The cutest brunette saddles up the bar, and I head to her. I lean over and place a kiss on her cheek. “What’s up?”
She motions toward the vacationer. “Someone looks dejected.”
I don’t bother to look over my shoulder. “She’s looking to get laid.”
My sister, Ally, scoffs. Every time I think I’ve got it lousy, Ally reminds me she’s in a much worse situation. At least I’m going somewhere with this hockey thing and will have a degree when I graduate college. Every time Ally turns around, something needs money. Money she doesn’t have.
“Who’s watching Lacey?”
“Mom is.”
“Is she sober?” I ask, knowing full well the answer is no.
Ally ignores my question. “Lacey needs some school supplies.”
Those five words are all my sister needs to say. I nod and pull out my wallet. I hand Ally all the cash I have in there from last night’s tips. “If you need more, let me know. I can take Lacey shopping for clothes next week when I get paid.”
“Thanks,” she says. Ally clutches the money in her hand and wipes a fallen tear away from her cheek with her other hand. “I’ll pay you back.”
“You know I won’t take it.” There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for my niece. Her father bailed when my sister told him she was pregnant, and for whatever reason, my sister insists on keeping his identity to herself. She knows if she told me, I’d beat the shit out of him for bailing on my niece. I’d do the same thing to my dad if he walked into my bar or showed up at one of my games. I pull out my phone, open my sound machine app, and click on “Closing Time” by Semisonic. One of the best songs to play when it’s time to close.
“Stay, and I’ll walk you out,” I tell Ally. The last thing I want is for her to walk out alone with all these drunk assholes staggering around her.
My sister—the saint she is—starts to help me clean up. She comes behind the bar, grabs a bucket, and begins cleaning the tables.
“I get it now,” the woman at the bar says. To be honest, I forgot she was waiting for me.
“What do you get?” I ask.
“Why you’ve ignored my flirting. You know you should really wear a ring.”
She thinks Ally is my wife.
“Yeah, I lost it,” I lie.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you next year.” She leaves the bar without a goodbye. I almost feel bad, but I don’t. I never gave her any sign I was interested in her.
Once the bar is cleaned, everything is washed or in the dishwasher, and the floor has been vacuumed, Ally and I head out. “Thanks for sticking around,” I tell her when we get to her car.
“As if I had a choice.”
I motion toward the cameras. “They don’t always work, and I worry about you.”
“I know, and I love you for it.” Ally hugs me and then gets into her car. She locks it immediately, knowing it’s what I want. I watch her drive away before heading to mine.
The drive back to my off-campus house takes about ten minutes. The University of Northport sits along the coast, but the house I share with my teammates is on the backside of campus, and there isn’t a direct route due to some random one-way streets, which I’ll never ever get the hang of navigating. Whoever invented these sucks. There’s nothing worse than missing your turn and having to go blocks out of your way to turn around.
As soon as I pull in front of my house and see the light on in the attic bedroom, I remember Jude’s sister moved in earlier today. When he came to us a month ago and asked what we thought about her living with us, none of us really cared as long as she understood we’re hockey players who party after a win, who drink beer, and we stink. Hockey gear is not easy to clean, no matter how many times we hose it down.
Jude reminded us she grew up with him and wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about our horrific seasonal odor. He’s protective of her, much like I am of Ally, and didn’t want her living on campus due to some incidents last year. I can’t say I blame him. If this were my sister transferring, I’d feel the same way.
I’m pleasantly surprised to find the door locked when I turn the knob. “Well, shit,” I mutter as I thumb through my keys until I find the one for the house. I suppose it’s not a bad thing, locking the front door, but something I’ll have to get used to. The other guys on the team who live a few houses down from us won’t like the fact they can’t come and raid our refrigerator whenever they see fit, which is definitely something I can get used to.
Something smells amazing when I step into the entryway. “Damn,” I mutter as I place my hand over my stomach. Someone cooked, and I missed it. I slip my keys back into my pocket and head to the kitchen, hoping whatever was made is sitting on the community shelf in the fridge. That’s how we know it’s a shareable item. Much like when we get pizzas on sale or the bar owner has catered something, I can bring home the extras. We have a free-for-all shelf we all contribute to.
I open the fridge and find a plate on my shelf with a note:
Kyler,