“Don’t be. Want to talk about why you’re here and not out celebrating the big win with your team?”
“Just needed to get my mind off things,” he grumbles, taking another swig of his soda.
“Something to do with that shoulder injury they were talking about?”
He shrugs. “Maybe.”
“Still grumpy, I see. I guess some things never change.”
His jaw ticks, and the look on his face is the same one he gave me all those years ago when we played this little game. Warmth pools low in my belly, and my head floods with another memory of the two of us tangled together between my bed sheets. What it felt like when his tongue would…
He clears his throat, breaking my thoughts.
“You always liked when I was a little grumpy.”
He’s right. I did. I really fucking like it.
His hazel eyes rake over me, and I like the way it feels when he looks at me. I like it more than I know I should.
“You look beautiful,” he says. His cheeks turn a soft shade of pink as he speaks.
“Seems like you’re the one who’s drooling,” I swipe my thumb across my chin, repeating the same gesture he did. Our eyes lock on each other again, and for a moment, the rest of the bar melts away.
Never in a million years did I think I’d be close enough to touch him again, but here I am, sitting at a dive bar and wishing he’d pull me out of it, take me home, and make me forget the night I’ve had.
Chapter 10: Quick Fingers
Everett
Iswallow down a sip of my Coke as I take her in. Long onyx hair, delicate frame, black mini dress, and black thigh-high boots. I smile over my glass when I notice the jacket she was wearing in the arena is nowhere to be found.
Her blue eyes lock on mine, and she casually moves her ankle against the side of my calf, causing me to choke on the sip I just took.
“You good?” she asks, her mouth turning into a sultry smile.
“Fine,” I cough out, clearing my throat.
“Everett, can I get you another one?” Blake asks.
“No, I’m good,” I say, shaking my head. “Thanks, man.”
“You hockey boys can’t go anywhere without being noticed, can you?”
A laugh rumbles through my chest. She’s not wrong. Most of the time, I’m bombarded by fans, women, and reporters. It’s exhausting. Younger me craved that attention. I was desperate to be noticed everywhere I went, but now I prefer not to be bothered. It’s my favorite thing about Fritz’s. The only thing the regulars care about here is if their high score on one of the many game machines has been beaten.
It’s why I walked in. I figured sitting at the bar for a little while, even if I can’t drink with that shot, or playing some pinball was better than going home and being alone with my thoughts.
“Blake bartends most nights I’m here.” I shrug, taking the last sip of my soda and placing the glass on the bar.
“Most nights?” Claire questions, moving her foot away. “Do you come here often then?” Her eyes move around the mostly empty bar. “Are you secretly really good at pinball or something?”
“You know I’ve always had quick fingers.” I smirk.
She rolls her eyes and attempts to not be amused by my joke, but I know her better than that.
“Didn’t realize the skills transferred so easily,” she teases.
“Oh, they definitely do.” I tap my fingers against the wood surface of the bar and watch her eyes narrow in on them as she gently bites her lip. She quickly redirects her gaze as her cheeks turn a rosey pink, causing me to wonder if she’s thinking about how easily I could make her come undone with just one touch too. How I knew exactly how to use them to make her scream my name.
