Page 29 of He Has Charm

Fuck the guys if they can’t take a joke. But something tells me they won’t be offended by my old team’s jersey even if they pretend to be and use it as an excuse to give me shit. Tonight is my chance to get to know my new teammates, to really fit in, without Harper intervening. I might even find out a thing or two more about her from the guys that she’d never tell me about herself.

After I run a comb through my unruly hair, I deem myself ready for a crowd of hockey players who won’t mind two days’ scruff on my face and a modicum of residual sweat on my body. Pausing a beat with my hand on the doorknob, I scoff at myself for the roll in my gut at facing Harper again and then curse at myself for the ghost of arousal that tremors through me at the mere anticipation of seeing her.

Fuck it. I fling open the door.

She looks up from the computer on her lap. She’s working, of course. She sits on the couch, comfortable and cool as if nothing ever happened between us. Except that I see the telltale blush rise up her neck.

“I’m going,” I say. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“Of course I’ll wait up for you,” she says. “You won’t be late, right?”

I shake my head, our eyes caught up in that seemingly perpetual force field of sexual energy between us. She looks away first and clears her throat. Then she waves her hand as if shooing me away like an errant child. Or maybe that’s how I feel though I’m far worse than that. More like the devil’s spawn of depravity daring to get caught up with the sex kitten dressed in sensible clothing.

* * *

Finn picks me up and gives me a ride to O’Rourke’s place. He has a gem of a home in Charlestown not far from the Garden in a historical neighborhood of brick houses. The minute I’m let in the front door, his wife leads me back through the kitchen where the charm and chef-level equipment stun me into stopping to look around.

“The pool room is out back and through a separate entrance,” O’Rourke says over his shoulder as he pushes through the back door, but I don’t move as I look around, my eyes drawn to the Fisher & Paykel six-burner double-oven range in particular, where something is baking.

“Are we having Italian tonight?” I ask Chelsea. She laughs.

“Homemade pizza. Nothing too fancy,” she says. I take a deep breath of the garlic- and oregano-laden air, and if I hadn’t already jerked off twice the delicious scents might have gotten a rise out of me. I smile.

“Did you make your own dough?”

“No. I’m not that dedicated. Do you cook?” She eyes me with speculative interest.

“Yes. I—”

“Come on, Knight,” O’Rourke says. “You can talk food later.”

I give his wife an apologetic look.

“Later then? Captain’s orders.” I give an eye roll and she giggles as I follow O’Rourke out the door. We cross the brick patio area and take a few steps down to an ornate doorway into a dark room I’d swear was a speakeasy in a past life. I blow out a whistle.

“You need a license for this place?” I ask. O’Rourke elbows me and I nod at the others already gathered in the dark room. The walls are brick and the pool table that takes center stage must be older than dirt, a classic from an old pool hall or a Minnesota Fats movie set. The floors go from slate at the entry to dark burgundy carpeting farther in, giving the place a rich, old-world brothel vibe. Rafe and Aiden are playing pool, so I join Finn at the polished oak bar where he’s playing bartender.

“We have Sam Adams on tap or—”

“I’m sticking to ice water.”

“What’s with the jersey?” he asks as I take off my jacket. “You trying to get yourself beat up?” He grins.

“By my teammates?”

“Not us, but if you walk around the neighborhood dressed like that we can’t be responsible.” He shouts, “Hey Ryan. You got an extra team jersey lying around for this reprobate?” Ryan takes a swig of what looks like whiskey and shouts back.

“On it.” He goes through a door for a bit and I look around the space, which is set up with half a dozen barstools, a game table, and a corner with two leather couches and a fireplace. A couple of ladies sit talking amongst themselves and my conscience twinges at not extending the invitation to Harper. But we’re not together like that and I don’t want to give the wrong impression. Especially to my dick, who’s already abused and confused as it is.

“Where’s Harper?” Finn asks as if he’s reading my mind.

“Working.” I’m not lying. Finn snorts.

“That girl is a certified workaholic. We need to get her out, get her to loosen up before her life disappears and she wastes her youth on a bunch of stupid contracts.”

“Yeah, except those are our contracts she’s babysitting.”

“True.”