The last few days have been a whirlwind. The Flames had two back-to-back away games that I didn't travel for, which left Drew and I separated for the first couple of days since our second time in the shooting bay. It's also the longest we've been apart since the start of the season. It's crazy to think that less than three weeks ago, almost ten months separated any time we spent together. And now, I already really miss him.
We finally exchanged numbers that night at his house, but our few flirty texts—and the one topless photo that a certain one of us sent—have only made me realize how much I've liked having him around. Past-Brooke, or future-Brooke for that matter, would have never guessed I'd feel this way. They'd never believe that Drew Anderson—the same guy who just a few hours ago held a finger to his grinning lips, shushing an away-team crowd when he scored—would not only want to be with someone looking to settle down, but buried underneath his image, he'd seemingly fit the mold.
I know I still have a lot to learn about who Drew really is, but so far, I'm pleasantly surprised. We actually have a lot in common—our loveof music, the way we are in the bedroom, our parental and good-old childhood trauma. But is it enough to actually make this work?
I'm doing pretty well right now. I'm steady and focused—I stopped going out and hooking up which really says something. So, that's what I still need to figure out. If he and I stand an actual chance or if falling for him would be a setback. Another one of my what-I-want-in-the-moment opportunities disguised as a risk I'd be taking on a guy who claims he's not who I thought he was.
"Brooke, what are you doing here?" Tessa's voice rings out from behind the wooden counter of The Gilded Pub as I cross through the front of the dining area toward the bar.
This is my usual shift, so I not only knew that Tess would be here, but I also knew that the managers wouldn't be. I've been so swamped with going to and from the rink, posting pictures and videos, and creating content ideas—not to mention actively learning the game of hockey and the Flames team in general—that I haven't had a chance to check in with Tessa. I don't miss the job at all, which is not surprising in the least, but this is the first time in ten years that I've missed this many shifts in a row. I knew The Pub would function fine without me, the same way I'm thriving without its greasy food and tipsy patrons. But I am a little curious about what's been going on.
"I knew you'd be here," I say, sliding onto a stool. "I thought I'd check in."
"Did Trish see you?" she asks anxiously.
I scoot closer to her and lower my voice. "No, thank God. But I may or may not have waited outside until a party of seven had to be seated."
"Genius," she draws out before pushing off the bar.
"So, how's it been today?"
Tess finishes wiping up a crumb-littered spot, tossing the bar rag over her shoulder. "Oh, it's fine. You missed the rush earlier when the Flames game was on. Those college kids came in again. The ones with the polos and the pastel pants."
"And sweaters tied around their necks?"
"Yep, as usual. Feels like they may have beenwatching the wrong sport."
I shake my head. "I don't get it. They know scarves exist, right?"
Tess shrugs her shoulders. "Maybe all that hair product is going to their brains."
A laugh breaks out between us, and I prepare to once again thank her for taking that misery away from me for these few weeks, when her giggle fades out and her eyes go wide.
"Oh, shit.”
"What?”
"Damn," she says, impressed.
"Tess?"
"Isn't that…"
Her voice fades as I try to decipher her mumbling. I swing around on the stool to catch a glimpse of what's caused her sudden glitch. "Maybe the product went to your… brain… too.”
My words trail off as I land on what—or ratherwho—has snagged her attention. All six foot two inches of my newest life decision struts through the door of the sports bar. He's wearing an open soft-shell motorcycle jacket with a black t-shirt underneath and jeans that hug the solid thighs I've been dreaming of sitting on top of again. His hair is pushed back, a piece falling onto his forehead as he scans the room with his helmet in hand and his backpack hanging off his shoulders. When he spots me, his face lights up, but only through his eyes—only in the way I would know.
He strides toward me easily, tucking the lock behind his ear, his boots seeming to thump against the floor to the same rhythm as my heart. "Hey, Brooke," he says when he's close enough.
Anxiety flushes my belly, a slow heat creeping up my chest as I realize this is supposed to be a secret. I curse him internally for exposing us already, even if Tess is pretty low on my list of people to hide this from.
It’s only when Tessa chirps a friendly, and not the least bit suspicious,hi, from behind me, that I realize us recognizing each other would be expected. She knows why I gave up my shifts at The Pub. Of course we would know each other. So, apparently I’m the only one making this a big deal.
But why is he here?
I clear my throat, removing the foot I so quickly shoved down it, and try to smile casually, thanking the universe that my back is to Tess to hide whatever residual face I'm still making. "Hey, Drew. What are you doing here?”
He looks over my shoulder and grins at Tess. I follow his gaze and watch as she lifts a hand to wave, yet remains oddly calm compared to most people around him—and considering her temporary malfunction when he first walked through the door.
