When the elevator stops on the lobby floor, I drop my hand away and shove it back into my pocket, along with all the thoughts and longing for what I’ve lost that come every time I close my eyes. I give a nod to security as I make my way out of the building. The ride I ordered is already waiting, and I slip into the back seat without saying a word to the driver. The low thrum of whatever’s on the radio fills the silence as the driver merges in and out of traffic—another reason I didn’t take my Audi R8 out on the town tonight—and we’re pulling up next to Top Shelf before I know it.
“Thanks,” I murmur as I climb out of the car.
I tug my phone from my pocket, rate the driver five stars, and drop them a twenty-dollar tip for leaving me the hell alone. Taking a deep breath, I steel myself as I yank open the door, where I’m hit with the smell of stale beer, loud music, and the desire to run away. I turn on my heel, ready to do just that, but I’m caught before I can get far.
“Keller!”
I wince as his hand lands on my shoulder. I try to shake him off, but—per usual—it’s pointless.
“You’re not trying to run away, are you?” Lawson grins at me. “Because if you were, I might have to?—”
“Cry?” I finish for him with an eye roll, shrugging off his touch once again. “What is with you and crying lately?”
“What? Is it so bad for a guy to be in touch with his emotions?” Not taking the hint that I don’t want him touching me, he slings his arm around my neck as he pulls me farther into the bar. “Come on. We’re over here.”
He leads me over to the same booth we always occupy whenever we come here, which is admittedly quite a bit, but we knew right away that Top Shelf was a safe place for us to unwind after and between games. The owner made me and the rest of my teammates feel at home from day one, and it has now turned into the Seattle Serpents’ official hangout.
“Keller!” our number one goalie yells, a wide, toothy grin gracing his face. I would blame it on the free-flowing alcohol, but that’s just Arthur Fox for you. In the time I’ve known him, I think I’ve seen him without a smile twice.
I nod his way. “Foxy.”
“Oooh Foxy! I love that they call you that,” Lilah, his girlfriend-slash-former fiancée, says with a giggle. I can see she’s already taken advantage of the drink specials tonight too.
“Sit, sit.” Lawson shoves me into an empty spot. “What do you want to drink? Nessa can get it for you.”
“Um, excuse me. No, she cannot. Nessa is not working tonight,” says the woman in question, turning her nose up at Lawson’s suggestion.
Locke reaches out and smacks Lawson’s stomach. “She’s not your barmaid, Lawsy. Get Keller’s drink yourself since you’re so dead set on playing host tonight.”
“Fine. Anyone else want drinks?”
It opens a can of worms the forward clearly wasn’t ready for as eleven people shout their orders all at once. We eventually getit sorted out, and Rory, his veterinarian girlfriend who is far too smart and good for him, follows behind to help.
“Is it just me or did he look like that Winona Ryder GIF where she’s looking around like she’s completely unsure of what’s happening?” asks Quinn with a laugh.
“He did, but can we also please discuss just how hot that woman still is? Likegood grief. I can’t get over it.” Auden fans herself while her fiancé, our captain, nods in agreement.
The table delves into discussions of all things Winona Ryder, and I tune out. It has nothing to do with the subject—Auden is spot on with her assessment of Winona—but because I’m still trying to figure out how exactly I’m going to slip out of here before midnight.
I could fake being sick. Or I could start a brawl. I could even pick a fight with Lawson until everyone else is uncomfortable and the best thing would be for me to leave.
But no. None of that would work. I am very clearly not sick, and starting a fight would just land me in trouble with the team. Plus, making Lawson mad is almost impossible. I swear insults are some sort of turn-on for him.
I’m stuck here. Even worse? I’m stuck here with the reminder of everything I lost.
“And for you, my favorite grumpy bear.” Lawson ruffles my hair as he sets a pint of delicious green apple cider in front of me. It’s from a local cidery-slash-farm that makes one hell of a drink.
I don’t even bother flipping him off or yelling at him for touching me again. I just grab my glass and down half the contents in one go.
“What?” I ask Locke when he lifts his brows my way. “It’s just cider. It’s practically apple juice.”
He looks like he wants to say more, but doesn’t.
“Your face is looking better. Less yellow than it was yesterday,” Hayes comments. “Still can’t believe that jackass from Vegas landed a punch like that.”
I smirk, thinking of the fight that let me feel alive, even if just for a few moments. “Don’t worry. I’ll get him back when we play them later this month.”
Hutch grunts from beside me at the mention of the asshole who almost blew up his whole life a few years back. I went toe-to-toe with him then, too, and I have no problem doing it again, especially not after last week and the cheap shot he landed on Lawson.
