He’s bigger than the rest, and somehow, the room seems to adjust around him without him trying. He laughs at something one of the other guys says, his head tipping back enough for the sound to be heard over the music. It’s warm and easy.
I’m still staring when Sasha leans in beside me. “Hockey boys,” she says casually. “They come in here all the time.”
I nod, forcing my attention back to my notepad, trying to slow my racing heart. Then the tall one—Cooper, as I hear Sasha call him—looks up.
And our eyes meet.
It’s brief, barely even a second, but my heart seizes. I overhear one of his teammates call him by his last name, and that’s when it hits me.
It’s him. Rowden, or I guess Cooper Rowden. The goalie from the practice I watched yesterday.
He doesn’t smile or smirk or do anything obvious. He just studies me, eyes dragging over my face in a way that makes my pulse stumble, like he’s already decided something and doesn’t need to say it out loud.
I take their order, trying to pay attention to each name as I jot them down. When I get to Cooper, I jot down the name of his beer and retreat to the bar with my heart thudding harder than it should.
Sasha bumps my shoulder lightly as she starts pouring a drink.
“You know them?” she asks.
“No,” I say too quickly.
Internally, my thoughts start to race.
Of course I don’t know them. I don’t know anyone here. Not really. And I definitely don’t want to explain that my father is their hockey coach—or that I’m standing five feet away from players he drills into the ice while trying not to think about that connection at all.
Sasha glances over my shoulder, then back to me, eyebrows lifting.
“Well,” she says, grinning, “Cooper has certainly been eyeing you since he walked in.”
Something in my chest jolts. I don’t turn around. I already know.
I nearly drop the glass in my hand.
“What?” I ask, heat rushing up my neck.
She laughs. “Don’t panic. I’m just saying, you’ve clearly caught his attention.”
I risk looking toward the group.
Cooper isn’t staring this time. He’s leaning against the high-top table, talking with his teammates like nothing’s different.And I tell myself Sasha’s wrong. She’s seeing things that aren’t really there.
Still, I can feel it. The weight of his gaze on me burning into my skin.
I turn back toward the bar, forcing myself to breathe and focus.
This is my job. My first shift, for crying out loud. Whatever reason he may have, or whatever Sasha thinks she saw, I tell myself it doesn’t matter.
But as I set the drinks on their table and Cooper’s eyes flick up again, I get the feeling this night is only getting started.
The rush hits its peak just after nine.
Orders stack up faster than I can keep up. The bar buzzes with noise and people, the sharp clinking of glasses on wood. I’m sweating now. My hair sticks to the back of my neck, and my brain struggles to keep drink names and orders straight.
That’s when I mess up.
The guy who I just finished closing out his tab a few minutes ago stands in front of the bar, frowning at his receipt.
“What’s this?” he says, tapping the paper. “I didn’t order all this.”
