“HUH?”
Maddie’s decibel level isn’t unlike one of Alvin’s chipmunk pals—i.e. high enough to be earning us a ton of looks. But Lady M doesn’t care about that. She’s drunk off her face and wobbling around on her (entirely sedentary) stool like it’s a mechanical bull she’s attempting to ride, and failing. Badly.
“How much have you had to drink?” I raise a brow at her.
She makes a big, theatrical gesture in the direction of the empty whiskey glasses that now line the bar in front of me. “Pot, meet toaster.”
“Wrong appliance.”
“Don’t change the subject.” She hiccups. “What do you mean, you’re not playing in the NHL?” Hiccup. “I heard you were one of the best ones.”
Despite myself, I smile. For the second time in two minutes. What is it about this crazy little green-eyed drunkypants that’s making me grin even in this most dire of circumstances?
“Visa issues,” I say gruffly, literally feeling the smile fall off my face with my words.
“Hmmm?” She sways.
“I’m Canadian,” I tell her. The word usually feels sweet as maple syrup on my tongue, but it now tastes bitter. “So I need a visa to play in the States.”
“Okay… so?” Maddie tilts her head.
It means I was very shortsighted on insisting on a one-year contract when coming to work in another country.
“Well… I just found out that my work visa has expired. Which makes me unable to play for a US franchise until I have a new one.”
What I don’t add is that, when I told Mike at the beginning of this season that I wanted to stick around in Atlanta for longer than the one year my initial contract was for, I didn’t bother to think about it again. I’d made a decision to stay with this team, Mike was taking over negotiations with the Cyclones on my behalf, and I was totally caught up thinking of what this season had in store for us.
Unfortunately, my one-track mind ended up backfiring. While Mike and the Cyclones management were hashing out details, my old contract quietly expired. Which usually wouldn’t be a big deal, but what slipped through the cracks in this case was that my work visa expired with it—and from what I understand, applying for a new work visa is going to take time… if I’m even able to get it, given how late in the year it is. Turns out, only a certain amount of these types of visas for athletes are issued each year by the US government. Of course.
There’s a very long stretch of silence before Maddie blinks slowly.
“Well… damn.”
“Damn is right,” I agree.
“What’re you going to do?” Those pale green eyes are huge, slightly smudged mascara rimming the edges as she peers at me with what almost looks like genuine concern.
Likely inspired by the cocktails she’s been chucking back. Not that I can talk.
“No idea,” I reply, reaching for my sixth drink. Or is it seventh? Whatever number it is, my brain’s starting to feel a little fuzzy. Static-y, like an old radio. I check my phone screen, then flip it back over and sigh. “I’m waiting on my agent to text me. He’s trying to throw some kinda Hail Mary, see if there’s a legal loophole that allows me to play while they’re sorting this visa stuff out. But it ain’t looking good.”
Maddie slurps through her straw. “Bummer, dude.”
I smirk at her word choice. “Something like that.”
After I got the news, I couldn’t bear to go out with my teammates. How on earth was I supposed to sit there and look them all in the eye over pecan freaking pie, knowing that I was about to get benched for who knows how long? And all due to my own lack of foresight.
That’s the thing with team sports—you have to think about other people, not only yourself.
I take another slug of whiskey, then shake my head. My brain feels softer than usual, slower. I rarely drink, and I can feel the effects of the whiskey I’ve consumed already. Which was the plan, I guess. Drown it all out.
“On the bright side, at least your mom isn’t making you spend Christmas with your ex and his new fiancée,” Maddie offers from around another slurp of the pink liquid she’s guzzling.
“Oof.” I turn to her. “Same ex who likes hockey?”
“Loves watching it.” She rolls her eyes. “He’d probably get flattened like a pancake if he ever tried to play it.”
“But at least you have a new boyfriend?” I ask gently. She screws up her nose at me, apparently not comprehending. “You know, the guy you’re on that baking show with.”
At this, her face falls. “Nope. That’s the same hockey-watching ex. He breaks up with me in the next episode.”
“What?! Like on the show?”
