“Get lost,” a sharp voice snaps. “He’s taken.”
My head whips around to see Blake looming over us. His green eyes glitter menacingly, and the glare he levels my suitor with has the desired effect. Mr. Bold hops off his stool, shrugging carelessly. “Worth a try,” he says before wandering toward the exit.
Blake usurps the guy’s chair and directs the glare tome. “What the hell are you doing, man? Stepping out on J-Bomb? What is thematterwith you?”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not doing a damn thing. I was about to tell that asshole to get lost before you showed up.”
My teammate’s massive shoulders relax. “Oh. Okay. Good.”
“I thought you were going to the strip club with Eriksson.”
He nods. “S’posed to. But then I got out of the cab, saw the sign and got right back into the cab.”
That spurs a chuckle. “Why’d you do that?”
“Dude, you know what the place was called?” He pauses dramatically. “The Black Sheep!”
My chuckle turns into a full-blown laugh. It’s the first time I’ve experienced genuine humor since Jamie left for Cali, and I’m not surprised that Blake is the one to elicit this response from me. Somehow, in the short time I’ve known him, this guy has become my best friend. I’m glad to have him back on the ice with me. And unlike some of my other teammates, Blake genuinely has no problem sitting next to me on that damn bus.
“Now, if that ain’t a sign from the universe to stay far, far away, I don’t know what is.” He shakes his head in dismay. “Swear to God, Wesley, sheep are the devil.”
“I know they are,” I say sympathetically, patting him on the arm.
Blake glances behind the counter. “Barkeep! Beer me, por favor!”
My lips twitch as the bartender comes up and lists all the beers they have on tap. Blake takes an interminably long time deciding, a process that involves two lager jokes, a pun about hops and a detailed account of the first time he ever drank Heineken. The bartender looks dazed by the time he hands Blake a glass of a local craft beer.
Me, I’m trying hard not to bust a gut.
“What?” Blake narrows his eyes at me. “Why are you grinning like that?”
“I…” I shrug. “I just missed you, that’s all.”
His entire face lights up. “Missed you too, brosky. Does that mean you’re ready to stop sulking?”
Just like that, my good humor fades. For a moment, I actually forgot that my boyfriend deserted me, and the reminder of Jamie’s absence is like a skate blade to the jugular.
Blake sighs. “Guess not.” He raises his bottle to his lips, sipping thoughtfully. “You talk to J-Bomb?”
“A couple texts.”
“Did he say when he’s coming home?”
Pain shoots through me. “Heishome,” I mumble.
“Bullshit.” Blake taps his fingers on the counter, while his other hand toys with the label of his beer bottle. This man is the poster child for ADD. “His home is Toronto. With us.”
“Us, huh?”
“Yup. You and J-Bomb are my best friends. We’re the three amigos.” He pales. “J-Bomb knows that, right? Or does he think I’m only friends with him because of you? ’Cause I’m not.”
“I know that.” I wonder if Jamie does, though. He’s been so miserable in Toronto all these months. When he’s not with me, he’s alone. I think the only time he went out with his work colleagues was the night we ran into each other at the pub. And it’s all my fault. He’s been isolated because ofme, because ofmyneed to hide our relationship, because ofmycareer.
But that’s not who Jamie is. For as long as I’ve known him, he’s had friends and family surrounding him. He’s been popular, adored by everyone he meets, and whywouldn’tthey adorehim? He’s the nicest, friendliest, most endearing person I’ve ever met.
No wonder he left. I doomed him to a life of isolation.
“It’s too bad we don’t play Anaheim until April,” Blake muses. “We could’ve surprised him in Cali.”
