Good Boy (WAGs #1)(35)

I make a note to look up seminal later. That word must have two meanings. I only know one.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Blake says, reaching around me to shake hands with typical Blake-like enthusiasm.

I turn to greet him, and he’s so close behind me that we’re suddenly face to face. Big, green eyes blink into mine. And, damn it, a sizzle shoots through my chest, tingling through all the various veins and arteries. And maybe even my capillaries, if I knew where those were.

“Hi,” I say stupidly.

He winks. “How’s it hangin’, J-Babe?”

“Not bad. You?”

He makes a face and claps a hand on his thick neck. “Got a crick right here. It’s nothing a beer won’t fix.” He turns away, waving a hand. “Lisa! Une beer avec moi!”

“That’s not proper French,” I point out.

“Baby, I’m very proper when I French.” He grabs my ass on the bar stool, and I slap his hand away.

“Don’t squeeze the Charmin, dude.” I’m still watching Violet carefully, because she’s not quite back to normal.

Her eyes are still twice their usual size, although she’s talking now. “How on earth do you two know each other?”

“Well, Jess is fun people,” Blake explains, patting me on the back. “And I like to have fun. Also, her brother is married to my teammate.”

Violet grabs her chest, so now I’m thinking the trouble might be cardiac arrest. “Wait—do you mean Ryan Wesley? You’re…” Her eyes practically roll back in her head. “That kind of Canning? Your brother is one half of Wesmie?”

“Wesmie is a stupid name,” I insist, taking a slug of my beer.

And here I’d spent all this time thinking Violet was smart. But she’s been rendered speechless by the appearance of Blake Riley, who is now explaining that he’d coined the Wesmie term.

“Always knew I’d go viral some day,” he remarks, stroking his chin. “I thought it would probably be a sex tape, or for eating twenty saltines in way under thirty seconds. But you can’t choose the way you change popular culture. It chooses you. Je suis un elefant élégante.”

She gapes at him.

“Hey, Jessie!”

I turn and find Wes at my shoulder. With a smile, he leans in and kisses me on the cheek. “I can only stay for one beer. Told Jamie I’d skate with his team at practice tonight. But I have a half-hour to spare.”

“Aw!” I hug Wes. “That’s so nice. Those kids will be pumped up.”

“Sure, ’til I make ’em do suicide sprints.” He gives an evil laugh. “Who needs a beer?”

Violet’s hand shoots into the air, stick straight, fingers tensed.

“Easy, Hermione,” I mutter. “Classes ended an hour ago.”

I regret the words as soon as they’re out, because Violet actually looks sheepish, which I didn’t think was possible on her know-it-all face. So I introduce her to Wes, who buys her a beer, and then to Lemming, who strolls up a few minutes later. Violet almost faints for the third time in ten minutes, but I’m over it now.

“We’re heading for Montreal next week for a preseason series,” Wes says, tossing cash onto the bar.

“Is that why Blake is pretending to speak French?”

“That would be my guess. Hey—check out evil roomie’s face.”

I steal a glance at Violet, who is rapt. Lemming is holding her hand in both of his, whispering to her. “Who knew?”

Blake enters the conversation with a snort. “It’s a basic law of chemistry. Every chick wants a hockey player.”

“Not hardly,” I argue. “And I did well in chemistry.”

“Kids,” Wes warns. “Play nice.”

I drink my beer. And then Blake offers me another one, which I accept because he’s rich and I’m a poor student who is nice enough to cook his dinner some nights.

“What are you drinking?” he asks. When I tell him, he makes a face. “Let’s upgrade you. Yo, Lisa!”

The bartender approaches, all five feet of her. The blue mohawk she’s sporting gives her another inch, though. “Whadaya need, Blakey?”

“My girl Jess needs a beer. What would you recommend?”

Lisa tilts her head, appraising me. “I think a Velvet Fog. It’s a wheat beer.”

That’s really not my thing. “How about…”

But Blake holds up a hand. “Lisa knows. Trust the process, Jessie.”

He and the bartender exchange a glance, and then she moves off to tap me a beer I’ve never heard of.

“Was that just a little weird?” I whisper to Wes.

He grins over his glass. “Sometimes you just gotta roll with this place.”

Whatever.

Wes leaves for practice a little later, but two more players arrive—Eriksson and the new guy, Will O’Connor.

Eriksson says hello to me, but then parks himself on a stool, diving into conversation with Lisa. It sounds as if she’s counseling him on some aspect of his divorce.

And anyway, I haven’t met O’Connor yet, so I focus on him. “I’ve just had my first month in Toronto, too,” I tell him. “It’s a nice town, right?”