More importantly, my back to the asshole hell-bent on taking my inventory.
My teeth clenched the minute the ice hit my hip, both from the shocking cold soaking through my thin shorts and the deep-seated throb playing a tempo of its own through my fucking pelvis.
Thank fuck our drinks had been delivered while I was gone. The Banked Track, a mixed drink Patti invented, the kind of concoction strong enough to put hair on your chest, or maybe even stop your heart.
I didn’t care…because it started out with a heavy root beer flavor.
Too bad it ended with a swift punch of paint thinner.
I’d just stay away from open flame. No biggie.
Think I’m kidding? Right there in the drink menu, in parenthesis next to The Banked Track—a stern warning about the consumer’s new flame rating after consumption.
Three gulps in, the root beer flavor so strong it filled my sinuses, I set the glass down and blinked up at my team—well, some of my team.
All eyes on me, silently studying me, I started to squirm in my seat, until my hip screamed in protest. “What?”
“You have no idea who you were talking to, do you?” Rory said, sneaking a glance past me, presumably to the dude.
“Sure, some bar rat who thinks he can mansplain derby to me. Call me fucking shocked.”
Rory shook her head, her ordinarily confident voice dropping to a breathy whisper. “That’s not a bar rat…that’s Priest.”
“He’s a priest? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“No, just Priest,” Rory said with a shake of her head.
“I wouldn’t mind praying at that altar,” Zara said, casting a quick side-glance at the bar.
“He was a roller derby coach here about ten years ago,” Marty went on. “The roller derby coach. He was fucking brilliant…and gorgeous to boot. Like seriously, next level looks here. The women flocked to him.”
Okay, so not mansplaining. But still, I didn’t ask for his opinion and he just couldn’t help but give it.
A few of her teammates salivated with breathy delight from the glances they stole of him across the bar.
Yeah, he was good looking. The way he filled out a sweater and his jeans should have been declared borderline obscene. His wide jaw and seductive mouth didn’t hurt anything either…but ultimately, it was his voice and the way it rumbled through the air in that deep timbre that set off a damn ache tried to seep into her you-can-just-fuck-off-with-your-assessment attitude.
In thirty seconds of conversation, he went from the kind of guy with the power to tickle my lady bits with just a smug glance, to the words coming out of his mouth making me want to roll my skates right over that face of his, to the low rumble finish of his voice destroying my underwear.
“I can’t believe he came back after what happened,” Sean whispered. “I hope you’re ready, because Galloway Bay is about to explode.”
"Well, maybe not all of Galloway Bay, but the squeakiest wheels in our town are definitely not team Priest.” Rory said, lifting her glass to her lips. “But then that’s what happens when you stack your team with underage talent only to have one of Galloway Bay's most promising teens end up in a wheelchair on your watch. I don’t have to wonder why so many people in this town would love to go all Game of Thrones up in this bitch and mount his head on a pike."