As the server leaves, Declan’s eyes are back on me. “So… Colt Lane from the Leopards, huh.”
His eyes do a slow, deliberate sweep up and down my body.
“Yep. That's me,” I counter, aiming for casual and probably landing somewhere near ‘mildly constipated.’
Declan leans his forearms on the table.
Dammit.Gabe was right. They are huge.
“So,” I say, reaching for my beer. “You guys all play for the same team, right?”
Beck nods, his sharp features softening a fraction. “Beachside Bears. New expansion team set up by the beach. We’re the… founding members, I guess you could say.”
“No shit?” I take a swig. The beer is cold, crisp, and perfectly distracting from the glare burning from across the table. Declan still hasn't looked away from me. “I've heard the buzz around your new franchise.Sun, sand, and slap shots,right? How’s life by the beach treating you?”
Mason chuckles. “It’s a bit different than here. Instead of snow, you get ocean spray. Instead of mountain bars like this…” He gestures around The Leopard Lounge. “You get beachside shacks that serve fancy drinks with little umbrellas in them.”
I glance at Zoey, a grin tugging at my mouth. “Fancy drinks with umbrellas? Sounds like your kind of place.”
Her eyes meet mine, sparkling with amusement. “What, you don’t think I can rock a tiny umbrella?”
“Oh, I think you could rock anything you want, baby,” I say, the words slipping out before I can filter them.
Zoey’s laugh is soft, and for a second, the noisy bar fades away.
Then Declan clears his throat and his fingers tap harder against his glass.
Beck clears his throat. “So, Colt. Zoey tells us you’ve been… helping out at the bakery.”
My mind flashes to the notebook, to the busy mornings, to the way she cried in my arms in a locker room.
Helping out.Right.
That’s one way to put it.
"Trying to," I say, keeping my tone light. "Mostly I'm just really good at dropping stuff. Right, Zo?"
Zoey snorts into her beer as Mason laughs. Beck almost smiles, and Declan? His finger just keeps tapping that beer glass like he's counting down to something.
"He's actually getting pretty handy," Zoey continues, and there's a warmth in her voiced. "He can almost pipe a cupcake now."
"Almost," I echo, raising a brow. "She insults me. Publicly. In front of her brothers."
Zoey’s knee presses against mine under the table, and more drinks arrive, followed by two massive baskets of wings glistening with sticky, golden sauce. The smell is insane… garlic, honey, a hint of chili.
We dig in, and for a while, it’s just normal guy talk.
Hockey, training, the differences between West Coast and East Coast play. They ask about my recovery, about Gabe’s hit, and I give them the PG version, leaving out the part where I wondered if I’d ever think straight again, or the fact that their sister wouldn't leave my bedside until I regained consciousness again.
For the next hour, we just… chat.
Mason and Beck are easy to talk to. Mason’s got a steadiness to him, and I see a lot of Samuel Voss in him, while Beck’s sharp humor keeps the conversation moving so it's never too awkward.
And then… there's Declan.
Declan mostly listens. He eats wings in a way that’s somehow ultra-intimidating, sucking the sauce clean off the bone like Fred Flintstone without ever looking away from me.
Halfway through my third beer, a roar goes up from the bar. Silas has just sunk three shots in a row on the pool table, and Theo is waving a fifty-dollar bill around, claiming victory.
