And in need of another drink.
“Yeah,” I say. “This place isn’t my scene.”
“What is your scene?” she asks.
“I don’t know.” I gesture to Maverick Miller, the team’s captain and star player, standing on top of a bar without his shirt on. My gaze cuts over to Ethan Richardson, our center, lifting the Cup over his head. “Somewhere I can hear myself think.”
“I know a place that’s quieter.”
“Doubt that’s possible. Everyone in this city recognizes me.”
“That’s a bold assumption. Not everyone loves hockey.” She leans an elbow on the bar and swirls her drink around. Her lips clamp down on her straw, taking a long sip of what looks and smells like whiskey and ginger ale while her eyes never leave mine. “Do you always walk around thinking you’re important?”
Her sarcasm makes my cheeks heat. I’m too warm. She’s too close. “Important is the last thing I am,” I grumble. “I’m the most boring person on the planet.”
Her eyes flick to the collection of friendship bracelets on my wrist. Olivia, my fourteen-year-old, made them for me to wear to tonight’s game, a good luck memento she thought I needed.Hannah’s attention moves to the tattoos that span from my hand to my biceps. Her gaze lingers on the ones hiding under my shirt, barely visible at the dip of my collar, before letting out a hum.
“My apartment is free.”
“You don’t know anything about me. I could be a serial killer,” I say.
“I could probably fix you if you were.” She lifts an eyebrow, voice dropping low. “Are you a serial killer, Brody?”
Hearing my name makes me pause. It’s rare anyone in my life uses it, often going with Coach or Dad or Saunders, but I like how it sounds coming from her. I also like the grin she’s trying to fight off. Her whole face lights up, and I don’t know if I’ve ever seen someone so happy.
“If the rumors about me are true, I could be,” I say. “I come with a warning label.”
“Even better.” Her smile widens. She stands up straight, and I shouldn’t be noticing how short her skirt is. The way it barely reaches the tops of her thighs and how it hugs her hips. “I have some knives you can use.”
A sound whooshes out of me. It might be a laugh. I’m pretty sure it is, but I cover it up with a cough.
Having her think she’s funny is dangerous. It’s going to give her the wrong idea. A sense of power, and that’s not going to end well for anyone.
Especially me.
“Are you old enough to drink?” I ask, even though I know the answer.
She is.
I’m well aware of everything about her, and bringing up her age is the easiest way to draw a line between us.
If only she would take the fucking bait.
“I’m old enough to do a lot of things.” Hannah tips her head to the side. Her ponytail is held together by a white ribbon, andthe sight of it jumbles my brain. “Are you young enough to be out this late? I thought there were laws against senior citizens driving after a certain time of night. We have to be close to your curfew, old man.”
“Brat,” I mumble. It’s a bad sign when all she does is laugh. “That’s not how you should talk to your elders.”
“You have to be, what? Close to fifty?”
“I wish I was close to fifty. Then I’d be close to death, and it would get me out of having to talk to anyone ever again.”
“What a lovely way to look at life.”
My lips quirk. I scrub a hand over my jaw and look around, hoping Grant hasn’t noticed us talking. Gossip is the last thing I need, but no one is paying attention to us.
All the guys are celebrating. They’re enjoying their victory in their own ways, and hanging out with Hannah can’t be the worst thing in the world.
Something tells me she would be a lot of fucking fun.
