“Are you, uh . . . okay?” he asks, bending at the knees to look me directly in the eyes.
Oh crap, I haven’t said anything.
“Yes, fine. Just great.” I snap my fingers aggressively at him. “Oh, that’s right. Today is your birthday. I posted a TikTok about it.”
“Yes,” he says, eyeing me suspiciously. Probably trying to decide if he should be wary of approaching fingers of the snapping variety. “You posted a boomerang video of Posey slapping me in the ass with his hockey stick.”
I did. It was really funny. I chuckle to myself, a snort begging to be let out, but someone is looking out for me because I’m able to keep it together. “I thought it was a fitting tribute since the fans seem to enjoy your recent bromance.”
Levi Posey, the team’s bruiser. Large, bulky guy with the biggest heart of gold. He’s an absolute demon on the rink, but outside of the arena, he is as soft and gooey as they come. The most sensitive on the team, who has a penchant for bologna sandwiches and slapping Hornsby on the ass with his stick before the start of every game. It’s become a treasured tradition among the fans.
“We share one milkshake, and everyone thinks we’re practically engaged.” Eli rolls his eyes.
Ahhh, the milkshake. It was the most precious thing I’ve ever seen. Eli and Levi were at a Children’s Hospital event together, and they were given a milkshake with two straws. Locking eyes, they held the drink together, and each took a straw into their mouths. The show they put on was public relations gold. The media team has used it as much as they can. It was even a Top Ten on ESPN.
“It was damning. You are now forever connected at the hip.”
“Could be worse.” He grins. Ooof, that smile. My hand that’s not on the bar rattles by my side from one glint of his pearly whites. “I could have been caught sharing a milkshake with your brother.”
“Pacey would never share a milkshake with you,” I say, and before I can stop myself, I add, “He would claim you have some sort of infectious disease he doesn’t want to contract.”
Pacey, my brother, is the star goalie for the Vancouver Agitators. He’s the heart of the team and has some of the quickest reflexes in the league. Recently, like . . . a few months ago, he fell in love with a girl named Winnie who just happened to stumble into him during a rainstorm. Long story, but he was bewitched immediately. I don’t blame him because she’s all kinds of cute and fun. I love hanging out with her, and I’m hoping we’re going to hear wedding bells very soon. I’ve told Pacey many times that he needs to propose. He claims he has plans but is waiting for the right moment. My guess is after the season, when the guys go to Banff, Canada, for some relaxation, Pacey will propose. He’s a sentimental guy like that.
But hold on a second. My mind wanders back to what I just said. Uhh . . . did I just tell Hornsby—to his face—that he was diseased? Infectious. Not worthy of milkshake sharing? What on earth was I thinking? I’m pretty sure most of America would want to share a milkshake with him. I mean, I would share one. But here I am, acting like a toddler parroting their parents by repeating what Pacey has said to me.
“I’m not diseased.” Eli’s face scrunches up. “Your brother likes to make up lies so he has a chance to live up to my beauty,” Eli says, making direct eye contact with me and batting his eyelashes foolishly. “But for the record, I don’t have any diseases. I just want to clarify that.”
I hold up my hands. “Hey, what you do on your own time is your business.” But I know a lot of what he does on his own time involves women.
Many long nights.
And always short goodbyes.
The bartender sets my drinks down and then glances back and forth between Eli and me. She smirks and says, “Shall I put your drinks on the hockey star’s tab?”
Normally, I’d say no because I don’t like to blur the lines with work and my free time, but for some reason, and out of an attempt to match his teasing, I smile at Eli. “Yes, I’d love that.” Then I smirk at the bartender. “Thank you.”
She winks. “Of course.”
Well, now that I have boldly put my drinks on someone else’s tab, it’s time I take off before I sweat through this dress. I start to walk away when Eli steps in front of me, blocking my retreat.
“Uh, if I’m paying for your drink, the least you can do is talk to me a little longer. Don’t you think?”
Uh . . . talk with him longer. That would actually be the last thing I’d want to do. Why, you ask?