She nods. “The ultimate public dumping. Turns out, there was someone else. Episode airs tonight actually.” Her voice sounds perky, nonchalant, but the wobble of her lower lip doesn’t escape me, even in my drunken haze.
“I’m sorry.”
She snorts. “Don’t be. I dunked his head in a vat of frosting after I found out.”
A startled laugh bubbles out of me. I may not know much about Maddie—and I know even less about her awful-sounding ex—but I can’t wait to watch that go down.
“Nice.” I hold up my hand to her, gesturing for a high-five.
She smacks it with gusto, her little palm dwarfed by my big, callused one. “It definitely felt good at the time. I signed us up for the show originally to help promote his career, even though it compromised mine.” She swirls her straw in her drink and stares down at the little whirlpool she’s created in the glass. “I mean, what kind of person wants to hire a nutritionist who’s participated in an all-sugar, all-butter, all-everything baking challenge? But at the time, I was happy to do it for him. Happy to see him happy. And now… well, now I’m scared to face his smug happy face again.”
She goes on to explain that she’d been with her ex since high school—her family is friends with his family. And her mother is now, apparently, putting her friendships before her daughter’s feelings by insisting that they keep their tradition of spending Christmas together this year, even after everything that’s transpired.
At a loss of what to say to that—short of what the hell kind of mother does that?!— I turn to the bartender. “The lady needs another drink.”
“And so does Sebastian Slater,” Maddie adds.
“Seb,” I correct.
“S-e-b.” She over-enunciates, her lips smacking together. Then, she gives me a kind smile. “I hope your hockey stuff gets sorted out.”
“Me too. But in the meantime, I’ve got a lot of free time on my hands. So, if you want me to rough up your ex a little…”
Maddie throws her head back and cackles loudly. “That’s a way better plan than mine. I was gonna say that we should take a selfie together and send it to him. Hashtag leveled-up.”
“Done.” I reach across the bar and pick up her phone, then click the camera icon. I hold the phone in front of us and put an arm around her, pulling her into my shoulder. She leans into me, and I find myself reciprocating the movement—to the point where I’m not sure who’s propping who up.
Boy, I am really feeling that whiskey. As a pro athlete where conditioning my body is part of both my job and my lifestyle, and has been for years, I don’t drink at all during the season. I barely touch the stuff on the off-season either.
She inhales through her nose and smiles dopily. “You smell good, Seb Slater.”
“Right back atcha,” I say, because the girl snuggled into me smells like vanilla and cinnamon… with strong undertones of tequila.
I snap a few photos of us and hand her the phone again.
“Thanks.” She flips through the pictures. “We look good together. Well, you look good for both of us.”
“C’mere.” I make a gimme motion so I can look at the pictures myself.
She’s smiling wide in all of them. Clearly a little intoxicated—you can tell by the flushed cheeks and slightly dazed expression—but she looks cute. Hot, even, with those damned sparkly green eyes and full pink lips. The tight tanktop she’s wearing definitely doesn’t hurt, either.
“You look good, Mads.” The words come out low, almost husky.
Her cheeks tint a deeper shade of red and she tilts her head at me. For a moment, her eyes clear and she looks totally lucid.
“You’re nicer than I thought you’d be,” she says.
“And you’re saner than I thought you’d be.”
This makes her smile turn wicked. “You mean, when you found me lurking in the men’s restroom like a lavatory Gollum and then ran away like a little hobbit?”
I sit up to my full height and loom over her. “Hey. Who you calling little?”
“You, Slater. ‘Coz the way you ran out of that bathroom, you looked like a frightened little girl.” She tilts her chin up at me in challenge. “I might’ve looked crazy, but you have, like, a foot and a hundred pounds on me. What was I going to do, bludgeon you to death with a toilet plunger?”
This girl, I tell you.
“Okay, okay. I have a confession.” I scrub a palm over my eyes, then down another gulp of my drink. I’m sure that the alcohol is the reason my lips are so loose right now, but somehow, I don’t really care. “I ran away because I thought I knew you.”
“What?”
“I thought you were, um, a woman I knew. And that you were there to see me.”
She’s silent for a good few moments, before sputtering. “So what I’m hearing is… you thought I was a woman you’d dated and I was stalking you in a public bathroom?”
