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"Did he win?"
"She's in her late fifties, and she's been bartending she since was twenty-two. What do you think?"
Right, so he didn't win.
"Did he at least give her a run for her money?"
"Sure. If that's what you call hopping up on the bar, ripping his shirt off, and screaming that he's Batman immediately before falling off backward," he says, choking on laughter.
Jesus Christ. I'm almost sorry I missed it. Naw, not even a little bit. Spending the night on the phone with Gabbi while my dick was in my hand was infinitely more pleasurable than watching Devlin get drunk and act like an idiot. I see that shit every day of the week.
Talking to her is new. She's sweet as hell. If I can't figure out how to convince her to marry me immediately, I'm going to lose my shit. I need her in my life like I need air. She's vital to my survival now, the most necessary ingredient for sustaining life. I don't give a damn if her brother does own the team. Like I told her, I'm not afraid of him. She's a big girl, capable of making her own decisions. And I'm the best thing for her.
Jordan may not know it yet, but he will.
"Noah caught the whole thing on video." Colter cracks up again. "You better get your ass to the arena if you don't want him blaming you for passing it around. He said you owe him for that trip to Mexico."
Fuck my life. I'm never living down that trip. As if it's my fault Noah Diamante decided to go overboard with the tequila and thought letting Juan tattoo Get Pucked on his ass was a good idea. I tried to talk him out of it, but he's a persuasive motherfucker. Which is exactly how I ended up with a matching tattoo.
The goddamn puck is wearing a sombrero.
"I feel like I got hit by a truck," I mutter, scrubbing a hand down my face.
"That bad?"
"Worse." Every time I breathe, my head throbs. I know enough about concussions to know this isn't great news for my chances of returning to the ice anytime soon. Migraines after a concussion are never a good thing.
"Shit. You better get your ass in to see Jessup," Colter says, his voice somber.
"I'll call him from the road."
"It's your funeral."
"It'll be fine."
"Famous last words. See you when you get here."
"Later."
I disconnect, dropping the phone onto the bed beside me. There's no way I'm riding a bus to New Mexico like this, not today. Not with Keith driving the bastard. Which means I'm either staying behind, flying, or I'm driving solo. Considering I can't even see straight, I don't think I'll be driving anywhere, let alone to New Mexico.
Inspiration strikes like a fucking gong.
I pick up my phone and dial Gabbi's number.
"Hello?" she says breathlessly, answering on the fourth ring.
"I was worried you weren't going to answer," I admit, my cock twitching at the sound of her voice.
"I shouldn't have," she mutters, making me smile. She wants to resist me, but she can't. I fucking love knowing that.
"I'm glad you did, Temptation. I need a favor."
"What kind of favor? And if you tell me that you need me to go out with you, the answer is no, Atlas. That's not even a favor. It's called a date, and I already turned you down."
Christ, I love her sassy attitude. She doesn't take even an iota of shit from me. She's half my size and stands up to me like she's not in the least afraid. It's a hell of a turn-on. Most women who don't know me see me as a threat. And I get it. Women can't tell on sight who intends them harm and who doesn't, and a motherfucker built like me could do serious damage.
Until we teach all men respect, we have to continue to teach women to protect themselves by being cautious. It's how they stay safe. I don't begrudge them that. Shit, my heart goes out to them for it. It pisses me off that any woman has to live with that fear.
