There’s yelling and catcalls, and huge men converge from the corners of the bar. Frank rolls to his knees, pushing up unsteadily to his feet. I’m a long-lost thought as he cocks back a clenched fist.
The sexy stranger is currently being ridden piggyback by Frank’s wife, her arm around his throat in an attempted half-nelson. He roars, easily blocks Frank’s attempt, then lands an uppercut on the lukewarm, cheating asshole whose screen name on Hollar was HotCatch69.
Sure, hot mess, maybe. What was I thinking?
Every cell in my body crackles with heat as I take another look at the crooked-nosed, blue-eyed stranger as he stands over Frank, nostrils flaring, fists balled.
How come none of the guys online look likethat?
I skip-trip toward the door, darting a final look back at the caramel-haired hottie that came out of nowhere to defend my honor. My nipples sprout to life in an exiting thank you, as I throw myself out the door, digging for my phone and deleting the dating app with a tap of my finger.
Chapter 3
King
“You are your own worst fucking enemy!” A vein on coach’s forehead stands out, ready to burst as he throws a folding chair across the equipment room with a clatter.
The team physician’s assistant stands next to me, stitching up the cut on the side of my head from the beer bottle that little brunette landed before she jumped on my back like a rabid spider monkey. But it’s not her I’m thinking of. It’s the killer redhead that scurried out of there before I could pin her down.
Coach jabs a finger my way. “You’re lucky the police calledmeto come pick your ass up!”
“Ifeellucky.” I wince as the needle pierces my scalp. The sharp poke, then the slick sensation of the thread being pulled through aren’t enough to distract me from the gnawing need to run back to the bar and find out whatever I can about the redhead.
“There you go.” The curved needle makes a soft click as Terrance, our team PA and all-purpose mess-cleaner-upper, drops it onto the stainless-steel tray next to a few drying crimson droplets. “You know the drill, keep it clean—”
I wave him off, hopping down from the table, my tennis shoes squeaking as they hit the glossy laminate flooring.
I nod as coach goes on about my suspension and how the team comes first.
I’m barely listening as I grab my phone from my back pocket, the screen filled with notifications, most of which I will ignore, especially tonight, because I know pictures and video of me knocking that guy out are circulating on phones and computers all over metro Detroit.
Anyway, I have more important things in mind. Like tracking down the beauty from the restaurant.
“What’s the King of Chaos gotten himself into now?” My best friend and the team goalie, Victor Kozlov, comes striding through the door with a smirk and a wink. “Another hole in his head won’t make no difference. Now, a good smack on the other side of that nose might help.”
“Fuck off,” I grumble as Victor does a Rocky Balboa style double punch to my gut. “Let’s go, asshole.” I nod toward the door.
“Rude. I interrupted a perfectly good threesome to come babysit you.”
I grimace. “Jesus. When was the last time you were tested?” I ask, shoving my phone back into my jeans pocket, then acknowledging Terrance. “Thanks again. I’ll bring that first edition of Stone Fox I found to practice tomorrow, tell Jakey I’m rooting for him.”
It’s his son’s favorite book. He’s recovering from his third surgery for a congenital heart defect, and I spent three hours at King books yesterday trying to find something that would cheer him up.
“Not a problem. And thanks, man, he idolizes you.” He gives me a half-smile with a jerk of his head toward coach, who is cross-armed and tight-lipped, watching me from his position against the wall under the team roster for our next game.
Which doesn’t include me.
“Very fucking touching,” coach says with an eye roll. “If only we could get video of you scouring the aisles at King Books for first editions for sick kids instead of knocking out cheating husbands, maybe you’d be back on the ice before the season is over. And you,” he points at Victor, “should be in the weight room.”
“What? I keepallmy muscles in shape year-round.” Victor grabs his crotch on a smile that shows off one missing upper incisor and the lower one made out of 14K gold, then curls his lip in distaste, jerking his thumb toward me. “This one’s season-long no pussy rule would break me.”
“I don’t want to talk about what you do with your dicks,” Coach snarls, jabbing his finger my way. “The only reason you’re not sitting in county right now is because this town loves you, I know the chief of police, and that couple didn’t want their dirty laundry aired all over the city. You get your shit straight.” He turns to glare at Victor. “You keep his ass outta trouble, or I’m gonna take it out on you, too.”
“Me?” Victor feigns horror. He’s not scared of anything. What most don’t know is his family is fairly high-level Bratva, and on occasion he’s used his connections to take care of problems that didn’t want to go away. He runs his hand down the front of his System of a Down t-shirt with an impish look. “What am I supposed to do if he sneaks out to throw himself into a catfight in the elementary school pickup line?”
“I’m not fucking around!” Coach barks, pushing his shoulders off the wall, jaw clenched as he glares at me. “I told you to do everything that doctor tells you to do, and if you’re lucky, he’ll get you back on the ice in two games instead of five. You don’t straighten the fuck up, you’ll get a permanent suspension. Or jail time.”
“The asshole had it coming. He’s lucky I stopped when I did.”
