My heart staggered a beat as blue and white jerseys poured into the bar. Surge players. Cheering and raising a racket for whatever reason, with Aiden in the middle of it all. Judging by the emphatic back-slaps and hair-ruffling, he looked to be the reason behind the revelry.
I didn’t need three guesses to know what that was about. I’d been there when Mason Calder was carried off the ice. His injury left a gaping hole in the center position and just as Ramona had predicted, Aiden was most likely the guy called up to fill it.
The Surge moved through the bar full throttle, ignoring the heads turned in their direction as they made their way to the closest empty booth. I tracked them without meaning to, heart beating a tad harder than Big Rich’s kickdrum. Of all the bars in San Antonio…
They fought each other into the booth and Aiden hung back, laughter still dancing in his eyes when they locked with mine.He’d singled me out without even trying. Across the mess of bodies, noise, and beer-slick floor. Everything faded into the background and just like that, the world I’d been keeping at arm’s length punched straight through the middle of my chest.
He jutted his chin at the guy next to me, who was now lecturing the bartender on why Dallas Stars were the true and only viable option for Stanley Cup greatness.
I shook my head, no.
Aiden made a show of clutching his heart in relief, almost falling over with how ‘dizzy’ it made him. I bit back a smile. Then he cocked his head, motioning to the booth at his back. The same one bursting with Surge players.
I shook my head, no.
This time I got a pronounced sad face, and he dabbed at the imaginary tears running down his cheeks. Behind him, one of the guys grabbed hold of his jersey and gave it a hard tug. It should’ve dragged Aiden right onto his ass, but it didn’t. Not with the way he fought it. But the effort he used to pull free sent him catapulting across the floor when his teammate suddenly released him, and I was off my stool without even thinking, arms stretched out.
Aiden found his feet in a stumble or two, avoiding the crash landing and my lame attempt at a rescue. When he came upright, it was with a giddy smile that infected the most guarded corner of heart.
“What were you planning to do with those?” He dangled my arm like a limp string of spaghetti, until I snatched it back and glared at him.
“I don’t know what I was thinking. Clearly you have the grace of a ballerina, despite your two left feet.”
His gaze raked over my body, and the flash in his eyes told me exactly where his mind had gone. Because mine went there too. I was wearing the same pair of jeans I’d worn the day of our retirement home brunch. The very same pair he’d peeled off me in the back of Melvin’s van.
“Are you too good to be seen with me in public?” he asked, apparently unaware of how his teammates were shamelessly ogling us.
“I’m too good for you, period.”
He smirked. “Didn’t sound like it when you said yes to going on a date with me.”
“I was suffering a mental break at the time. Shit happens.”
“How’s your mental health now?” His presence was all-consuming in the tight space, heat overtaking my senses with that musky-earthy scent I’d come to associate with only him.
I swallowed past the way my body betrayed me. “What do you want, Aiden?”
He gestured toward the booth bursting with Surge players. Pitchers of beer filled the table, and the guys were even louder than when they’d first walked in. “I want you to come meet my friends.”
“You have friends?”
He rolled his eyes, and slid an arm around my waist as he guided us in the direction of hell breaking loose. I spared a quick glance to the stage and found Ramona watching me closely, as she always did in situations like this. She never once tripped over her lyrics, just made it known she had my back even from up there.
“Santos, when are you gonna stop bothering pretty women in bars, huh?”
“We can’t take you anywhere.”
“That’s Landon, and Tucker,” Aiden said with a laugh, pointing first at the young guy with shocking blonde curls, then the beefy one sitting next to him. Then he went through the rest of the row: “Grayson—”
“That’s ‘Captain’ to you, first line freshman.”
“—Hunter, and… Cash, I guess. I don’t really know what his actual name is,” Aiden finished.
“Does anyone?” Landon asked, then took an especially huge gulp of his beer.
Cash laughed. “Does it matter? Cash is the name I use, because it’s the one that speaks to me. Cash Money, baby. Why we play big.”
“Why we’re gonna lift that cup third year in a row.”
