Then the guy—Billy, I think she called him—leans back in his chair, a smirk tugging at his lips. “We were beginning to believe Rowyn got stood up.”
“What kind of asshole would stand up a beautiful woman like Rowyn?” I ask, the honest words flowing easily from my tongue.
Billy continues, “One who is made up.”
What the actual fuck?
My murderous gaze slides to him, a warning hidden there.
He laughs it off. “I just mean we’ve never seen her with anyone before and then no one shows up.”
“I showed up,” I cut in, calm but lethal.
He eyes me like he’s suspicious. Yeah, she introduced him as a colleague, but my guess is he’s a sleazy reporter always looking for the angle to sell papers, whether that angle is true or not. He opens his mouth, then shakes his head, like he’s going to go in a different direction. “I can’t believe you’re dating Jaxon Sheffield.”
Rowyn stiffens beside me. Her knuckles whiten on her napkin. My protective instincts kick into high gear.
“Oh yeah, why’s that now?” I ask, voice sharp as a skate blade, because yeah, I really don’t like this guy.
Billy shrugs, eyes flicking over Rowyn in a way that makes my jaw tighten. “It’s just… she’s not?—”
His girlfriend elbows him hard enough to make his beer slosh. He cuts off, but I already know where he was going. Rowyn is not like the girls I’ve been seen with. Not the arm-candy bunnies who only ever cared about my jersey and paycheck, but not me.
I curl my arm tighter around Rowyn, tilting my head like the whole thing’s a joke. “I get it. She’s a hard-hitting journalist who doesn’t waste time on dumb jocks or hockey players with more brawn than brains.” I tap my temple. “Lucky for me, she gave me a shot because once upon a time, I carried her home after she fell off the playground swing and broke her arm.”
Rowyn’s eyes soften, glazed with memory as her smile blooms. “My knight in shining armor.”
The words hit harder than they should. The truth is, I always try to do the right thing, it’s the way I was raised. But a few years back, when I tried to do the right thing with the wrong girl…that ended in disaster. It was a reporter much like Billy who let the entire world know.
Billy shifts under his girlfriend’s glare. I grin, ready to steer the attention anywhere else. “So,” I say, squeezing Rowyn’s shoulder, “What were you all talking about before I got here?”
The table goes quiet for a beat, and I feel Rowyn tense under my arm. I squeeze her shoulder again, mostly to remind her—and maybe myself—that we’ve got this.
“Rowyn’s work,” one of the women offers brightly, like she’s desperate to change the subject. “Rowyn was just telling us about her latest story.”
Rowyn’s posture straightens as she launches into a polished explanation about corruption at City Hall. I try to listen, really, but it’s impossible when her knee brushes mine under the table and stays there. Her voice is animated, her eyes blazing with that fire she always gets when she’s on a mission. I’ve seen her like this before, digging in her heels, chasing down the truth like a bloodhound. It’s one of the things I respect most about her. Also one of the reasons I’ve always told myself we’d never work. Not that I’m looking for any sort of relationship.
Billy snorts halfway through her story. “Sounds dangerous.” He takes a sip of his beer. “Shouldn’t you be covering, I don’t know, Fashion Week or something?”
My grip tightens on Rowyn’s shoulder. “Funny,” I say, my tone anything but. “I didn’t realize being an investigative journalist came with a gender requirement. Guess I missed that memo.”
Billy rolls one shoulder, not even pretending to care. “Oh hey, I know. Maybe you could get the dirt on the Bucks.” He wags his brow, his eyes narrowing in on me like he’s trying to remember something he read from my past. I really hope he fucking doesn’t. “Now that you’ve got an inside guy.”
And that right there is why Rowyn and I would never work. She’s a journalist. I know she’s not after a story on the Bucks, or me—but I’ve got scars from what happened last time. Paparazzi tearing into my private life, every painful detail of my engagement fallout turned into clickbait. My pain served up like hors d’oeuvres. No thank you.
Rowyn leans into me then, her lips grazing my ear. “Easy, Jax. He’s not worth it.”
She’s right. He’s not. But Rowyn? She’s worth a hundred broken knuckles.
Billy snaps his fingers at the server. I catch Rowyn’s eye, and she gives a small shake of her head, clearly as impressed with her colleague as I am. “Is that Penn?” she asks, nodding toward the bar.
I follow her gaze. Penn would normally head home to be with his fiancée after a game, but Jaylynn is now the public relations director for our team, so chances are she’s still working after our game.
“Want to go say hello?” I ask, already on my feet. I need her alone for a minute. Need to get caught up on what’s happening here.
“Be right back,” she says to the table, and they nod, distracted with their next round.
We weave through the crowd to the bar. After a quick hello to Penn, he heads back to the guys’ table, leaving us alone. Rowyn and I slide onto stools, the buzz of conversation and the low thrum of bagpipes from the speakers wrapping around us.