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“Louisiana, I think.”
“Really,” Hudson replied, a small frown on his face. “What part?”
“Hell if I know.” He looked at his buddy. “Why do you care? She’s a bartender who blew into town last summer, and as far as I can tell, she’ll probably blow out the same way she came in. Under the wire. She’s not the type to lay down roots, that’s for sure.”
“She tell you that?”
“Doesn’t have to.” Nash shook his head. “I know the type. She reminds me of me. Up until a few years ago, I had no desire to stay in one place longer than I had to.”
“So what changed?”
Nash set down his beer. “I’m not sure anything changed other than this house and a reason to be back here.”
“She’s a helluva looker.”
> Nash yanked up his head, but Hudson shrugged with a smile. “Hey, I’m married, not dead.” His eyes narrowed a bit. “You and she…”
“Nope.” Nash needed to nip this in the bud right away. “Jesus, Hudsy. Between you and my mom, I can’t catch a break. She’s my employee. I don’t do my employees. Makes for bad business. Nothing worse than two people who work together getting between the sheets. It ruins everything. Trust me.”
“I’m guessing there’s a story here.” Hudson arched an eyebrow.
“There’s always a story.” He paused, his mind rewinding. “I’ve fooled around with a boss or two in my day. The last time, I was working at a bar in Aspen, and her husband showed.” Nash winced at the memory. “He damn near took my head off with a shotgun.” At the look on his friend’s face, he offered a half smile. “In my defense, I understood her to be separated and fair game.” He shrugged. “But to this particular lady, separated meant the free time she had between her husband’s tour overseas.”
“That’s rough,” Hudson replied.
“Yeah.” Nash shook his head. “The poor guy was home early on leave and decided to surprise her. Needless to say, he lost a wife and I lost a job. I swore that was the last time I’d ever get involved with either my boss or my employee.” He shrugged. “Like I said, bad business.”
“Could be different with Honey.”
Thing was? Even though his code was damn strict, Nash couldn’t deny there was something there. Honey was different. Maybe that was what scared him.
He glanced at the clock. It was nearly seven and dark as sin outside. “Pretty sure you didn’t come by to talk about Honey.”
Hudson’s brows rose. “It’s Monday.”
“Yeah. Has been for all day.”
“Hockey starts tonight. Wyatt’s waiting outside.”
Shit. He’d forgotten about the weekly men’s league he’d joined a few weeks back. It had been years since he’d been on skates. He cracked his neck once more and cast a longing look outside at his hot tub. Guess it was going to have to wait. He tossed his empty bottle into recycling and headed to the garage to grab his gear.
The thing about hockey, or most sports, was that getting back into the game was like riding a bike. You kind of pick up where you left off. And sure, a guy’s legs might not be as fast and his hands not so soft with the stickhandling. But his skills, though a bit rusty, were still there. Considering Nash had been the football guy in town—the kid who went to Texas and played college ball—it was saying something that he could still hold his own with these guys. He’d grown up in Michigan, and here, hockey was king. And though he’d always played, it was on the gridiron where he’d excelled.
The men’s hockey league was for fun. An excuse to get together with a bunch of guys, shoot the shit, play some hockey, and then indulge in beer and wings. It was good for Nash’s soul, as well as his bank account, seeing as most of the teams in the league ended up at the Coach House for said beer and wings.
His team, the Rejects, was short on players, and he’d skated his butt off for an hour straight with only a few breaks. They’d lost, and the ache across his shoulders was now joined by tight muscles in his thighs and calves.
“Jesus, getting old sucks.” Tim McCallum grimaced as he tossed his equipment bag over his shoulder.
“It’s not your age that’s the problem,” Dan Davies replied from across the dressing room. “It’s the spare tire you’re carrying around your gut and the fridge on your back. I swear my four-year-old can skate faster than you, McCallum.”
Tim shrugged good-naturedly. He’d always been a big guy and was used to the ribbing. “We can still use some extra players is all I’m saying. Wheezer will never come. He signs up every year and only shows for the tournament. Mack is always on call, and Pinky is so damned pussy-whipped, he needs to ask permission to leave the house.” He looked at Nash. “What the hell is Cam up to? I hear he’s back in town. He should be on the ice with us.”
Nash ignored the question. He scooped up his bag, grabbed his stick, and headed for the door, the other guys following behind. Cold beer and hot wings were the only things he wanted to think about. He grabbed a ride to his bar with Wyatt and Hudson, pleased to see the parking lot full when they pulled up. Music thumped, old-time rock, and the three men were in high spirits as they pushed through the door and entered the Coach House.
Tim and the other guys from the team were a few steps behind, shaking off the cold and snow from their boots. Nash spied Tiny behind the bar, which was three-deep with customers lined up waiting for beer. Natasha was busy serving the booths, while Alicia and Megan had the tables covered. He turned to his teammates. He had no idea where Susie, the new girl was.
“I’m probably going to have to pitch in. At least for a bit, but my table is open. Head over, and I’ll get you guys started with a couple of jugs.” He pointed to the tall pub table nearest the stage. A ratty old sign that declared it “reserved” had managed to keep anyone from grabbing a seat. One of the perks of owning the place, such as it was.
