“And to winning the Christmas Classic.” A woman in a leopard print top rested her hand on Chuckles’s shoulder.
“To winning the Christmas Classic.” Chuckles held up his glass.
This time I didn’t feel right clinking their glasses, but I did anyway. The leopard print woman seemed to have claimed Chuck, but she kept looking at me. When our eyes met, she shot me an exaggerated wink, her whole face, including bright pink lips, participating in the gesture.
“Watch out for Stacy.” Mack leaned in. “She used to be a bunny.”
“Used to be?” I raised my brows. The way that the woman with big hair and a small shirt was clinging to the players told me otherwise.
Mack grinned. “Oh, in Chance Rapids the bunniesbecome something better.” He held up his glass and Stacy raised hers.
“What’s that?” I sipped the beer. The Last Chance Tavern was seedy and smelled like regret—but it also felt familiar. This place was the same as every main street dive bar, with the exception of the private player’s table.
“Bunnies grow into cougars.” He made a meowing sound.
If I were a few years younger, this all would’ve made me very excited. My teammates were idols in this town, and could likely, and probably had, any woman they wanted in their beds. When you’re a young guy, stuff like that is exciting, but for me, it had worn off years ago. Where was the fun in getting what you wanted without having to try?
A pretty blond at the jukebox looked over her shoulder a third time and gave me thatlook. It would’ve been easy, especially with my place at the king’s table, but there was only one sandy blond in Chance Rapids that I wanted, and she was three streets away, tucked into floral sheets next to a pull-out sofa with my name on it.
I yawned. After a day of skiing, playing maid, and battling multiple hard-ons, I was spent. I chugged my beer and wiped my mouth with my sleeve, then tried to figure out whether it was closer to walk back to the arena, or head south toward the inn.
Then the sandy-haired girl that I wanted walked through the front door.
TEN
EVIE
“Who bringstheir grandmother to the bar?” A woman in a leopard print shirt thought she was whispering to the woman in the denim dress as we walked by.
As a kid, my parents used to go to the Last Chance. I never thought I’d be back in town, let alone having a drink at their former local haunt. In some ways it was exactly how I’d imagined it—everyone in town drinking and having fun, but it was ten times divier than I could have ever dreamed possible.
“I think my feet are sticking to the ground.” I peeled my Converse from the floor.
A man with white hair stood up from his seat at the end of the bar. He nudged his friend sitting next to him on his shoulder. The second man looked at us, stood, and took off his hat.
“Janie.” The man in the mechanic’s shirt gestured to his chair.
“Thank you, Bob. This is my granddaughter, Evie.”
“Jenny’s daughter?” Bob’s eyes were slightly clouded but looked kind. “My wife used to babysit your mom.” Bob extended his hand and I shook it. “I’m Bob and this is Glen.”
Glen shook my hand and then raised his to get the bartender’s attention. “Beer? Wine?” he asked.
“Beer,” we both said at the same time.
GJ had convinced me to go out for a drink to celebrate learning how to ski and to thank me for helping to clean Nick’s suite. All I’d wanted to do was curl up in bed, but GJ had insisted. I left a note for Nick on his bed and told GJ that I would come out for one drink.
While GJ chit-chatted with Bob and Glen, I scanned the busy bar. Since we’d arrived, at least twenty people had followed. The music was loud, but the voices were louder. The staccato of the balls hitting each other on the pool table punctuated the din. Toward the back of the room there was a big, long table. I squinted and could make out several very big men, most of them wearing a Bobcat logo somewhere on their body. The man at the head of the table was looking the other way, but I recognized his profile. He turned before I could look away.
The room went silent. At least it did in my world. Nick’s eyes pierced through the dimly lit, seedy bar. He raised his hand in a wave and I returned it.
“Have they initiated the young buck yet?” GJ asked the bartender, a woman named Mary.
“Not yet.” She rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe they’re still doing that. Although, I have to say I’m curious about the new one.” She jerked her chin toward the table full of hockey players.
Initiation? This was news to me. “What’s going on, GJ?” I asked.
GJ handed me a frosty pint filled with the local Chance Rapids Kölsch. It was surprisingly good.
