His jaw clenches so hard I hear his teeth grind. "I should have hit you harder."
"Too late now!" I call after him as he stalks toward the Clawhouse, his massive frame disappearing through the doors with a grunt that echoes off the walls.
I watch him go, still grinning.
The distant clank of weights filters through before the door swings shut, and I'm left alone in the corridor with a thought I never expected to have:
Maybe getting my skull cracked wasn't the worst thing that ever happened to me.
The Leopard Lounge at night is everything a hockey bar should be.
Sports play on the flatscreens mounted behind the bar, the commentary muted but the energy unmistakable. The scent ofLars's famous honey-glazed chicken wings hangs thick in the air. Smoky, sweet, with that kick of cayenne pepper that makes your lips tingle and your fingers reach for another.
All around, the leather booths are worn soft from years of celebrations, lining the back walls with endless families, friends and townsfolk.
I slide into the booth where Samuel, Cade, and Gabe are already gathered. Gabe's nursing a dark beer and pointedly not making eye contact with me. Samuel's watching me with that quiet captain assessment he does. And Cade?
Cade's grinning like he already knows something good is about to happen.
"So." He leans forward, elbows on the table, that shit-eating smile spreading wider. "Heard you got assigned to abakery."
I take a long pull of Lars' new craft beer, playing it cool. "Sure did. Paige told you about the flagship partnership then, Mr.Three Times?Very prestigious."
Cade's face scrunches like he just bit into a lemon.
"Mr. Three Times?" He sets down his beer, eyes narrowing. "Where the hell did you hear that?"
"Oh, you know." I wave a hand casually, snagging a wing from the basket in the center of the table. "Walls are thin in the executive offices. Girls talk, my friend."
Samuel's eyebrow ticks up with interest.
"Prestigious partnership?" Samuel's eyebrow rises slowly. "So you're going to be... what, exactly? Frosting cupcakes?"
"I'm going to be anambassador, Captain." I grin. "A bridge between the Snow Leopards organization and the hardworking small business owners of Chilmore. Obviously it had to be me. I mean, look at the rest of you. Not exactly the kind of faces you put on promotional material."
There's a long silence, then Cadelosesit.
He's laughing so hard he nearly chokes on his drink. Even Gabe's mouth twitches beneath a deep chuckle.
"You," Samuel says slowly, dropping his wing onto his plate just so he can point at me. "Are going to be in Zoey Morrison's kitchen. Every day."
"That's the assignment."
"The woman who called you an 'utter moron' at the last community event?"
"She was being affectionate."
"She threw a dinner roll at your head when you wouldn't stop dipping your finger in her soup."
"Affectionately."
Across the room, the sharp thwack of darts hitting board punctuates our conversation. Silas and Theo are locked in what looks like the dart championship of the century, both of them wearing expressions of murderous concentration.
"Twenty bucks says Silas takes it," Cade mutters, glancing over.
"Hmmm, I dunno. Theo's been practicing," Samuel counters. "Avery said she saw him in here three times last week."
I snag a wing from the fresh basket Lars dropped off, the glaze sticky-sweet against my fingers. The meat falls off the bone, tender and perfect, and I groan around another one.
