Lars is behind the bar, laughing with some hockey fans and sliding two fresh beers across to them. I can smell it already, the crispy fried goodness mingling with craft beer and an irresistible, mouthwatering sweetness that can only mean one thing: Lars’s honey-glazed wings, the stuff of local legend and late-night cravings.
My stomach rumbles, but as I pull the door open there, in a large circular booth near the back, is my destination.
Zoey spots me and her eyes light up. She slides out of the booth and meets me halfway, her hand finding mine easily.
She’s wearing a soft-looking sweater, and her hair is down, curling around her shoulders.Jesus.She looks almost as good as she did last night.
“You came,” she says, rising on her toes to press a quick, nervous kiss to my cheek.
“Of course I did.” I squeeze her hand. “You okay? You look…”
“Terrified?" She giggles nervously. "Because I am. Mason’s already on his second beer, Beck is analyzing my life like it’s a legal contract, and Declan…” She glances over her shoulder. “Declan is just… acting all weird. He keeps asking where you are.”
I follow her gaze and three sets of eyes are now locked on us.
The one in the middle—Declan, I remember from last night—is built like a fucking tank. He has enormous broad shoulders that strain against his plain black t-shirt, and his arms are crossed over a chest that looks like it could stop a puck without padding.
He’s not smiling either.Noneof them are smiling.
“Right,” I murmur, looking over to Lars as he clocks my expression and immediately begins pouring me a beer. “No pressure.”
I collect my drink and Zoey leads me to the booth. “Guys, this is Colt. Colt, these are my brothers. Mason, Beck, and Declan.”
Mason, to the left, now has a friendlier face. He’s got a beard and a smile that reaches his eyes as he extends a hand. “Heard a lot about you, Lane. Mostly from Morgan, who seems to think you’re some kind of pancake wizard.”
I shake his hand. “A title I wear with pride. Nice to meet you, Mason.”
Beck, on the right, is leaner, sharper. His handshake firm. “Beck. Take a seat, man. You fly us out first class, you get a pass on the first round of questioning.”
“Ah, thanks,” I say, sliding into the booth beside Zoey, which puts me directly across from…
Declan.
An awkward silence descends.
The man doesn’t say a word. He just watches me while tapping his beer glass with one finger.
Then, from the bar, a familiar voice cuts right across the room.
“Oh, this is gonna be good! Samuel, pay up! I told you Lane would wear the gray shirt!”
I turn to see half the Snow Leopards roster clustered at the bar. Samuel, Cade, Gabe, Silas and Theo… hell, evenCoach Ashfordis lurking in the corner with a whiskey, all of them looking mildly entertained by my discomfort.
Cade is waving a twenty dollar bill in Samuel’s face as they all very blatantly gawk across at us, amused.
"Fine." Samuel rolls his eyes and slaps a bill into Cade’s hand. “But remember, I had ‘breaks a nervous sweat’ in the first five minutes. My bet’s still alive.”
I flip them off, trying to get them to mind their own damn business. Do they listen? Of course not.
Zoey groans, burying her face in her hands. “I’m going to kill Delaney.”
Thankfully, a server appears, saving us. “Can I get you folks some food?”
Declan finally speaks, his voice a low rumble. “Yeah. A basket of the honey-glazed wings. Extra sauce.”
The server takes everyone else's orders too, then looks at me. “And for you, sir?”
“I’ll take a basket of the wings, too. Thanks.”
