He didn’t have to send me the ticket, Dad could have gotten me one. He probably knew that, but wanted to make sure I didn’t have any excuse to back out. I had bitten back a smile. Was this his idea of going slow? Me showing up to his game with his name on my back?
I had sat in my apartment for the next three hours trying to decide what I was going to do. I hadn’t planned on going to his game. And yet…
“Finn, get in the back seat,” Rhodes says, annoyed. I’m snapped back to the present immediately by the sound of Rhodes still bickering with his friends. “Monroe isn’t going to be squished in the back with JD and Beck.”
“I get carsick in the back seat, Rhodes, you know this,” Finn whines.
“I am going up to get her, and I swear to God, if you aren’t in the third row of this car, I will strangle you and leave you in the parking lot.”
Rhodes hops out of the car and jogs up to my door. I open it before he gets the chance to knock.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he says, leaning one arm lazily against my door frame. His gaze drags over me, slow and deliberate, like he’s cataloging every inch. “You wore the jersey.”
Gooseflesh erupts across my skin, and it has absolutely nothing to do with the chilly weather.
“Yeah, well. Someone was bossy about it. And I couldn’t let your assistant’s trip here go to waste.”
“Agent. That was Kelsey.”
“Ah,” I said, cataloging that information for later. “She do house calls for all the girls?”
“Nah,” he replies quietly. “Just the one.”
My traitorous stomach does a flip and I take a breath to steady my rapid heartbeat. “All right, big winner, let’s go. You’ve pried me out of my apartment.” Rhodes flashes me a grin so devastatingly handsome that for a moment it’s hard to believe it’s aimed at me.
He pulls the passenger-side door open to an empty seat—thank you, Finn—and a chorus of “hi, Monroe” greets me as I slide in.
“Heya, boys,” I say to the back. “Full car,” I say to Rhodes.
“You’re welcome, by the way,” Finn says from the back of the SUV. “I gave up my seat for you, at great personal cost.”
“Much appreciated, Finn,” I chuckle. Rhodes rolls his eyes and mutters something that sounds a lot likeoh, for fuck’s sake.
“So where are we going?” I ask as Rhodes turns out of my apartment complex.
“The Black Boar!” Beck and Finn chorus together. I know the place. It’s a hockey-frequented bar with photos of Stanley Cup winners of years past adorning the walls. They serve beer and pub food with a side of sticky tables, and a killer dance floor.
I already know I’m not drinking tonight. I haven’t had alcohol since my dad took my credit card and threw me to the wolves, and even though I don’t want to admit it, my bank account is light. A year ago I wouldn’t have thought twice about dropping money on drinks but I’m trying to be more responsible.
The bar is packed when we pull in. The guys pile out of the SUV, stretching, running hands through their hair, shaking out their limbs and shoving one another like giant overgrown middle-schoolers. Girls are already pawing at them, leaning into their sides, big doe eyes blinking up at them, and I roll my eyes.
I nod my head toward them and remark to Rhodes, “You sure you don’t want to go make a blonde puck bunny with great tits your drinking buddy tonight?”
He scoffs. “When I brought a snarky redhead with my last name on her back?”
I snap my eyes to his, and his stare is locked onto mine. His arm slings around my shoulders, steering me to the door. I don’t shove him off. “Not a chance,Abrams,” he murmurs into my ear before ushering me inside.
The music is loud, bass thumping through the speakers, reverberating through the floors, the walls, my chest. The energy in The Black Boar is electric, fueled by cheap beer, post-game hype, and the kind of camaraderie that only comes from fighting through a season together.
Hockey players and fans alike are celebrating, toasting to the Wolverines, drinking, dancing, already promising they’ll keep this party going well into the night.
Rhodes guides me through the crowd, weaving between tables and toward the back, where the team has claimed a cluster of booths. The guys are mid-conversation, talking and laughing loudly over the music. I watch Finn flirt with a guy sitting at the next booth, and try to put more names with faces. Weston notices us and moves over, creating enough space for exactly one person.
Rhodes doesn’t hesitate and angles his body so he can slide in, leaving me standing at the edge of the table without a chair while he greets his friends and teammates.
I hesitate, shifting my weight, glancing around for an extra stool. I don’t know where to put my hands, how to fit into this dynamic when I’m not technically part of it. I start to step back, fully prepared to make my escape, when Rhodes tugs sharply on my arm.
Before I can protest, he pulls me onto his lap like it’s normal for me to be here, tangled up with him in a dimly lit bar, surrounded by all his friends and teammates. Like we do this all the time.