October 29, 2020
Thelightsintheclub were low, and the entire place smelled of stale beer, body odor, and cheap perfume. Brief flashes from the strobes overhead illuminated the bodies on the dance floor, where a hundred girls screamed the words to every song the DJ played. The scene instantly transported him back to those early days after high school.
Mitch hadn’t gone to college, choosing instead to jump right into junior hockey and work his way up through the various leagues until landing in the pros. He was no stranger to hard work, just as he was no stranger to letting loose. Any free time they had, even before he’d been legally old enough to drink, Mitch and his teammates found themselves at a bar in whatever city they were playing in, tying one on and fucking around with the locals.
Now, at thirty-two, he realized he was far too old for places like this. The girls here were far too young, and he wasn’t entirely sure how he’d let Parker talk him into coming to Contour in the first place.
Usually, Mitch Frambough found his size to be a detriment in crowded public spaces like these. On the ice? His six-foot, five-inch frame was perfectly intimidating and great for knocking around opponents, making him extremely good at his job. But in a club packed wall-to-wall with bodies, the bulk of them female who were much, much smaller than him? It proved to be more of a hindrance than anything. About all he was good for in these situations was pushing his way past the throng to reach the bar.
Once he had secured a few beers, he made his way back to a table at the edge of the dance floor where his teammate, Parker Graff, and his friend Jay were seated.
“Don’t you own anything other than flannel?” Parker asked with a groan, as if finally realizing what Mitch was wearing despite the hour they’d already spent together tonight.
“What’s wrong with my flannel?” Mitch replied, glancing down at his faded red and white shirt with a frown.
“Nothing, except we’re at a club, not a rodeo.”
Mitch smacked Parker on the back of the head before sliding his beer in front of him. “Graff, the day I start taking fashion advice from you is the day someone should put a bullet in my head.”
Jay snorted, and Parker shot him a dirty look, rolling his eyes as he said, “I’m just saying, you look ridiculous.”
Mitch sat down and looked around, capturing the heated glances of several women. “I hate to break it to you bro, but this right here?” he said, gesturing to his body. “This is perfection, and the females here tonight agree.”
Parker followed Mitch’s gaze around the room and groaned. “I don’t know how you pick up so many women looking like a farmer.”
“It’s less about the clothes and more about what I look like under them,” Mitch said with a smirk. “I could wear a garbage bag and I’d still get more ass than you, Graff.”
Parker threw a balled-up drink napkin at him. “Shut up.”
Mitch’s smirk bloomed into a smile, and he turned his gaze to the dance floor. Secretly, he loved to dance, and as he sat there watching the bodies writhing on the platform in front of him, he desperately wanted to get up, find a girl, and drag her out there. Instead, he settled for finishing his beer and wading through the crowd to get another.
With a second drink in hand, Mitch turned from the bar, nearly plowing over a tiny blonde girl. Easily over a foot shorter than him, Mitch hadn’t seen her until he bumped into her.
A tall brunette entered his vision, presumably the girl’s friend, and Mitch froze. The two stood there staring at each other, his green eyed-gaze locked on her hazel one for far longer than was appropriate given the fact that they were strangers.
Thanks to all of the social media sleuthing his teammate Brent had him doing lately, Mitch knew exactly who she was. Her name was Lexie Monroe, and he had to clamp his lips shut tight to prevent himself from letting out a low whistle at his first full look at her in the flesh.
Pictures truly did not do the woman justice. Her miles-long legs were clad in black denim and stuffed into a pair of white sneakers. A black sweater hung loose on her thin frame and draped off her shoulder, giving Mitch a tantalizing glimpse of smooth, tan skin. Her hair fell in a long, straight curtain down her back. As he gave Lexie a head-to-toe inspection, she returned the favor, a small smile playing on her lips.
This meant the little blonde standing in front of him was Berkley Daniels, the object of Brent’s attention. Without breaking eye contact with Lexie, he tapped Berkley on the shoulder, and she whipped around. “What can I get you guys?” he asked.
If she was as big of a Warriors fan as Brent claimed she was, he had no doubt she recognized him. His suspicions were confirmed when she stood staring up at him, mouth open in shock. He couldn’t help but grin down at her, waiting for her to have her fangirl moment.
But it never happened. Instead, Lexie came to her rescue, saying, “Would you mind terribly getting us a couple beers, please?” She batted her eyes at him, and he practically snorted. Clearly, she had no idea who he was, and she was laying it on thick, but who could blame her?
Mitch’s physique was solid muscle, built more like a football linebacker than a hockey defenseman. His green eyes, the straight, white smile he paid a lot of money for after signing his first big contract, and even that scar slicing through his left eyebrow had earned him a romp in the sheets with a lot of women.
He couldn’t help hoping Lexie would be next.
He held Lexie’s gaze as he said, “Comin’ right up.”
Mitch turned back to the bar, towering over the men and women standing there, gawking at him. “Two more beers, please!” He yelled at the bartender over the music. The guy gave him a thumbs up and returned a moment later with the drinks.
He handed them to the girls, then stepped around them and inclined his head, urging them to follow.
When they arrived at the table, Mitch cleared his throat and said, “Ladies, I’d like you to meet my teammate, Parker, and my buddy, Jay. Parker and Jay, I’d like you to meet…”
“I’m Berkley, and this is Lexie,” Berkley said.
