Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“You can make it up to me by buying me a celebratory beer at Chuck’s. Deal?” he counters.
I hold my hand out and we shake on it. “Done.”
“Don’t get excited. He’s not asking you out either,” Dalton deadpans, but then his lips turn up in a cocky, one-sided smirk.
Max visibly flinches, looking from me to Dalton in confusion as he lifts his hands in surrender. “What? No harm, no foul. I know the rules.” But he ducks his head down and whispers my way, “Unless you like rule breakers. I might be willing to die a painful death at your brother’s hand if you’re interested.” And though he gives me what he probably thinks is a salacious, lady-slaying smirk, he quickly laughs, not putting any real pressure on me.
“No, I—” Dalton starts to explain to Max that he’s making a dig at me, but he rolls his eyes with a huff and instead finishes, “Let’s go. I’m not parking on the street this time.”
Clearly Voughtman grabbed a ride to the arena, and he throws a two-finger wave my way before the two men walk off. I think I hear him ask Dalton, “What the hell was that about?” But I can’t hear Dalton’s response.
“What the fuck ever, man,” I murmur, not wanting to relive last night’s embarrassment again.
Chapter 4
Dalton
Chuck’s is slammed tonight, but I expect that because of it being opening night. The bar is basically the team’s second home, with warm wood paneling, a mishmash of high and low tables and booths, and a small dance floor that’s completely overrun by celebratory fans and probably a few people who had no idea their beer-and-chicken-wing dinner was going to be invaded by an entire hockey victory crowd. It doesn’t help that Chuck’s isn’t a huge place, nor that there are few nighttime options in a town like Maple Creek.
We’ve taken over the back corner as a makeshift VIP area for the players and their girlfriends and wives, but I keep to the edges, not wanting to get locked in to small talk with one of the guys’ flavors of the week. Not that I’m judging. I’ve done my fair share of fucking around with puck bunnies, but those days are in my rearview mirror. My time on the ice is running out, and I’m not wasting minutes or energy on some woman who thinks her pussy’s special or she can lay claim on me because she can suck my soul out through my cock.
“Hell yeah, brother! Total shutout!” Shepherd shouts as he thrusts his beer bottle toward me.
I clink my bottle to his. “Thanks. It helps when you make shots like you did! You had us set from the drop.”
Shepherd preens at the praise, his white smile bright in the bar’s dim light. “Wouldn’t have mattered if you hadn’t blocked those rockets. Bop, bop, bop.” He mimes fighting off an attack with an imaginary sword and shield that I’m guessing is supposed to resemble my hockey stick and pads. “Deee-nied!”
I appreciate that he values the work I put in at the net. Not every captain does. Goals are the flashy parts of a game, and scorers tend to like all the attention they can get. But Shep’s a good guy and a great leader, making sure the whole team knows we win and lose together.
“Your family here?” I ask, changing the subject . . . for no reason in particular.
Fine, I’ll admit I’m curious if Joy is coming. Even more curious to know if she tattled to Shepherd about our little tiff last night. He would not appreciate me waving my dick around to his sister.
“Yeah, Mom and Dad are at the bar. You know Mom, she’s probably offering to cut lemons if it’d be a help.” That’s the truth. Shepherd’s parents are kind of like team parents, looking out for any of the guys when they need it, but his mother is basically ready to ascend to sainthood. She would give you the last crust of bread she had if you were hungry, so I could totally see her stepping in to help the slammed bartender instead of acting like a typical customer. “And the girls are probably on the dance floor. I’m glad Hope could make it for the opener. Keeps the tradition alive.”
Girls. So Joy is here. Ignoring the uptick in my heart rate, I keep the focus on Shepherd’s other sister.
“Awww, you miss your wittle sistah?” I tease in a toddler voice, knowing full well he worries about Hope, who seems to travel all the time.
“Fuck no,” he lies smoothly. “But at least I know she’s not in trouble if she’s here.”
Shepherd and I have been friends for a few years now. When I joined the Moose, he was already the star center hoping for The Call, and I figured he was a short-timer on his way up and didn’t put much effort into getting to know him. He wasn’t having that for a second. He invited me to dinner, got to know me basically by force, and adopted me as his friend whether I wanted to be or not. Now? I love the guy and appreciate his friendship more than I would’ve dreamed.