Dozer comes out right behind me, quickly capturing Marissa’s attention with a kiss. Hailey watches them, her mouth open, since Dozer interrupted their conversation, and blinks a few times before turning to scan the area. Her face brightens when she sees me, and I close the distance between us, going in for a hug, which also seems to catch her off guard.
“There’s an audience,” I murmur, hoping that provides enough warning before I press a kiss to her unresponsive lips. Okay, so not really enough warning because when I pull back, she’s blinking up at me, her fingertips covering her mouth, and I’m not sure if it’s to guard against me kissing her again or just an involuntary reaction to her surprise.
I hitch my grin a little higher, hoping I don’t look deranged. “A bunch of the guys are heading over to the Salty Salmon, and our presence has been forcefully requested by our captain over there.” I hitch my thumb in the direction of Abernathy, who’s talking to his wife, clearly waiting for all of us who’re going to the Salmon to get our shit together and head that way.
“What’s the Salty Salmon?” Hailey asks, sounding uncertain.
“A sports bar. It’s a low-key place. Good drinks. Good food. The staff knows us and kicks out anyone who tries to get all up in our faces, so we’re not mobbed by super fans who don’t understand boundaries or the kinds of people who take photos and videos designed to make us look bad so they can sell them to tabloids.”
Her eyes widen. “Does that kind of thing happen a lot?”
I shrug. “It happens. I don’t know about a lot. It happens to some of us more than others. I tend to keep to myself more than Bouchard or Jenkins—though Bouchard’s cleaned up his act in the last year, so he’s not a good example anymore. Either way, Molly, our head of PR, does a good job of keeping a lid on most of that stuff. But she appreciates it when we make her life easier by not putting ourselves in a position where she has to squash stories before they get big.”
“Oh, right. You’ve mentioned Molly before and needing to loop her in about us so she can manage the media reaction.”
I grin. “Exactly.” She shifts, and I realize my hands are still on her hips, so I pull them back, but now I don’t know what to do with them. Do I put them in my pockets? Cross my arms? Put my hands on my hips?
“So your captain … Abernathy?” I nod. “He wants everyone to go out for a drink. Is that a normal thing you guys do?”
Lifting one hand, palm up, I shrug. “Not as much the last couple of seasons, but it’s not unheard of. Really, it’s because he knows you’re here and he’s jealous that Tina already got to meet you. Plus, he says that she wants to talk to you again and make sure you’re settling in okay and had a good time at your first game.”
“You should come to the Salmon,” Marissa puts in, clearly eavesdropping. “It’ll be a good time.”
“Maggie and Bouchard are coming too,” I add, hoping that’ll make it feel less overwhelming.
Hailey shrugs. “Sure. Sounds like fun.”
Turning, I give Abernathy a thumbs up. He smiles at me, giving me a thumbs up in return, and we all head to our cars.
“What’d you think of the game?” I ask Hailey as soon as we’re in the car. I’ve been dying to ask since I got to her, but I didn’t want to put her on the spot in front of everyone. Not more thanI already was with springing a post-game drink at the Salmon on her.
“It was …” She seems to search for words for a moment. “Fast.”
I laugh at that description. “Hockey is full of action, it’s true.”
“The amount of fighting surprised me,” she said. “I mean, I know hockey has that reputation, but I’ve also heard there’s less than there used to be. I guess ‘less’ is relative, though.”
Grinning, I nod. “For sure. There was really only one fight tonight, though.” One of our new D-men threw down his gloves with one of Calgary’s veteran wingers and got his ass handed to him.
I glance at Hailey to see her looking at me, eyebrows raised. “I think you and I have different definitions of fighting.”
Brows furrowed, I think back over the game. “There was just the one with one of our rookies, Bennett. I can’t think of any other fights. Did I miss one?”
“The one where you got grabbed by the jersey? And then Dozer came flying at the guy and put him in a headlock?”
“Oh, that wasn’t a fight. That was just roughing.”
She chuckles. “Just roughing,” she repeats and clears her throat. “Uh, anywhere else, that’d be considered fighting.”
I shrug. “Everyone kept their gloves on. The refs broke those up right away. The penalties were for roughing, not fighting.”
“Uh-huh. Okay.” She holds up her hands. “I’m just saying, though. Roughing and fighting aren’t vastly different, gloves on or off.”
Shrugging again, I shake my head. “If you say so.” It’s not the same thing, but she’s new to the sport, so I don’t feel the need to argue the difference.
“It was fun watching you play, though,” she adds after a moment.
I smile at her. “Good. I’m glad you had a good time.”
