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“Are you guys going to Mario’s tonight?” Tillie asks.
“I think just about everyone is,” Harlow replies.
It’s why Hendrix really wanted me and my dad to come to tonight’s game because while many of the players will go out after, it’s not often most of the team—including significant others—go out together. Most of the SOs have full-time jobs or are mothers, and late nights are a luxury.
Tillie touches my arm. “I’ve asked Coen to bring me to your bar. He had such a good time there and I know some of the other guys have been. Who knows… maybe that’ll be the new after-game hangout.”
“Nah,” I say with a wave of my hand. “It’s too far from the arena to make it easy, but maybe on some off-game nights.”
“Regardless, Coen and I will plan something in the next few weeks on a night you don’t have to work.”
“I’m actually switching my shifts to days to open up my nights for Hendrix.” My eyes cut to my dad over that proclamation, but he doesn’t seem fazed by it. I’m guessing he’s figured out that Hendrix is here to stay, by the looks of things, and he’s going to sit back and watch.
CHAPTER 12
Hendrix
By all accounts, I should be flying high right now. We beat the Renegades, Stevie came to the game, and I’m surrounded by my best mates and the women who make them happy.
Except I’m feeling hot under the collar. Stevie’s dad was nice enough when we first greeted each other in the players’ lounge. I’d put on casual attire after my shower, and we shook hands like men.
“Appreciate the tickets. Great seats,” he said.
And that’s all he’s said.
Even here at Mario’s, sipping on his beer, he’s cool and aloof with me. He’ll engage anyone else in conversation and has his head bent toward Drake where they’ve been talking motorcycles for the past ten minutes. If it weren’t for the difference in hair color, the dudes might look related with their long hair, beards, and tattoos.
I’ve been thinking of something we might have in common to talk about, but the list is pathetically short. Obviously, Stevie is the common denominator, but that’s too easy. I could talk to him about getting the tattoo of all the players’ names, but that seems too calculated.
I let my gaze slide over to Stevie, and I can’t help the smile that comes to my face. She’s dressed so differently from the women she’s talking to. She’s in a group with Harlow, Tillie, Gage’s girlfriend Jenna, Baden’s fiancée Sophie, and the most notorious of the group, Brienne Norcross, the owner of the Pittsburgh Titans.
Some might think she’s only out tonight because she’s dating our star goalie, Drake McGinn, but she’s actually been friends with Jenna and the other women for longer. In other words, Brienne doesn’t sit on a throne in her castle’s turret. She likes to hang out with us on occasion, although I doubt she’ll stay long. She and Drake only ever stay for a drink as they’re more homebodies than anything.
Stevie is the one who sticks out in the group. Not as a sore thumb but rather as a creature who owns her style and doesn’t care what anyone thinks. She’s in her standard biker babe attire—Harley T-shirt, ripped jeans, heavy boots, and a black leather jacket—while the other women are all wearing jerseys or some other Titans’ gear. I make a note to ask Stevie if she’d like a jersey. I won’t automatically get it for her as I’d like to know if she’s even in to wearing sporting gear. She might not be, and because I love her unique look so much, I don’t ever want her to think I expect her to dress in Titans’ clothing just because I play for them. I know she supports me on the ice, and that’s enough.
I consider joining Stevie, which means breaking in on the girl talk, and I don’t mind that idea at all. I’m a rebel that way.
First, I hit the restroom, a slight pain in the ass as I’ll have to deal with requests for autographs and pictures. It’s not a part of my fame that I dislike as most fans are super nice and respectful, but tonight, it will definitely impede on my time with Stevie, and we don’t have a lot of that to begin with.
I beeline toward the bathroom hall, keeping my gaze down to dissuade those who might be a little shy to approach. I sure hope that doesn’t make me an asshole—I will stop if someone calls my name.
I reach the bathroom without interruption, and other than a short conversation with some dude at the sinks, I exit quickly. I pass Bear on his way into the restroom, and he doesn’t even make eye contact.
Fuck it… I’m engaging him as soon as he’s out and has another beer in hand. In fact, I’ll buy him one.
