“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” Madden growls.
Right as we follow his gaze, the group taking up the end of the bar shouts in celebration. My mood plummets at the sight of red. Some of Elmwood’s players are here, in our bar.
“What the hell are they doing here?” I mutter.
“I heard from Coach Kincaid they have another away game on their schedule south of here, so they’re staying in town tonight instead of busing back to their campus,” Cameron says.
Madden takes a threatening step in their direction, thick brows pulled together. I cut him off and nudge him back with a shake of my head.
“It’s fine, Graves. Let’s just go over here.” I motion to the other end of the bar furthest away from them. “They’re not ruining the rest of our night.”
“Damn right,” Cameron says.
Reagan, one of the student bartenders, makes her way to us once we’re situated with a sympathetic smile. “Hey guys. The usual?”
Noah braces his elbows on the bar. “Reagan, I need to drown all my sorrows tonight.”
“So a pitcher, four large baskets of grilled chicken strips, and a round of potato wedges?” She laughs when five hungry as fuck hockey players nod in unison.
“Stat, babe.” Noah blows her a kiss. “Thank you”
“Just water for me. That’s it,” Elijah says.
“Not so fast.” With the same mischievous smile that steals the hearts of girls all over campus, Noah waves a twenty pinched between two fingers. Reagan accepts the tip he slides her whenever we’re here to make sure our song choice plays. “Did you think you’d get out of it because we’re so far from the stereo system?”
“Come on,” Elijah protests. “Really?”
“Tradition’s tradition, man.” Cameron rubs his mouth to cover his grin. “You’ve gotta do it. We’ve all been through this. Easton. Noah. Your brother did it.”
Elijah’s older brother was a sophomore on the team during mine and Cameron’s first year here. Caleb Adler was drafted after that season and plays for Seattle.
“It’s your time.” I elbow him when Pony by Ginuwine starts to play.
Whenever he hears it, he’s supposed to dance. The rest of the patrons get a kick out of this just as much because it's’ a time-honored team tradition.
Cameron chuckles. “You’ve got this, rookie.”
Elijah pulls a face, then his shoulders slump. He keeps his light brown hair trimmed on the sides, but the longer section on top falls in his face. He scrapes it back with a sigh.
Noah hypes him up when he starts to move. He’s off beat, but his attempt at a sexy dance has all of us trying to keep it together. Not cracking up is a struggle as he turns around, plants his hands on his thighs, and tries his best impression of twerking.
I lose it first, leaning heavily on Noah. Cameron breaks next, wheezing while he wipes away tears.
Shouts and whistles from the other side of the bar cut through our laughter. My smile fades while I search the crowd to see what the commotion is. The Elmwood guys block the viewaround the opposite end of the bar where a bunch of people have congregated.
Exchanging a look with Cameron and Noah, I lead them around the corner for a better view. I’ll tolerate Elmwood crashing our bar, but if they start any shit, we’ll handle them.
The yelling shifts into cheers as a girl emerges in the middle when she stands on a bar stool. She climbs on top of the bar and winks at Reagan as she tugs her ponytail free, sending wavy chestnut brown hair cascading around her shoulders.
Rolling her hips to the sensual beat of the song, she sinks her fingers in her hair and gives the entire bar a show that captures my rapt attention. Mine, and every other guy’s in the room.
“Damn, baby,” Noah mutters.
I agree.
She drops down low and pops back up with a sexy move that ignites heat low in my gut. My hands ball into fists when she faces our direction.
It’s her. The girl from the game.
