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We take seats at the end of the bar, and Beth’s bartender immediately serves up two green martinis.
Appletinis.
I eye the glass. “You trying to get me drunk?”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m trying to get you to relax. And this is our drink.”
Wasour drink.
I pick mine up and carefully cheers her. After a tiny sip, I set it back down and scan the crowd. It’s not as crazy here as the club was the other night, and Beth has transformed the space from the pictures she used to show me from visiting her dad.
It’s darker, sexier. The vibe is dark reds and golds, velvets and low lighting. Oh, and it’s right across from the arena. Whichis honestly why I thought it would be safe. Why would the Titans comehere? Except for the vibe.
“I like what you’ve done to the place,” I murmur.
She smiles. “It needed a facelift. Before, it was just…”
“A sports bar,” the bartender finishes, setting down the burgers in front of us. “And now it’s luxury, thanks to our talented Liz. Enjoy, ladies.”
I snort. “They call you Liz?”
She shrugs, and I glance around again. The far back corner is the busiest. I catch a glimpse of Knox with other guys, all surrounded by women.
“Ignore him,” Beth advises. “It’s not like you’d ever go back to him.”
Well, that’s the truth.
But…
As I told him: Iwillbe seeing more of him.
I heave a sigh and pick my drink back up. I try not to look over again, but he’s like a magnet—or a train wreck. Either way, I find myself twisting to eye their corner again. I recognize some of the guys. Camden Church, the Titans’ captain. Scofield, Lawson, Haverhill.
The last, the goalie for the Titans, spots me across the room and smiles.
It would’ve been fine if Knox was never traded to the Colorado Titans.
I lift my left hand in a small wave. The ring on my fourth finger catches the light, and I smile at Joel Haverhill.
Knox’s teammate, sure. But more importantly—my fiancé.
Before I met Joel, I hadn’t gone to a hockey game inyears. I was still riding the pity bus that I was forced to quit playing in high school. That all my dreams of the Olympics were crushed with a diagnosis, ground into a fine powder and scattered on the wind.
We actually had a nice meet-cute. One for the story books, ironically.
Beth was visiting me in Boston, and we had decided to go skating on the Frog Pond in the Common. It was practically a rite of passage for tourists, and Beth was definitely a tourist. Even though I hadn’t gone to a hockey game in years, I still liked to skate. Still craved the ice.
And who was there, showing off?
None other than the Colorado Titans’ infamous goalie, Joel Haverhill. While doing some fancy trick, he crashed into me. Took us both down, although he was very apologetic. So sorry for his actions, in fact, that he took meandBeth out to dinner that night.
My best friend left the next day, and he took me out for our second date. Never mind that he had played an afternoon game in Boston and was supposed to be flying back to Denver. He blew it off just to see me again.
After that, we stayed in contact. Through the season, all the way up to their Stanley Cup playoffs run. I visited him in Denver, he came to Boston. The romance was a whirlwind, and he proposed six months after we’d first collided.
Which I accepted.
Joel comes up and drapes his arm over the back of my chair.
