Then Kayla goes completely still, staring at the door.
Hunter follows. They exchange a look that can only be described as ‘fuuuuck’.
I follow their gaze to the entrance and—
Oof.
Some two dozen massive men in suits file through the door like a colony of oversized penguins. Except penguins are cutesy and these guys look like they could bench press a car. Then eat the car. Then bench press another car just to prove a point.
The suits fit them like a second skin. I'm talking shoulders that could block out the sun, thighs that are testing the limits of modern tailoring, and an overall vibe of ‘we're very large and we know it.’
"Did I accidentally sign up to work at a GQ convention?" I half-whisper. "Are suits supposed to fit like that? Is it legal for that many huge men to be in one place? Are there zoning laws about this?"
"That's the Wolves," Kayla says.
"The what now?"
Hunter grins. "Hockey team. They just won against Detroit."
The team floods the bar, taking up every available space like they're staging a very well-dressed invasion. And they'reloud. Slapping each other on backs. One guy picks up another and spins him around like they're in a murder mystery rom-com. Someone's yelling about a goal. Another person is yelling about someone else's goal. Everyone's yelling. It's beautiful chaos and they haven't even ordered yet.
"There's literally a sports bar two blocks from the arena," I point out.
Kayla and Hunter exchange another look.
"What?"
Hunter's trying not to laugh. "They're banned."
I blink. "From the sports bar? A sports team is banned from the sports bar?"
"Yep."
"Why?"
"Don't ask," they both say in unison.
I watch the team spread out like a very attractive plague. Some at the bar. Some at tables. All of them creating enough noise to violate several city ordinances.
One guy is already doing push-ups in the corner. Why? Who fucking knows.
Another is taking a selfie with our lopsided Christmas tree.
Two guys in the back are arm-wrestling. It's been thirty seconds and we've already reached arm-wrestling. This is going to be a long fucking night.
But I'm not complaining. The view is spectacular.
The team starts ordering and I quickly realize these are not normal drink orders.
A blond guy leans across the bar. "I want something that tastes like bad decisions and questionable life choices."
"So...everything I've made today?"
He cracks up, slapping the bar. "I like this guy! Kayla, can we keep him?"
"He's not a puppy, Becker."
So that's The Comedian. Filing that away.
