This place is crazy! It’s pretty big for a downtown bar, and it’s packed full of people. The noise level is off the charts, so you need to be all up in someone’s Kool-Aid just to hear them talk. It feels like an extension of the energy from the arena, and I think it’s safe to say that everyone here knows that the Sleet players are on their way.
Mary has turned out to be a treasure trove of information. Apparently, she has been a hockey fan all her life, and she goes to as many hockey games as possible. Her husband passed away nearly fourteen years ago, but he had played hockey growing up and instilled his love for the sport in their whole family.
Along with rules of the game, Mary taught me that the scantily clad chicks that seem to be all over this bar are called puck bunnies. And apparently their goal is to “fuck a player and bag themselves a sugar daddy,” or so Mary says. She does admit they aren’t all as bad as she makes them sound, but there are a few who earn the nasty rep.
And yeah, I know Jackson’s letter didn’t say I could invite a friend, but Mary ended up being a bit of a godsend tonight. And when I asked if she would like to come with me, she lit up like an excited puppy. Plus, I figured it would take a while for the team to arrive, and drinking with Mary is way more fun than freaking out by myself.
As soon as we got here, she went to the bar and came back with vodka cranberries for us. She said she was done with beer, and that the juice made it a health drink. Hard to argue with that logic. I’m definitely stopping after this one, though, because a good buzz is fine, but I don’t want to be shit-faced when Jackson shows up.
I’m reminding myself of that thought when a commotion at the front of the bar signals the arrival of the players.
I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face, as I turn to Mary and shout, “He’s here!”
Motioning for Mary to stay put, I push forward to go find Jackson.
The size of the crowd slows my progress, but being short works in my favor as I slip between bodies. Finally, I get close enough to spot Jackson. He’s showered, and his hair still looks a little damp. He’s wearing black dress pants and a grey button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
I give him a once-over. Twice.
Willing myself to be brave, I bite my lip and start to walk closer.
He’s talking to one of his teammates, and both of them are ignoring the two women who’re trying desperately to get their attention. As if he can sense my gaze on him, he looks up and locks eyes with me. With a nod to his friend, Jackson sidesteps the ladies, and strides my way.
Being large and intimidating has its perks, such as getting a crowd to part by sheer will.
A breath later, Jackson stops a foot in front of me. My heart stutters when he brings his hand up to the side of my face, swiping his thumb across my cheek.
“Kitten, you came.” The look on his face is full of something warm, and sweet.
“You’re a hard man to resist, Jackson Wilder.” He smirks. “And apparently you’re kind of okay at hockey.” My straight face fails me as I grin up at him. “Congrats on your win!”
Knowing the alcohol has gone a bit to my head, but not caring enough to stop myself, I stretch onto my toes so I can wrap my arms around his neck in a hug. I have a flash of worry, but – before it can turn into panic – Jackson bends a little and hugs me back, surrounding me in his shower-fresh scent and strong arms. I can’t help myself; I burrow my face into his neck and inhale.
Pulling back just a fraction, I speak into his ear. “Come with me, I have a friend I want you to meet.” I’m still too close to him, so every word has my lips brushing against his skin. I can see his jaw tick and I’m not sure if it’s from annoyance, or something else.
Stepping away, I take his hand and start to lead him through the crowd, toward where I left Mary. After a few steps, I glance back and see him looking up to the ceiling. The face he is making is one of those lord give me patience looks that I’ve gotten from my mother, a time or twenty. It’s not a look I want to cause on anyone, especially not on Jackson.
Stopping suddenly, I release Jackson’s hand, which snaps his attention back to me.
“I’m sorry… If you need to go talk to other people that’s fine. I totally understand. I’m sure a lot of these people are here for you.” My hands are fidgeting. I hate feeling this unsure of myself.
“What?” he questions. Then it seems to click. “Oh no, that wasn’t what it looked like.” He grabs my hand again, interlacing our fingers as he steps closer so I can hear him. “Trust me, you’re the only person I want to talk to tonight. I wish we could go somewhere else, but Coach wanted us all to make an appearance.” Jackson’s eyes stay on mine. “You got me?”
I nod, believing him.
He squeezes my fingers. “Good. Now let’s go find your friend.”
Bolstered by his words, I continue pushing through the crowd. Spotting Mary, I drag Jackson along until we end up right behind her.
Pulling Jackson so he’s standing next to me, I say, “Jackson, I’d like you to meet my new friend Mary.”
Hearing her name, Mary turns to face us.
At the same time Mary says, “Jacky!” … Jackson questions, “Mama?”
