drink like the attention makes him uncomfortable.

When he finally looks up, I smile and catch his eye across the table. Something passes between us that has nothing to do with hockey. I know he’s still attracted to me, and the thought of having him again makes heat curl low in my belly. Technically, the opportunity is there. It’s an away game and we’re sharing a motel room. Butwhen we checked in, he was all business. He made no attempt to touch me or kiss me. And fair enough. I mean, we had a game to play. That was where our focus needed to be.

But now that the game is over, I’d love to have a celebratory fuck. It would be the perfect way to end an already spectacular night. But I’m not sure where his head is at. We haven’t had sex since the night at his house. He’s been friendly and we’re vibing on the ice, but I’m not sure if once was enough for him. Was I too clingy after sex? Maybe the fact that I wanted to cuddle a little after we fucked was a turn off for him. I don’t usually even like that, something that annoyed the crap out of Tam. But I wanted that with Gabe.

The night progresses in a blur of laughter and war stories from guys. I like listening to them talk. I finally feel a part of the team. I know it’s only one win, but our victory lets me believe I’ve turned a corner. I now know I can win with this team. Gabe and me made a fearsome duo out there on the ice. I feel fucking unstoppable so long as Gabe is out there with me.

Our group is loud and raucous and I can’t stop watching Gabe. I love the throaty sound of his laugh when he finds something Foster says hilarious. I want to hear that sound more often. I want to be a part of what makes him happy. The thoughts I have about Gabe are almost obsessive.I have no right to feel like he’s mine, but I can’t seem to help it.

Now that he’s not glaring at me constantly, I can see what a good guy he is. I understand now why the team is protective of him. He puts others first. He listens when the younger guys talk, actually paying attention instead of just waiting for his turn to talk. He’s humble in the way he casually dismisses compliments about his own play while highlighting what everyone else did right. I don’t feel worthy of his attention, but I still crave it.

As the night progresses, and I get drunker, I can’t stop fixating about getting Gabe alone. I want to peel him out of his clothes and offer him my ass again. I want to show him exactly how grateful I am for the way he’s had my back, both on the ice and off. But dragging him back to our hotel room in the middle of the celebration, with half our team sitting right here, is too risky. I can’t do anything that obvious. He’s made it clear he doesn’t want anyone to know about us.

I’m really enjoying my night up until the point where some red-haired twink comes over to sit next to Jacobs. They’re right across from me so I’m forced to watch them more than I’d like. When it gets too touchy feely on the twink’s part, I move to a stool at the bar just so they’re not directly in my line of sight.

The twink is young, cute, and far too confident. He’s wearing a pink crop tank and jeans, and he touches Jacobs’ thigh more than I’d like. I wish Jacobs would brush him off, but he doesn’t. He’s friendly, even chatty, and doesn’t seem to mind the guy’s hands on him.

“Another drink?” the bartender asks, appearing at my elbow with a flirty smile. I’m happy for the distraction. I was getting cross-eyed staring at Jacobs and that fucking guy.

“Sure,” I say, smiling back at her.

“I thought you lookedthirsty,” she says, her voice full of inuendo. She smells nice and she’s pretty in an edgy way that usually appeals to me. I’m attracted to women and men, and she’d probably be an easy lay. She’s definitely been giving me all the signs that she’s interested.

“You trying to get me drunk?” I tease.

“What if I am?” She positions herself so that I can see down her low cut top, and she’s leaning close enough that her arm brushes mine. She makes intense eye contact, her gaze lasting longer than is strictly professional.

“What makes you think I’m corruptible?”

She laughs. “I don’t know. There’s just something about you that makes me think I could get you drunk and have my way with you.”

I can’t help grinning at her confidence. “I’m Ryan, by the way.”

“Hey, Ryan.” She smirks. “I’m Jessica.”

“Were you at the hockey game tonight?”

She shakes her head, her long dark hair slipping over her shoulder. “Nope. I had to work. But I wouldn’t have gone anyway. I don’t like hockey. Just hockey players.”

I laugh because she’s definitely not subtle. “If you’re not into hockey, what do you do for fun around here, Jessica?”

She runs her tongue over her bottom lip. “I usually just work and have sex with lonely, out of town hockey players.”

Jessica has a one track mind.

“Is that right?”

“Yep.” She slides my fresh beer toward me. “I like to ride them hard and put them away wet.” That gets a real laugh out of me and she grins. “Too much? I tend to get poetic when I’m horny.”

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