Page 15 of Enticing the Enforcer
Jefferson
The place is buzzing–shoulderto shoulder with fans from the game, all riding the high of our win. Every table is packed, the bar is three deep, and the air smells like beer, sweat, and victory. Feels fucking good.
There’s no actual drinking allowed, not this close to the finals. The food is greasy and hits the spot after burning thousands of calories on the ice. Most of the team is mingling with a fresh group of puck bunnies since we’re not on our home turf. These are expert level bunnies, willing to come out for the Championship, happy to help celebrate our win.
I saidmostof the team. Reese, Reid, and Axel are tucked into a booth with overflowing baskets of food in front of them and wide-ass grins. No girls on their laps, no numbers being handed over, nothing but the sound of their laughter echoing under the music and clinking glasses. Whipped bastards. I tease them for it, naturally.
“Remember when you used to be fun?” I nudge Axel as I pass by.
He just flips me off and raises a chicken wing. “Remember when you weren’t jealous?”
I smirk. “Jealous? Of your missionary sex and lack of mystery?”
“Monogamy’s good for the soul,” Reese chimes in with that smug, post-win glow.
“Maybe,” I say, stretching. “But while you’re doomed for a night of rubbing off to phone sex, I’m going to have the real deal.”
They don’t care. They’re content with their relationships–safe with the thought of their girls back home. Me? I’ve got a little more energy to burn.
I weave through the crowd, letting the heat of the room settle into my skin. There's no shortage of hot women in the bar tonight–smiles flashing, eyes lingering. One of them slides into step beside me at the bar. Tall, blonde, clearly knows what she’s doing. Her elbow brushes mine and she leans in close enough to smell her shampoo.
“You’re one of the players, right? Enforcer.” Her eyes drop to my lips and then back up. “Parks.”
“That’s me.” I love being recognized. Especially by beautiful women.
“I saw the game. You guys crushed it.”
“Yeah, we did.”
She orders a drink and turns fully toward me, her body language loud and clear. Her dress is tight, her perfume expensive, her smile practiced. She’s exactly the kind of girl who’d look good in my bed and slip out before breakfast. Low effort, clean break. Exactly what I was hunting tonight.
Then I notice it, when she lifts her glass, a fine-line tattoo peeks out beneath the strap of her top. A single feather, light and delicate against her skin.
It’s not just any feather.
It’sthatfeather.
Same one that’s inked on Ingrid Flockton’s tour posters, merch, album covers. Subtle, sure, but anyone who’s ever lined up outside one of her concerts would know it. I sure as hell do.
My brain flashes back to Ingrid’s body pressed against mine in that dark little corner of the street, the taste of heat on her tongue. How I was after that kiss.
Fuck.
I haven’t messaged her since that night. Not because I didn’t want to. I’ve opened that thread a dozen times. Typed things. Deleted them. She’s famous. I’m a college hockey player. We live in different galaxies, and it’s not like I expect her to orbit into mine.
The girl beside me takes a step closer. “So... want to find somewhere a little more private?”
Her voice is soft, her hand already brushing against my chest.
The ‘yes,’ is on the top of my tongue, but right as I open my mouth, my phone buzzes in my back pocket.
I check it without thinking.
IngFlock:Congrats on the game tonight.
Everything inside me pauses.
The room doesn’t, but I do. The noise fades, the voice of the girl standing with me blurs, the heat between us cools in an instant. That message: simple, casual,timed to perfection, slices through the haze I’ve been chasing all night.
