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“Yeah, Mama? It’s baby boy Donovan. Get that titty ready for me. I’mma need it tonight.”
When he launches toward me, I skate backward, holding up my hand. “Better luck next time.”
“Tomorrow night,” he yells, “we’re going to mop this fucking ice with you!”
“Last I checked, they don’t mop ice. But all right, if you say so,” I say with a cocky smile before lifting my middle finger up to the side of my helmet. “Sounds good. See you then.”
“O’Brien, why do you always gotta bring up titties when you’re shit-talking?” Cam skates next to me. “Every. Single. Motherfucking time.”
I hold my fist up, and he bumps his against mine.
“I like titties. What can I say? Doesn’t matter if they are fresh and perky, tiny, old, or lactating. I’m a fan.” I pat him on the shoulder. “Good job, Cap. Feels good to be on a winning streak.”
“Hell yeah, it does.” He nods. “Now, let’s keep it up.”
“I’ll try my best.” I laugh. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Yeah, I’ve got two pretty girls waiting for me.” He gazes upward at Addison and her daughter, Isla. “Don’t party too hard tonight. Because tomorrow, we gotta do this all over again.” He looks at me. “Minus you talking about titty milk.”
“I’malwaysgonna talk about titty milk,” I deadpan before heading off the ice, knowing that if I get done with interviews fast enough, I can make it in time to see Bria at work.
And the thought of seeing her smile at me, telling me congratulations on the win, makes this night even better.
I make it to Club 83 just before last call. Which means it’s rowdy as hell in here, and that rowdiness multiplies by a thousand when people see me walk in through the door.
Cheers, whistles, and slaps on the back are what I’m greeted with as I make my way toward an empty barstool. Bria spots me immediately, running around from behind the bar and throwing her arms around me.
Her hair is in two French braids tonight. And her fitted black shorts have every motherfucker drooling, I’m sure. Myself included. And her shirt, showing off the bottom of her toned stomach…fuck.
“Good job! You won.” Pulling back, she widens her eyes. “You’re sort of psychotic though.”
“Who, me? You must be mistaken,” I mutter before nodding to the room. “Busy night, huh?”
“You have no idea.” She sighs. “My feet arekillingme.”
“No run tomorrow, I’d say?”
“Wow, what am I even saying about my feet?” She leans against the bar, looking embarrassed. “You just played in a grueling game. You must be so sore.”
“I’m fine.” I chuckle. “You should see the other team.”
“Oh, I did.” Her lips form a tight line as she motions her finger in circles next to her ear. “Like I said…psycho.” Patting my hand, she blows out a breath. “Welp, I gotta get back to work. Apparently, some big-shot hockey players played tonight and have brought out the entire freaking campus.”
“These hockey players sound really awesome.” I raise an eyebrow. “Like royalty or something.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” Rolling her eyes, she goes back behind the bar and gets to work.
And even though I shouldn’t care, I watch every single time she refills drinks for any of the guys. I wait for them to disrespect her. But worst of all, I hold my breath, waiting for her to like it, indicating she’s interested in any of the motherfuckers.
She’s quickly becoming the highlight of my days. I don’t date, and I sure as hell don’t do relationships or jealousy.
So, why the hell am I worried she’s going to flirt with someone who isn’t me?
Bria
My jar is filled with cash, which means this was one hell of a shift. But I have to say, I’m excited to have tomorrow off.
Once all of the customers have left and it’s just me and a few other employees, I grab the vacuum and plug it in. Just as I go to push the on button, I feel a large hand on the small of my back.
