Page 36 of Puck Struck
The rest of the ride is spent talking about nonsensical crap.But it’s a nice distraction from the thoughts normally looping though my mind.
“Larson told me that Sin City is in town this week and that they might be doing a private concert somewhere in the city,” Colby says. “We should go. I love their music. Tate and Masterson said the last private concert they did was off the hook.”
“Sounds good,” I say, not really listening but instead looking out the tinted glass to see a long line of people waiting to get into the bar for the event. My stomach clenches. Great, more people to convince that I really do belong here, that I’m not a total fraud.
The SUV pulls up to the curb and the crowd goes wild when I hop out of the backseat. I flash my biggest, brightest smile and wave. The screams get louder.
“Wow, Foster,” Colby says once he catches up to me. “You’re like a god. They all want a piece of you.”
Until they dig deep enough to find out the truth.
I grit my teeth to shut my annoying-as-fuck inner voice up.
The bouncers clear a path and guide us inside. Neon signs hang behind the bar, strobe lights dangle over the hardwood dance floor in the center of the place. The event is loud. Wall-to-wall people wearing our jerseys. Cameras and fans are packed shoulder-to-shoulder like sardines. It smells like beer and fried food and my stomach clenches from the stench.
I move through the crowd with a smile plastered across my face, signing pucks and snapping selfies with fans.
But every so often, I glance around the room, searching for a face that shouldn’t be there.
A camera that takes one too many photos.
A face that’s haunted my nightmares.
I feel hunted.
And I don’t know where the next shot will come from.
I lean on the bar, sipping a club soda, trying to calm my breathing when Logan walks in. He’s in jeans and a dark Raptors t-shirt that hugs his thick muscular arms. God, he looks like sin with those deep-set icy blue eyes, dark hair, and beard. I want to know how it feels, scratching against my face…and everywhere else.
I swear the air changes when he enters a room. People move around him like they know better than to block the impending storm.
He spots me.
Nods once, jaw tense.
I nod back, keeping it cool, but something inside me flares.
He doesn’t walk over to me right away. Just watches me from across the bar while talking to Carter and Coach Enver.
But I feel him. Every damn second that I stand there.
The bartender walks over to me, a cute brunette with big brown eyes and curly hair piled on top of her head. “Hey, handsome. They want you on the mic in five. Quick Q&A for the fans. Smile pretty,” she says. “They love you.”
I force a smile. “Got it, thanks.” I walk to the front, heart hammering harder in my chest with every step. Colby and Jaren follow, grinning like idiots.
The questions are simple to start. They ask us how the season’s going, what our favorite pregame meal is, if we have pregame rituals, blah blah blah. I answer them all, playing the part I know by heart.
Then a woman near the back raises her hand. “Cam, you went directly from junior hockey into the fray of the NHL. Seems like you’ve had a pretty charmed life. How are you dealing with all of the attention you’ve been getting?”
I freeze.
That word.
Charmed.
I laugh it off, shaking my head. “It’s definitely been a wild ride. I’ve had to fight for every inch, though. Don’t let the smile fool you. Nothing comes easy.”
A few people chuckle.
