Connor grins and raises his glass. “Ah, here we go. Groupies in the wild.”
Dom smirks. “You attract them, Murphy. They think you’re safe. Like a golden retriever.”
Connor flexes. “Buddy, nobody looks at this body and thinkssafe.”
Laughter ripples through the table, and before long, a wave of college girls swarm the table, asking for selfies, autographs—some looking for more than that. They flirt, laugh, and perch on the guys’ laps. It’s the usual post-game circus.
One brunette with fake lashes and a crop top leans my way. “You’re Callaghan, right? The one who got hurt?”
“Still alive,” I say, lifting my beer.
She giggles, touching my arm. “Want help with recovery?”
Connor snorts. “Sweetheart. He needs a good slapshot, or a good lay.”
I lean back in my chair, one brow up. “Go flirt with someone at your own maturity level.”
He grins. “So… no one here?”
The table erupts again. Conner’s got a girl on each arm now, both laughing at jokes that aren’t that funny. The rest of the guys are feeding off it, shouting over the music, shots lined up like soldiers.
I’m halfway through my third beer, quiet, just watching the chaos unfold, when Connor’s voice cuts through the noise.
“Hey!” he yells across the table, pointing his bottle at me. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you, Callaghan? All these beautiful women out here, and you’re sitting there like a monk. Get your dick wet for a change!”
Everybody bursts into laughter.
I cringe because he’s so crass. I could throw out a zinger, that he gets his dick wet so often it might shrivel up and fall apart. But I don’t, of course, because that’s not my style. Instead, I just roll my eyes and brood as I finish my beer.
But he’s not done.
He takes the seat next to me, patting his lap as a pretty, petite blonde giggles and flops onto him, clearly drunk.
“Wait, wait,” he says, grinning wildly. “Is this about that hot curly-headed brunette from the other night? The little horny slut you were practically humping on the dance floor?”
My upper lip curls as I snarl, “Don’ttalk about her like that.”
Connor puts his hands up. “Okay, okay, sorry. I didn’t realize she was special to you, that random woman you totally weren’t dry-fucking in front of God and everyone. It wastotallychaste. My eyes were deceiving mefor sure.”
I can’t say I’m not tempted to punch Connor in the mouth for talking shit, but not right here in front of all these people. Not with twenty cell phones pointed in every direction, each one ready to catch a clip of me brawling with a teammate.
Especially not when I’m about to get back on the ice.
I toss back the last of my beer and stand. “I’d like to say it was fun, but it wasn’t. I’m going back to the hotel.”
“I fucked that girl’s sister, I think,” Connor announces, ignoring me. “That night. She was a goooood lay.”
The girl on his lap is so blitzed, she’s just laughing as he talks about having sex with another woman. I’m so disgusted that I lean in and look her in the eyes.
“You’re too drunk, and you need to go drink some water,” I tell her. “Seriously. You’re going to feel like hell tomorrow.”
Thankfully, one of her less-drunk friends hears this and comes to her aid.
“Bella?” the friend asks. Bella gives her the glassy-eyed look of someone very unaware of her surroundings. The friend grabs her hands and pulls her from Connor’s lap. They stumble off toward the bathroom, where I suspect that little blonde will be puking very, very soon.
“Fucking cock-blocker,” Connor says, though there’s little venom in it. He’s a whore, but he’s not into having sex with someone unable to consent.
I raise an eyebrow at him and say, “Connor, stay away from those two women.”
