Thereâs only one way to describe the mood at Slap Shotz, and thatâs somber. Frustration and anger hang heavy in the air. This isnât the first game weâve lost this season, but letâs just say itâs not a regular occurrence.
The fact that it happened against our biggest conference rival only adds salt to the wound.
No one is taking it well. A few guys are drowning their sorrows in glasses of cheap beer. Others are rehashing the game play by play, trying to figure out where it all went to shit.
Plus, no oneâs looking forward to the next practice. Coach will rip us a new one, all the while putting us through the wringer. It wouldnât surprise me if a few of the younger players throw in the towel afterward and quit the team.
That thought sinks to the bottom of my belly like a heavy stone, where it settles uncomfortably.
No doubt about itâweâre definitely going to get the shit kicked out of us.
And I have the sneaking suspicion that Iâll get the brunt of it.
I was distracted and allowed my emotions to get the better of me.
Realizing how my future will play out, I down the rest of my beer and decide to head home. I caught a ride to the arena and then the bar with Hayes and Bridger.
I flick a glance in their direction.
Neither look very happy, so itâs doubtful theyâll stick around for long.
As I set the empty glass on the bar, the back door swings open and a dozen guys saunter in with grins plastered across their smug faces.
My gaze narrows as I catch sight of River fucking Thompson.
You have to be seriously shitting me right now.
What the fuck are these clowns doing here?
At our bar?
The place where we always hang out?
Everyone knows that Slap Shotz unofficially belongs to the Western Wildcats.
My gaze slides to the girl glued to his side, and every muscle tenses, going on high alert.
Blondie.
After she walked out of the arena, I never expected to see her again. As soon as our gazes collide, her eyes widen as she stutters to a stop. The douche at her side sends a questioning look her way.
Itâs tempting to bare my teeth and knock him away from her.
How is it possible that sheâs even more beautiful than I remembered?
River leans down and murmurs something in her ear. She rips her attention away from me long enough to meet his questioning gaze. A potent concoction of anger and jealousy bursts to life inside me as he drapes his arm around her again.
The visceral reaction Iâm having to this girl is almost enough to give me pause. I search my memories, unable to remember a time when Iâve felt anything like it.
And that includes with Sabrina.
Until this moment, I didnât think it was possible to feel more.
After Momâs cancer diagnosis in high school, Iâve done everything within my power not to feel anything too deeply. Those months of chemo were a dark period for everyone in the family. The fear and uncertainty that she could be ripped from our lives sat at the bottom of my belly like a heavy, unmovable weight. Itâs not something I want to go through again.
Iâm knocked from the tangle of those thoughts when Bridger leaps to his feet. Iâve known the guy for almost three years, and heâs never been a hothead. If anything, heâs the levelheaded one who tries to maintain peace in the kingdom. But heâs been dealing with a lot of shit these past couple months. It wouldnât take much to shove him over the edge.
âWhat the fuck are you doing here, Thompson?â he barks.
River straightens to his full height, which is a few inches over six feet. âGood to see you too, Sanderson.â He shrugs. âJust thought weâd stick around town and celebrate our win. Or, you know, the shit stomping we gave you.â
Ryder, Ford, and Wolf move to flank our teammate. Madden and Riggs arenât far behind.
Bridger stiffens, the muscles in his jaw ticking. âIt would probably be in your best interest to find somewhere else to do that.â
River glances around the dark space. âNah, hereâs good. Last I checked, you didnât own the place.â
âThatâs right, they donât,â Sully says, raising his voice to be heard over the music, âbut I do. And I donât want any trouble, or Iâll toss every single one of you out on your asses.â
Gerry, one of the bouncers, makes his presence known by cracking his knuckles and folding burly arms across his chest. The sleeves of his black T-shirt strain against the bulging biceps.
Heâs one dude I wouldnât want to fuck with.
If these guys have any brains whatsoever, they wonât either.
âAre we gonna have any problems tonight?â the older man asks, voice turning hard.
River cocks his head. âNot from us.â
Bridger glances at Sully. âYou wonât get any from us either.â
The bar owner gives hard stares to both warring factions. âGood. Glad to hear it. Now, what can I get you to drink?â
Some of the crackling tension blanketing the atmosphere dissipates as the Rattlers make their way to the stretch of bar and my teammates continue to glare at their rivals as if waiting for them to step one toe out of line.
If that happens, all hell will break loose.
Another wave of jealousy crashes over me as River steers blondie toward the bar. My molars grind as they order a round of drinks and hoist their glasses in the air, toasting their win.
I canât help but shake my head at their arrogance.
Itâs like theyâre begging to get their asses kicked.
No matter what I think of River, the guy has some major balls waltzing in here and rubbing their victory in our faces.
For as long as I can remember, tension has simmered between us.
And then in high school, he stole my girl.
The fact that she left me for the one guy Iâve always considered my rival stung more than actually losing her.
She could have broken up with me for anyone.
Anyone but River fucking Thompson.
I canât take my eyes off the blonde as the bartender hands her a brown bottle of beer. The moment she lifts it to her lips, River nips it from her grasp. My brows shoot up as he guzzles the entire contents before setting it down on the stretch of bar. With a frown, he gives his head a slight shake.
Are you fucking kidding me?
What a dick.
That thought is further solidified when the girl whoâd attacked him at the arena wraps her arms around his neck and smothers him in sloppy kisses. My gaze slices back to his girlfriend, waiting to see how this scene will unfold.
Will she go after the chick sucking Riverâs face?
It certainly wouldnât be the first catfight Iâve witnessed.
Most of the girlfriends understand that they need to be on high alert and beat the groupies off with a stick.
It comes with the territory of dating a hockey player.
Puck bunnies, on the other hand?
They donât mind sliding into bed with someone elseâs man.
And they certainly donât mind sharing them either.
When distaste flashes across blondieâs face and she swivels away from the mauling still taking place, I realize sheâs not a girlfriend after all.
Huh.
I wouldnât have pegged her for a groupie.
Guess I was wrong.
My muscles tense when one of Riverâs teammates sidles up to her. A hesitant smile quirks her lips as she tucks a stray lock of golden hair behind her ear.
Fuck.
Even her ears are adorable.
When the guy grins and steps closer, invading her personal space, I take an unconscious step in their direction. I recognize the hungry expression written across his face. Itâs one that says heâs looking to get lucky.
Before I can take another step, River breaks away from the girl and scowls at his teammate before pulling blondie closer. He gets in the playerâs face, pointing to her again and saying something. The other guy gives her a sidelong glance before shaking his head and taking a giant step in retreat, as if he canât get away fast enough.
If I didnât realize it before, I do nowâRiver Thompson is a grade-A dick.
He says something to the blonde before resuming his make out session with the girl, who looks as if sheâs trying to swallow him whole.
Iâm curious as to what this chickâs next move will be.
If I were her, Iâd haul off and deck him.
Maybe a few times.
Instead, she presses her lips together and heads for the exit at the back of the bar.
Itâs not a conscious decision on my part to take off after her.
It just happens.