Page 11 of Hot for the Hockey Player
I parked my rental truck—a black Ford F-150—in front of my cabin, but didn’t bother going inside.My gait was still slow, and I used the light on my phone to make sure I didn’t accidentally trip on a fallen branch or a rock as I made my way back over the one-lane grassy path toward the pub.
The sound of the kitchen staff echoed out of the open back door, along with some profanity-riddled rap music I’m sure they weren’t allowed to play at the front of house.
Yanking open the old, weather-worn wooden door, I was instantly greeted by the much mellower sounds of classic rock at a subtle decibel, and pockets of friendly conversation.
“Hey, aren’t you Maverick Roy of the Portland Storm?”asked the blond-haired guy behind the bar.He was probably around my age, with blue eyes, a cheeky smile, and a swimmer’s build—tall, broad shoulders, narrow waist.
I took a seat at the bar in front of him.“I think so.”
His grin grew, and he extended his hand over to me.“Cool.Welcome to the island.I’m Logan.”
“What do you recommend on tap, Logan?”
His lips pursed.“Everything, really.But the Belgian witbier is a favorite right now.”
“I’ll have a pint.I’m staying in one of the cabins, so I don’t need to worry about driving home.”
Logan’s brows hiked until they kissed the thick, chunky curl that fell over his forehead.“Oh really?For how long?”
I shrugged.“Few months, maybe.I’m on medical leave.So …”
He nodded like he knew the rest and wasn’t going to make me relive itagain.“Cool, man.My cousins own the place and they took pity on me.Gave me a job and a place to crash.I just live up the hill.”He grabbed a pint mug from behind the bar and put it under the tap before pulling the lever, filling the clear mug with a frothy honey-colored brew.
I glanced around the big, lively place.High ceilings with dark rafters, lots of recessed lighting with warm bulbs, comfy-looking booths along two of the walls, and what I’m assuming was an outdoor patio that they probably shut down for the winter.It was modern meets coastal, meets homey-chic.If that was even a thing.Definite masculine energy with all the dark wood and some sharp angles to the metal ocean-themed artwork on the walls, but not in an off-putting or uninviting way like the way some of my teammates styled their condos.
A white-blonde woman with gray eyes and a rebellious smirk on her lips came up to the POS machine near me.“I know you,” she said, not stopping from punching in the order.
“You do?”I asked as Logan set my beer down in front of me.
“Yeah.You’re that guy.That hockey player that all the girls want to bang.But some guy banged you—non-sexually—from behind, and now you’re this medical mystery.Nobody knows if you’ll ever walk, talk, or chew gum again.”Her gaze roamed me from head to toe.“I don’t see a wheelchair, and you’re talking.So I guess the only question that remains is … have you tried chewing gum?”
I tossed my head back and let out a loud bark of a laugh.
“Ignore Renée,” Logan said, grabbing a bottle of red and a wineglass from behind the bar to start filling Renée’s order.“She gives everybody a hard time.No one is safe.”
“Not even you, lover boy.”She stuck her tongue out at him, then blew him a kiss.
He rolled his eyes, but the affection Logan had for her was clear on his face.She grabbed the wineglass he put up on the bar and took it over to a table where a couple appeared to be on a date.
“I take it she’s yours?”I asked.
“And I’m a lucky fucker that she is.”
I snickered and took a sip of my beer, the condensation on the glass making my hand wet.“So besides drink, what is there to do on this island anyway?I’m stuck here for a while, doing rehab with Rolph Mazurenko, but that’s not twenty-four-seven.”
“I’ve only been here a few months myself—arrived in November—so I’ve been asking the same damn question for a while now.They tell me the summer is amazing, and there’s so much to do, then the island literally hibernates from November to March.”
I frowned.“There’s got to besomething.”
Logan shrugged.“You interested in ordering some food, dude?”
I leaned back and patted my belly.“Wish I could.And I will, just not tonight.I had the best chicken parm of my life earlier.”
He cocked his head to the side for a moment, then started to retrieve the clean glasses from the glass cleaner and put them away.“Where?Not at the Thatch?They’re food’s okay … I mean the nachos are good.”
“No … uh, at Gabrielle Campbell’s.Do you know her?”
The man could barely contain his eyebrows at his point and nearly lost them to the ceiling rafters.“Are you dating Gabrielle?”
