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We’re waiting at the bar for our order when Axel Erikson and Wade Grady come up. It’s the usual fist-bumps and bro hugs, but tonight it feels like there’s more emotion to it. More love. This team couldn’t be happier for Bowie.
“Been a minute since the four of us hung, huh?” Axel’s talking to us, but already his eyes are searching out his wife Nora, who’s deep in conversation with Harlow Grady across the room.
Bowie nods, but I shake my head. “You get a wife and kid, and suddenly you don’t write. You don’t call.”
Cue the groans and muttering, and my grin just gets wider.
Giving crap is kind of the team love language. Which is all I’m doing. Regular season, I see my boys every day. Just not usually here.
The Five Hole’s a good bar and its proximity to the arena makes it a regular spot for a lot of the guys after home games. Thing is, the vibe’s normally a little mellow for my amped-up postgame energy. Or at least it was.
Testacalypse changed things with me. The whole club scene hasn’t appealed the same way it did before my nut tried out a new yoga pose and got all tangled up on itself.
Maybe it’s because I found out the now ex-manager from my formerly favorite hang was abusing his position to push my sister to sleep with him. Or maybe the call of the bunnies just isn’t as strong.
Whatever. Tonight, the Five Hole suits me perfectly.
I find Lara still talking to my sister. Her eyes blink up, meeting mine. Damn.
That smile. It does something to me. Gives my chest that too-full, top-of-the-roller-coaster feeling, and fuck, a part of me just wants to throw my arms up and give in to gravity… Fall.
But instead, I’m trying to grip the safety bar, resisting the pull because she’s not staying.
The guy behind the bar slides a tray of shots and beer to me. I give him a fat tip and thank him again for coming in on his night off. Balancing the tray in one hand, I pass out shots and beers with the other as I make my way back to our table.
“Ladies,” I say with a bow. Then to my sister, “Bowie asked me to send you over if you were free.”
Piper pops up to smack a kiss on my cheek and snags one of the shots before heading back to the bar.
Lara beams up at me from her seat. “If this hockey thing doesn’t pan out, a career in waiting tables is a solid possibility.”
“Right?” I set the tray in the center of the table, handing a shot to Lara and then taking one of my own. “I’m charming as fuck, great balance. Tips? I’d slay.”
She flashes me a saucy wink and tucks a single into my front jeans pocket. “Thanks, hon. Get yourself something nice.”
Jesus, this girl.
We down our shots, and I grab her hand, pulling her to stand. “Let’s go, Elliot.”
She gives me an arched brow and a smile that hits me a little lower than it should. Down, boy.
“Go where?”
I thumb toward the stairwell at the back, pulling her along. “Dancing.”
“Yes!”
We weave through the crowd and climb the stairs, her hand in mine so I don’t lose her. At the top, the hallway is roped off to the right, blocking a couple doors I’ve never been past, and to the left… damn, that’s a lot of people.
It’s loud, the music’s thumping in that way where you can feel it through your organs. I love that shit. Always have. Reminds me of getting pumped up for games.
Already finding the beat, Lara gives me one arched brow. “You still got it?”
That taunting look. In another life, I can see myself answering it with a kiss. Ducking my head and meeting the curve of her lips with the press of mine.
But in this one? “Oh, I’ve got it.”
We hit the dance floor, moving together with our friends, with the music on our own.
