That lands us into a very spirited discussion about whether or not the young Dom has what it takes to keep the brakes on and also keep dominating in his rookie year and take the Knights to the next level.
Yeah, the comparison of their new recruit to me only a handful of years ago isn’t lost on me.
I try not to look too closely at the parallels when I see a look pass between Benji and Diggs.
Benji wipes his mouth from a drink of real beer. “What’s with you and this guy anyway?”
“What do you mean? I don’t even know the kid.”
“Not Dom.Thatcher. The hockey dad. I mean, we only met a few weeks ago, but I’ve never seen you this worked up, not even when Zabrinski clipped you mid-ice a few days ago.”
The others nod, and the need to set the record straight feels like an imperative. “Hockey dad ought to be thanking me, hoping his kid could get one inch of my hockey wisdom.” Diggs smirks when I say “inch,” and I feel my mouth snap shut.
The highly inappropriate locker room jokes ensue.
“Is that what you all think this is?” I ask, incredulity thick in my voice. “That I’m attracted to the asshole?”
It’s actually not that much of a leap; hockey gossip was always happy to report on my party lifestyle with men and women.
And objectively, who wouldn’t be attracted to Jamie’s dad?
Like physically. He’s clearly an asshole in terms of personality.
“Well,” Benji says, not meeting my eye. “Your righteous indignation did have plenty of room for a detailed account of his hair and eyes.”
I sputter at the mere thought that Gabe Thatcher—a name I had to find out around town since he couldn’t be bothered to tell me—did anything to rile me up. Well, he did, but not in that way. The man is infuriating, and he’s going to harm his kid’s future with his high-handed ways.
Someone ought to tell him that.
Someone ought to get right up to his six-four frame and tell him.
Look him square in the scruffy, sexy face.
Just over that sexy, sharp jawline.
Right into those fiery hazel eyes.
Fuck.
Well, he is attractive. I never said he wasn’t. He’s just also an asshole, and God knows I’ve had enough of that in my life.
I just want to do right by Jamie. He’s a good kid, and I’ve really enjoyed our practice sessions these past few weeks. The kid has a heck of a lot of talent and deserves someone who could show him the ropes if the NAPH, or a pathway there, is in his future. And it should be.
And he has a dad who doesn’t get it. Or doesn’t want to.
“Fine,” I allow when I see everyone is waiting on me to respond. “He’s hot.”
“Who we talking about, sugar? You need the gossip on someone you got your eye on?” Patti Jensen, the owner of The Blue Line, stops by our table to distribute some refills and dessert options from the local bakery.
“The local hot guy in flannel. Protective papa bear type,” Diggs supplies.
“That would be Gabe Thatcher,” Patti says, not missing a beat.
“Gabe,” I repeat, glad to no longer pretend I don’t know his name. “Hates hockey?” I venture and she nods.
“That would be him, hon.” She gives me a wink. “Hot, single, hockey-hating carpenters aren’t falling off the trees around here. We’ve only got the one.”
For some reason, the urge to ask all about Thatcher almost overtakes me. Who is Liz? Is he interested in men? How does Jamie fit in?
