“Please,” I pleaded with my 2004 Camry. “Help me out, girl. It’s just you and me in this world, so let’s do this.” After giving the ignition a minute, I held my breath and rocked back as Iturned the key. The starter chugged as it turned over a couple more times before finally coming to life.
Relief washed over me as I dropped my head to the steering wheel. I would make it to work for another sixteen-hour day to afford life in Brooklyn. With my window down and my seat belt on, I inched out into traffic in Lower Manhattan. Now that I was moving, if I hurried, I might not be late.
After a quick detour to change clothes and pull my shoulder-length hair back, I pulled into the alley behind the bar. If I could get inside and clock in before the manager noticed me, everything would be okay.
Crawling out of my car, I depressed the locks and followed the delicious smell of grilled meat from nearby street vendors that permeated the air. My stomach growled as I jogged to the staff entrance of the Midnight Market. Four fifty-five. A rejuvenating sense of accomplishment filled me as I’d overcome all the obstacles thrown at me to get here on time. Living life on my terms was all I wanted.
My sense of accomplishment waned when I found the back screen door locked. Jerking on the handle, realization set in that my asshat manager had made good on his threat to lock the door early. “Motherfucker,” I muttered, pulling it a couple more times, just in case the lock miraculously gave way. “Fucking asshole.”
With no other choice, I ran up the alleyway and rounded the corner. The front door opened, then closed as customers entered the bar for Happy Hour. The world slowed down, and the urgency to beat the clock vanished when the most breathtaking man I’d ever seen came into sight. I knew exactly who he was. The one and only Axel Hughes, the latest hockey star to join the New York Nighthawks. His picture had been all over the internet, but he was something else in person. Perfectly styled dark blond hair, piercing green eyes, and a chiseled jaw madehim more suitable for a designer’s runway than a hockey rink. But the stoic expression and two sleeves of intricately designed tattoos that screamed ‘badass hockey player’ ruined the illusion.
When he approached, our eyes met, making my breath hitch from the ominous scowl he wore. I smiled because he didn’t scare me. I reached for the handle. “Good evening. After you.”
A knowing look crossed his face as he grabbed the door over my head. Hints of something spicy mixed with toffee and bourbon wafted between us. It was high-end, just like him. “After you.”
“Thanks. But you’re the customer. I just work here.”
He smirked as I gestured toward the arm holding the door. “Nice ink, by the way. Did you get that around here?” I was confident I knew the answer, but some superstars didn’t appreciate being called out in public.
“No,” he answered lightly. “London and Munich.” He glanced at my sparse ink but didn’t comment.
“Oh, nice. Well, have a good evening.”
“You, too.”
A quick scan of the room located my boss standing to the left. Richard had his back to me as he talked to the other Nighthawks players. Ducking in the opposite direction, I waved to Mitch, the bartender, as I slipped into the kitchen. After clocking in, I put on my apron and grabbed a stack of cocktail napkins. Sliding behind the bar, I dropped them on the serving tray. “I’ve got a feeling we’re going to be busy tonight.”
He chuckled and looked around. “Me too, now that they’re here. Cutting it close, aren’t you?”
My eyes cut to Richard. “He locked the back door.”
“Yeah. He stayed in the office until right before shift change. Then locked it.”
“Such an asshole,” I breathed out as another server walked up. Sabrina glanced up at me, then gestured toward the tables.
“You’re in section three with your favorite hockey players.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Richard is already sucking up to the new one like he’s a tester for Hoover.”
I snorted as she gave Mitch her drink order. She was right. All he cared about was making sure they knew he was in charge. “He’s probably planning his social media post right now to announce it. Guess I’d better get over there.” Wiping my palms on my apron, I glanced up to find Richard jerking his head toward them. Ignoring him, I walked up to the table and focused on my favorite customers. “Good evening, gentlemen. How are you tonight?”
Jonas Decker, the Nighthawks goalie, grinned up at me. He had become a regular since being traded last season. “How ya doing, Luca? I was hoping you were here tonight. We’re adding to the crew.” He gestured toward Axel.
Way to call me out, dude.“Great. I was grabbing some supplies from the bartender. We’ll be busy once the word gets out you’re here.”
“We are trying to grow our fan base.”
“You’re doing a great job. We’re packed out every night you guys come in. So thank you!”
He chuckled. “Happy to help.”
“No wives tonight?”
Anders Karlsson spoke up. “They’re having a girls’ night, so we’re left to our own devices. Wine and painting, I think.”
I chuckled. “That’s cool. Are you all having the usual tonight?”
“That’s the best thing about a neighborhood bar like this,” Decker added. “You already know our order.”
“I try.” I glanced around the table, confirming the choice with Ivan Kozlov and Karlsson. They had become regulars, too. My gaze lingered on the newest Nighthawk, who hadn’t taken his seat. “Any idea what your friend might want to drink?”
