Stupid jock who isn’t a jock, apparently.
The bells tinkle merrily as he pulls the door open and disappears onto the sidewalk. Veronica leans to the side, craning her neck so she can watch him walk down the street as long as possible. When he’s out of her line of sight, she straightens and turns with an expression of wonder.
“Clarke Angelica Webber,” she accuses as she saunters up to the counter. “You little minx. Flirting with the customers and scoring a date with an Adonis. Just look at you, girl.”
“Shut up,” I growl, not an ounce of teasing in my tone. I can get away with it because we’ve been friends for most of our lives, starting all the way back in preschool.
“No, you shut up,” she replies automatically in an exaggeratedly snippy tone. Then she laughs, waving a hand. “Actually, don’t shut up. Tell me everything from start to finish.”
So I do, from the moment he walked in.
“Oh, damn,” she murmurs in awe, snapping her fingers. “And he just threw out J.D. Salinger as if it were nothing. Wow.”
“I should have sensed it was a trap,” I grumble.
“Why are you so upset?” Veronica asks, taking a sip of her coffee before offering me a taste. I take the cup, lift it to my mouth, and smell cinnamon.
Delicious.
I swallow, keeping her coffee in my hand as I move around the counter. We move over to a pair of Victorian-styled chairs in the corner, which I’d set up for customers who might want to peruse a book for a bit. When she takes a seat, I do the same, lifting her coffee for another sip before handing it back to her.
“He’s just not my type,” I say, hoping she won’t dig further.
But this is Veronica. She knows me inside and out, warts, weaknesses, and ugly anxieties. “You mean he’s confident, gorgeous, and gregarious.”
“I like confident men,” I argue, but even I hear the lie in those words.
Her patronizing glare settles on me. “Please, girlfriend. You’re a solid beta dater.”
I wave her off. “I don’t even know what that means.”
“Yes, you do,” Veronica asserts. “It’s everything an alpha isn’t, and you tend to associate with men who aren’t very assertive. Let’s face it—you play it way too safe.”
“With reason,” I point out.
Her face softens. Veronica has seen me at my lowest, and all at the hands of a man who ruined my life.
She reaches a hand out, touching mine. So I don’t end up crying like a baby over her empathy, I snatch her coffee back with my free hand, even as our fingers squeeze in solidarity.
“Next time,” I grumble. “Bring me some coffee, and I won’t have to steal yours.”CHAPTER 3WyldeOver the course of our first season here in Phoenix, the team started hanging out at The Sneaky Saguaro. It’s a restaurant and beer garden, boasting well over a hundred different types of beer on tap. A two-story monstrosity with a massive saguaro cactus at least twenty-five-feet tall running up the center of the building, it’s usually packed every night of the week.
I like coming here because the food is spicy, the beer cold, and the waitresses scantily dressed in cut-off jean shorts and plaid western shirts tied off under their breasts. The cowboy hats and boots are cute but unimportant.
The first floor is for regular diners while the second is for the drinkers. The Vengeance has claimed this establishment as our official hangout, so we get preferential treatment. Because we just won the Cup championship, that extends into the off-season as well. A call ahead tonight ensured we had a table reserved just off the massive upstairs bar for my teammates and me.
“Cheers,” I exclaim, holding up a mug of Narragansett lager. Four mugs join mine, then we each drink deeply to get this party started.
Well, not exactly a party.
Just dinner and beers with some of my teammates.
Single teammates, I should say. Definitely not my closest friends on the Vengeance, but we’re all brothers by virtue of the bond we have as players.
My closest friends are the guys I play on the first line with. The ones I spend the most time with. The dudes I can anticipate both their thoughts and moves.
But those guys are leading new lives with their lady loves, which means my time with them has become limited. I don’t hold any grudges because of these circumstances and, quite the contrary, I couldn’t be happier for my buds. They are leading their best lives, which is the way it should be.
I invited these guys out, some who are new to the team and others I need to try to get to know better. To my left sits Kane Bellan. He is our newest member, having been traded to us from the Cold Fury during the playoffs for our player, Rafe Simmons. Rafe wanted to return home to North Carolina because his dad was dying of cancer and our illustrious owner, Dominik Carlson, made it happen.