Overnight Sensation(2)

“And limes!” Silas calls out as Drake walks away.

“Okay,” the kid says gamely, turning his big shoulders toward the bar.

“Okay?” I gasp. “How about yessir!”

There are chuckles, but I’m only half kidding. I just spent the summer reading books in a hammock and trying to forget that it was my missed shot on goal that sent us into overtime in game seven of the championship. If I’d rotated my stick two more degrees before I shot, we would have hoisted the cup over our heads at the end of the period. There would have been a parade through Brooklyn and all the other bullshit that comes with being top dog.

But the puck hit the pipe and bounced off. And I will never stop seeing that black shape flip against the white ice, or hearing the condemning sound of buzzer announcing the end of the third period.

Less than a half hour later we lost the championship in overtime.

If I’d made that goal, I would have been the leader of that goddamn parade. I would have hoisted the cup first. The video clip of that goal would have played on repeat whenever the Bruisers were mentioned on TV. Forever, probably.

Pass the tequila.

The rookie comes back with a tray and a message. “Pete says he doesn’t need this—” The kid flips my credit card onto the table. “—because he’s got the number memorized. And he said to tell you to take it easy.”

“Right,” I snort. “Because that sounds like me for sure.”

“Oh, Castro’s always easy,” Bayer says. “Just ask the ladies.”

“You shut up,” I scoff, plucking the shot glasses off the tray and lining them up. I count heads around the table. “You in? Who’s in?”

That’s when my gaze collides with Heidi’s. My gaze does that entirely too often.

“Tequila?” I ask her, my tone borderline rude, and I don’t even know why.

She smacks the bar with her hand. “Yessir.”

And my mind leaps right into the gutter. I’d like to get her to say that again later. When we’re alone.

“Jesus, don’t call him sir,” Silas begs. “The power will go right to his head.”

Or other places. Fuck me. I pour out shots of tequila. “Ladies first,” I say, passing a shot glass to Heidi.

When I’ve doled one out to all takers, O’Doul lifts his shot. “To old friends and new challenges,” he says.

To fewer last-minute disappointments, I privately add as I lift my glass.

The sound of six or eight shot glasses meeting for a toast is the backdrop of my life. It’s a good sound. We all toss the tequila back, and I watch Heidi drink hers with wide eyes that turn red as she swallows.

“I think you need this,” I say, nudging the bowl of lime wedges in her direction.

“Thanks,” she gasps, reaching for a wedge and plunging it between her pink lips.

My body stirs. Tonight, then. I’ll take her home with me. Finally.

Heidi and I have been circling each other on and off since last spring, when she turned up to help the team out during a personnel crisis. One day at the practice facility I heard a peal of uproarious laughter. And when I turned the corner, there she was—all bouncing curls and curves and a big smile. She’s five-foot-nothing but full of personality.

And since that very first moment, I’ve been yearning to fill her with something else. She’s open to this idea as well. I see it every time our gazes collide. And they do that a lot.

It hasn’t happened, though, for a couple of reasons. In the first place, I only hook up with randoms. Hockey is my life, and there’s no room for emotional entanglements.

Also? She’s the office intern. The aftermath could be awkward. She doesn’t strike me as needy or crazy. But it’s not like I can put a lot of distance between us afterwards. Worst-case scenario is that I avoid the office wing of the team’s headquarters for a semester, or however long her internship lasts.

I’ve done stupider things, though. And tonight I don’t think I am going to be able to resist her. Every time those big blue eyes land on me, I’m a little closer to giving in.

That’s how distracting she is. I’m not the only one who thinks so, either. My teammates have given her a nickname that suits her personality: Hot Pepper. That’s because she’s attractive, but also lively.

If I’m honest, she reminds me a little of the girl I fell in love with at sixteen. I have very few regrets in this life. A lost love, and a lost goal. Tonight I’ve got both of them on my mind, damn it. But I’m going to let Heidi distract me from both things.

Problem solved.

“Shhh!” Silas says suddenly.

We all fall silent without knowing why. There’s a look on Silas’s face, as if angels are speaking to him from a higher plane.

“Um, what are we listening for?” the rookie asks.

“New song,” Silas says. “It was just released yesterday.”

A groan rises up from the table. Silas is a devoted fan of the singer Delilah Spark. He plays her stuff from sunup to sundown and seems not to mind all the ribbing we give him about it.

“You just shushhed me so you could hear this singer again?” Bayer asks. “Don’t we get enough of her leaking from your headphones on the jet?”

“Try living with him,” I point out. “It’s only been a month, and I already know every lyric to every song. I don’t even have a choice.”