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I don’t know what would’ve hurt more—her actually speaking to me or that.
Trying to bump my mood back up, I do my best to push her out of my mind. But even as I change out of my jersey and gear, I can’t shake the image of her saddened stare. Is she pitying me? Is she sad for me? Is she sad for herself? Maybe she finally realized she’d messed up. Although I find that hard to be true, as she ignored me anyway.
Costy offers to give me a ride, but I want to drive. I’d rather have my vehicle there if I don’t drink and I want to drive home instead of waiting around for someone else. And I’m not entirely sure where tonight’s level of alcohol consumption is going to fall.
When I arrive at The Penalty Box, most of the Nighthawks guys and their girls are already in our booths. Fucking speed demons, I swear.
Walking over to them, I find a seat next to Jensen. The waitress walks over shortly and takes our order. I start with water and a pineapple martini. Which, of course, merits some chuckles from the guys, as my orders usually do.
“You know that’s, like, a girl’s drink, right?” JD teases me.
I laugh. “You say that. But if you tried one, you wouldn’t drink beer. Because no one fucking enjoys the taste of beer. It’s fucking gross. No one has ever said, Wow, this tastes amazing, after drinking a Coors Light. And if someone has something to say about my choice of drinks, I dare them to say it to my face and see what happens,” I say venomously, although the guys know I wouldn’t fight them over a drink. Someone else maybe, but not them.
“Rude. But probably fucking true,” he agrees with me, chuckling and taking another sip of his beer.
Burnsy is across from me, sipping on some water. His eyes flash behind me and widen, and then they lock on to me. Which only means one thing.
Charlotte is here.
“Hey, Charlotte,” Burnsy says, far too giddy for my liking, and I kick him underneath the table.
He grunts, and I can’t help but smirk, tipping my head down in an attempt to hide it.
Kos slinks into the empty seat to my left, and Charlotte and Laura walk a few feet over to the bar and have a seat at the stools. At least I can continue to avoid that inevitable confrontation with her for yet another night.
“You all right?” Kos asks, bumping my shoulder with his.
My martini arrives, and I use that as an excuse to hesitate, taking one, two, three sips before answering, “I’m great. What do you mean?”
My face is flat, and I know I’m not tricking anyone with my words, my expressions betray me every time.
“You want to go somewhere else?” Burnsy asks, and JD audibly gasps.
My lips tip up at Jensen’s overreaction. “First off, there is no way you are being serious. Second, if by some crazy reason you are, you know we can’t, and the answer is no. We can’t break this tradition. You know better than anyone, bro; hockey players are superstitious. Well, most sports actually, but we are on a whole other fucking level.”
Taking another sip of my martini, I glance up and look at Charlotte without thought, and my veins begin to boil. Some guy is leaning against the bar next to her, far too fucking close. Sitting up taller in my seat, I give them my full attention, not giving a fuck if she notices.
He says something with a dumbass smile on his face, and more than anything, I would love to erase it.
“Going over there?” JD asks, and I know he’s taunting me, egging me on, hoping I do.
“No,” I say to him, reminding myself that she isn’t mine to protect anymore.
She leans away from him, and he trails closer to her. She is literally pushing into Laura to avoid this dude, and he’s not getting the goddamn hint. Is he blind? Or just a fucking prick?
Laura says something and hops off of her stool, quickly followed by Charlotte, and they walk toward the restroom. My eyes don’t waver from the guy in the red polo shirt with the dumbass smirk.
He turns, talking to his buddy, probably saying something cocky about how she’s totally into him. He quickly scans the crowd, specifically the area by the restrooms, before reaching into his jeans pocket and pulling out a little baggie.
He takes a pinch out, and before his hand is fully over Charlotte’s glass and sprinkling the contents into her drink, I am out of my chair, kicking it out behind me.
I reach him in practically two strides and haul him to his feet by his shirt, slamming him into the wall to our right. “You must be the dumbest fucking person in the world if you thought you were going to get away with that.”
His eyes are so wide that I think his eyes might burst from their sockets. His friend tries saying something to me, but I know without looking that my boys are behind me, giving me space to deal with this fuck.
I’m in his face, and he looks so goddamn pathetic. I grab the baggie of drugs out of his pocket. Part of me wants to empty the contents into his fucking mouth and see how he likes it. But somehow, I find the restraint not to.
I am seething mad as he tries pleading with me. “I wasn’t doing anything, man! Please!”
