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“What can I get for you?” I ask through clenched teeth.
“Cocktail. Surprise me,” he responds, without making eye contact. His gaze is obviously checking out the ass of an attractive woman that walks by. I take a deep inhale through my nose.
He gives off strong fuckboy energy. I’ve had my fair share of guys like that, but those days are over. I’m ready for something more mature than just casual sex and hotheaded himbos. That lifestyle comes with too many consequences at my age.
I have no regrets about the men I slept with in the past. I refuse to regret the parts of my life that formed me into who I am today. I was happy fucking for fun rather than forever. However, it’s lost its appeal. There is no room for games, negging, or any other bullshit. I want someone to come home to. I want someone who will look at me the way Lonan looks at Birdie. I want to be cherished. Loved.
I certainly don’t want anyone like Rhys Kucera. Not sure he could love anything more than himself anyway; he thinks he’s special. Even now, he’s asking for something extra when he knows we’re slammed. That’s fine. Two can play at this game. Turning my back, I mix the ingredients and bust out the blender despite all the other orders coming in. He asks what’s taking so long, and I respond by pressing the pulverize button on the blender while I imagine his hand bouncing around inside. I pour the frosty red concoction into a margarita glass and add a tiny umbrella.
“Enjoy.” I set it in front of him. He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t tip, doesn’t say thanks. Just walks away with the drink to sit down with the guys. While finishing another customer’s Captain and Coke with the soda gun, I peer over and he’s practically retching after taking a sip.Delicious.
He doesn’t bother me for the rest of the night, but every so often I catch him staring, like he’s keeping tabs on me. I hate that his stare has heat flooding between my thighs.I know. Bad, bad, Freya.
Seriously, what the fuck is with this guy? How can he get under my skin and still make my panties damp? I remind myself he’s only doing it to annoy me, so instead of glaring back, I ignore him—while I secretly plot to spray his doorknob with PAM when I get off work. I turn around and tend to a nice older couple who just sat down.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I snag it and see Hat Trick Swayze has sent me a random tip out of nowhere. A big one. With the note:Hope you’re having a good night at work.
It’s too bad I can’t servehimat my bar. I smile and text him back my appreciation and tell him I miss him. It’s true. Even though we text often, that extra distance can be felt between us. Though it hasn’t stopped us from growing close.
FIVE
Ilie back in my hotel bed in Winnipeg and glance out the window. I can’t believe this is my life now. I’m in the NHL. I’ve worked so hard for this. Every now and then, little moments like this catch me off guard, and it hits me thatthisis my new normal. It’s so surreal. It feels like just yesterday I was trying to get scouted for a college scholarship. Now, here I am. What a crazy life.
I open up my laptop and see that Queen of Tarts is online. I ping her, and within five minutes, I have an invite to a live video.
It’s private.Interesting.
Queen of Tarts—Freya—is my neighbor. My only neighbor. And she has no idea that the asshole she despises next door is her top follower online. This is something I’ll never tell her.
Now that I know what her face looks like, watching her lower half onFollowersis way more exciting. I’m a piece of shit. But I’ll never have her, and she’ll never find out. Her face and hair are as striking as the rest of her. That fiery look works for her. It really fucking works. She’s a hellcat. I’d love to see her wild hair wrapped around my fist.
HatTrickSwayze: What are we making today, Hellcat?
She giggles. “I like that nickname. We are making croissants.” She pronounces itkwa-sons.
HatTrickSwayze: *hon hon hon* (french laughter)
That gets a full-on laugh out of her—hearing it in person would send me over the edge. If I was at home, could I hear it through the wall? Would the smell of buttery, flaky croissants waft into my apartment?
HatTrickSwayze: If you keep feeding your neighbor, they won’t be able to leave their house.
I’m careful to say house instead of apartment. She stands in front of the camera and reads my messages. Her neck is so delicate.
“That wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. He’s kind of an asshole.”
A smile grows on my face.Tell me more.
HatTrickSwayze: Oh yeah?
“Uh-huh. He’s so rude. He came into the bar where I worked and even there, he was a total dick.” Then her voice turns lighthearted. “He had asked me to make him a surprise cocktail, we were already packed two people deep that night. So I made him a strawberry daiquiri . . . with Scotch.”
My laughter fills the empty hotel room.That’swhy my drink tasted like ass. I was curious to know how she would respond to making me any drink she wanted. I figured she would have just plopped a Budweiser in front of me and said, “Surprise! Enjoy your domestic beer. Bye.”But the daiquiri is much more creative.Well done, Hellcat.
HatTrickSwayze: He sounds like a dick. Don’t give him those croissants.
“That’s what I’m saying! Anyway, I don’t want to talk about him. What are you up to today?”
HatTrickSwayze: I’m out of town, traveling for work, so I’m just hanging out in my hotel until it’s time to catch my flight. Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask, what made you start a Followers account?
