“I feel like I own them all,” she huffs.
“I bet Drink Guy would like to see them.” I waggle my eyebrows at her.
“I bet he would.” She flips her hair out of her scarf and sashays to the door.
Gosh,I love her.
CHAPTER FOUR
MATT
Beingat a packed bar on a Thursday night is not my definition of fun. It’s specifically why I turned Niko down last week. But after Nate mentioned he’d seen Eleanor walk by a handful of times since she was here a month ago, I decided one night at the bar was worth a little bit of delusional hope.
With my hat pulled low and Nate keeping an eye on non-regulars, I try not to stress about getting harassed. It rarely happens, given the low profile of the bar, and thanks to Nate I’m not exactlyworried. But the general noise and chaos has me on edge. You’d think regular exposure to screaming arenas would make me immune to the racket, but there’s just something about this up-close commotion and volume that has me feeling a tad claustrophobic.
“Those two girls want to buy you a drink.”
I look up at Nate and try to fight my reflexive grimace. “Guess that’s my cue to go,” I tell him, tipping back the last of the beer in my glass.
“You don’t even want to look? They’re pretty hot,” he says with a smirk.
“Well then maybeyoushould?—”
I stop talking as I see Nate’s gaze snag on something outside the bar. I follow his line of sight to something passing the front door.Someone.
Eleanor. Holy shit.
Despite the time that’s passed, her pretty face has been burned into my mind exactly as I predicted. The regret of not getting her number or even her name—in a normal way—has been weighing surprisingly heavily on my mind. I was sure I would never see her again and it’s been strangely more upsetting than I would expect from some fleeting encounter. Hence the out-of-character night out.
I don’t pursue random girls. And that’s not some cheesy intro intogirls pursue me.I mean, I guess they do, but that’s not why I don’t go after them. I just don’t trust myself to know a stranger’s intentions. I’ve been a professional hockey player for eighteen years, and from the very first day, they warn you about the minefield of dating as a pro player.
Only date friends of friends. Or friends of friends of friends. That’s your best bet, they’d say.
I was pretty casual the first few years, but then I experienced firsthand what they were talking about. So I took their advice. No more random hookups, no strangers in a bar. No matter how pretty.
Playing it safe made sense and still does, but as I watch the little pom-pom on her hat disappear from view, I rush to grab my jacket and jog to the door. I’m not letting her slip away again.
Nate’s chuckle is cut off as the door swings shut behind me and the noise of the bar fades to muted chatter. I turn right and catch sight of Eleanor walking down the street. How long has she been walking? It’s cold as balls out here.
“Hey,” I call out. Like a total fucking creep.
Fuck, what if she doesn’t remember me and now I’m some dude a few steps behind her on a dark street? Not exactly the start I want.
She turns around and—shit.The seared image I had in my brain takes a back-row seat to the sight in front of me.
Honey eyes and rosy, freckled cheeks. Dark brown hair falling to her shoulders under her blue hat. Glossy pink lips curving into a smile that gives way to perfect teeth.
I swallow and try to remember how to talk.
“Clark,” she says as her smile takes over her whole face.
Wow. Okay.Except then there is an almost comical little record scratch sound effect in my head.Clark?Shit, does she think I’m someone else? We did only meet once… Perhaps it was more memorable for me.
I tilt my head and try not to show too much confusion on my face. “Clark?”
“You know, Clark Kent?” She looks down and I see that pink blush turn a little more red.
My own smile catches me off guard. She thinks of me as Superman? That’s got to be good, right? Way better than a serial killer, at least.