I nod sheepishly. “I’m aware of how crazy that sounds.”
“How many women do you date that you could make that mistake?”
It’s a good question that I don’t have a good answer for. So, I shrug.
“Wow.” Maddie laughs and tosses back the rest of her drink. I mimic her. “And you ran away because you were scared. Of me.”
“Precisely.”
She wheezes with laughter and I give her a playful little shove. Her bare shoulder feels soft and warm. Small in my hand.
Oh, jeez. I’m at that handsy point of drunk, aren’t I? You know, when you have one too many and suddenly feel the need to invade other peoples’ personal space?
Yeesh.
I yank my hand back. “In my defense, I had a stalker once.”
She claps her hands in glee. “You did?!”
“Why are you so excited by that prospect?” The laugh that escapes me sounds far away. “Haven’t you ever listened to a true crime podcast?”
“YES! And now, I know someone that’s actually experienced it. Did they sneak into your house at night and cut a lock of your hair off while you were sleeping?”
“That was weirdly specific. And no. But she did sneak into our team locker room at my old training facility and fill my locker with her underwear.”
Maddie’s laughing so hard, she’s practically falling on the floor. “How terrifying for you.”
“I’m not joking. There was even a photo of her entire extended family with me photoshopped in.”
Maddie wipes a tear from her eye with a happy little sigh. “Well, there’s an idea. If the selfie doesn’t piss Adam off, I’ll photoshop you into my family Christmas photo and pretend that you’re my new boyfriend.” Her eyes light up like two glowing, beautiful Christmas trees. “Actually, screw that. I should put my stalker knowledge to good use, kidnap you, and make you come to Aspen with me to rub it in Adam’s face in person.”
“If you put enough underwear in my locker, maybe I’d come with you of my own accord.”
“Yeah, and how did it work out for the last stalker who did that?”
I smirk. “Restraining order.”
“Hmm. Well, that would mean kissing my job goodbye or I might’ve actually tried it for funsies.” She lets out a long sigh. “You’d be a way more exciting addition to the line-up than Elizabeth.”
“Who?”
“Evil Ex’s new fiancée. The one he was cheating with. He proposed to her.”
I wince. “Ouch.”
“I’ll say.” Maddie sighs. She has clearly had quite the year—in fact, her problems kind of make my grumpy “I can’t play pro hockey for a couple months” spiel seem a little self-centered.
At that moment, my phone vibrates on the bar. I pick it up and the screen’s a little blurry—whiskey glasses, for sure—but my vision clears so that I can see that the incoming call is from Mike. Finally.
“Scuse me a sec, I gotta take this.” I slide off my stool (which is a little more difficult than usual, not gonna lie) and answer as I step away. “Mike?”
“I’m sorry.”
Well, those aren’t good first words… I down the rest of the drink I’m clutching in my other hand. I don’t think I’ve been this intoxicated since, well, ever.
“I did everything I could, Seb. It’ll take a while for the lawyers to get your visa paperwork in order.” He gives a long, painful sigh. “You can remain in the country, but you can’t work. So, no ice time ‘til this all gets sorted out.”
No ice time. No Cyclones.
No hockey, period.
I lean against a wall, my head spinning. “How long?”
Mike sighs. “Long enough that it might impact the team making the postseason.”
“There’s really nothing we can do?”
Mike laughs humorlessly. “Well, short of you being married to an American citizen, no. We just gotta wait this one out.”
Married to an American citizen…
My head swivels towards Maddie, who’s currently fishing the ends of her hair out of her drink. She studies the wet strands for a moment, then puts them in her mouth and sucks on them. She has to be the strangest woman—person—I’ve ever met in my life. And yet, also somehow so damn cute you can’t help but smile around her. Like she’s a little hobbit, herself.
A hobbit who needs a boyfriend for the holidays. Someone to put that absolute donkey’s ass of an ex in his place…
“Married married?” I echo, my drunken mind suddenly galloping.
“Yeah.” Mike laughs humorlessly. “Why, you got a secret wife stored somewhere?”
I don’t reply. I’m already making my way back to the bar.
