“I figured you'd notice.”
My phone buzzes.
Jasmine: Tired. Went back to the hotel. Good game tonight.
What? Why the fuck is she texting me as if we’re acquaintances? No “I'll wait up for you” or “come find me later.”
Me: You okay?
Jasmine: Fine. Just tired. Enjoy the night with the guys.
I stare at the screen. Something is wrong, and she's not going to tell me what it is over text.
“What happened tonight?” I ask Blake. “Did something happen while I was at the bar?”
Blake takes a sip of his beer and looks at me sideways. “You really didn't notice?”
“Notice what?”
“The blonde.”
“What blonde?”
“The blonde who was hanging off you for five minutes, Shaw. Tall, black dress, had her hand on your arm, then your chest. Ring any bells?”
I think back. A woman came up to me at the bar while I was talking to Theo. She asked if I played for the Renegades. I said yes. She asked about the game. I gave her a couple of short answers. She showed me something on her phone — a photo of her kid in a Renegades jersey.
It lasted three minutes. I didn't think about it once after she walked away.
“That was a fan,” I say. “She had a kid in a Renegades jersey. She showed me a photo.”
“I know that. But Jasmine was sitting across the room watching a woman put her hands all over you, and you let her.”
“I didn’t fucking let her,” I say, annoyed at the implication. I’ve never been that sort of man, even when Jasmine was not in my life.
But Jasmine doesn’t know that. All she knows is the reputation that hockey players have and a woman who seemed to be all over me. Worse still, she couldn’t claim me because we’re a secret.
My chest constricts painfully as I put myself in her shoes. Had it been me watching some guy lean into Jasmine at a bar, put his hand on her waist, I wouldn't have walked out quietly.
I'd have crossed that room in three strides and put myself between them. And if he didn't take the hint, Blake would have had to hold me back. I'm a hockey player. My first instinct when someone touches what's mine is to drop the gloves.
Jasmine had a front-row seat to a scene that gutted her, and she handled it the only way she knows how. She left with her dignity intact and her heart in pieces.
“Shit,” I say.
“Yeah,” Blake says.
“I need to go.”
“I'd say so.”
I put my beer on the bar and grab my jacket. Cole looks up from the booth as I pass.
“Heading out?” he asks.
“Yeah. Good game tonight, Cap.”
“You too. Get some rest.”
