“No,” he laughs, shaking his head. He points to the television above the bar. “Those are the Boston Harborhawks. They are also in the playoffs.”
I nod, taking in what he’s saying. Before I can respond, something on the other side of the bar catches my eyes. My breath catches in my throat at the sight of him.
Daemon Lucero is here.
He's in a corner booth with a group of guys who appear to be just as tall and broad as he is. My best guess is that he’s out withsome of his teammates, but I can’t see any of their faces to be sure.
He has a tumbler full of whiskey in his hand and he's listening to one of them talk, but his expression remains unreadable. He looks exactly like he did on New Year's Eve, and I can’t stop my smile. His dark hair, sharp jawline, salt and pepper facial hair, that quiet intensity that makes my stomach flip.
Before my brain can make sense of what I’m doing, I start moving in the direction of his table.
“Where are you going?” Jere calls after me, but I'm already weaving through the crowd.
My heart thunders in my chest with each step forward.
Daemon is the last person I expected to see at the bar tonight, but I’m choosing to believe that this is fate working in her mysterious ways. How else can you explain the two of us ending up at this specific bar out of all the options in Hudson. It’s a college town after all, and the entire city easily has two dozen bars.
I reach the booth and plant my hands on the table, leaning forward so he has no choice but to look at me.
“This is perfect,” I say, grinning. “I don't have to use your card to get home tonight. You can take me home with you instead.”
Daemon's eyes widen to the size of saucers, and I have to bite my lip to stop the laugh from bubbling out of me. His shock only lasts for a second before his expression shifts into something unreadable. If I were to guess, I’d say he almost looks annoyed at my sudden appearance.
Internally, I have to fight the hurt I feel. The instant my eyes landed on him, it was like the universe had finally given me what I wanted. However, his tense jaw and drawn brows don’t show the same excitement I felt.
“Gianna.” He dips his head in greeting.
“You remember my name.” My heart gallops back to life, but I force my expression to remain unphased by this revelation. “I wasn't sure you would.”
“It’s hard to forget someone who's been charging Ubers to my card for four months.” A hint of a smile plays on his full lips.
“You noticed?” My lips turn up into a flirty smirk. “I was starting to think you didn't care.”
One of the guys at the table laughs, “Oh, he noticed.” When I look at the guy to my left, I instantly recognize him as Holden Wright, the captain of the Hudson Huskies.
Another dark-haired and smirking man leans forward. “You're the chaos girl.” He looks me up and down before nodding. “Yeah, that tracks. You’re hot.”
“Truett,” Daemon scolds the man on his right, but it’s only half-hearted. Truett Vale is the goalie on the team, and he’s an openly gay athlete. Him calling me hot doesn’t mean anything other than him being able to appreciate an attractive person.
“Chaos girl?” I repeat, delighted to know that Daemon has been talking about me. “I love that. That will officially be my new nickname.”
Daemon rubs his temples like I'm giving him a headache. “What are you doing here?”
“I came here to have a few drinks and a good time.” I gesture toward Jere and Kevin-Keegan who are now headed this way. “I'm here with friends. What are you doing here?”
“Gianna?” Before Daemon can answer my question, Maxton walks over to the table. There is a disapproving look in his dark eyes.
“Hey, Maxton…” I smile and wave awkwardly at him as he returns to his seat across Daemon.
Max looks from me to his teammate and back again. “What are you doing here, Gi?”
I lift my hand to my mouth and start chewing on my cuticles. It’s a bad habit, but I can’t help myself sometimes.
“Gianna…” The sound of Jeremiah’s voice saves me from having to explain anything to Maxton. We all turn as Jere and Kevin-Keegan approach the table.
“Oh shit,” Holden hisses before his eyes dart to Truett.
“Motherfucker,” Truett hisses, climbing out of the booth.
