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“Don’t sound so surprised,” I say, echoing her words from a moment ago. “I’ll have you know I aced the vocab portion of the SAT.”
“Good to know. But as for the need for extrication …” Bailey sticks her lip out, and I find myself suddenly distracted. “Poor little hockey player with all the ladies after him.”
Grinning, I pull her closer with the arm around her shoulders and use my other to tickle her lightly. She giggles, a sound that lights me up from the inside out. “Don’t mock me.”
She bats my hand away. “I said what I said, hockey player.”
“I see how it is. Now that you know who I am, that’s all I am to you—a hockey player?”
“Pretty much.”
As we cross the bar to her table, I take Bailey in for the first time, and my brain goes on a brief hiatus from working. Until now, I haven’t even noticed that she’s not in scrubs. She’salwaysin scrubs.
But not tonight.
She’s dressed in a dark skirt that falls just above her knees. Legs bare, despite the chilly fall temperature outside, and she has on ankle boots. Her blue top is soft and loose with a wide neck, revealing delicate collarbones. It’s the first time I’ve seen Bailey’s hair out of a ponytail, and it hangs loose around her shoulders.
She glances up, as though feeling the weight of my attention on her, and the smile I get is one I haven’t seen before. Still hesitant, but more open than usual, like she no longer feels the need to make herself small around me.
Pretty, I think with a hard swallow.She really is pretty.
The whole thing throws me. Seeing Bailey here at a bar in normal clothes is disconcerting in the same way it is to see your doctor at the grocery store.
I blink and try to readjust the box Bailey fits into. From shelter worker to …this.
The soft smile and the flush in her cheeks are the same. The shy demeanor too, though she’s definitely more comfortable. Maybe she’s had a beer? Two? I need to focus here—on the things I recognize. To hold them as anchors.
But my eyes are drawn to her bare legs. I tell myself not to ogle. Even though they’re absolutely ogle-worthy. Ogle-able. Ogle-icious.
Anyway. No ogling.Nogling.
I force my attention back to Bailey’s face, feeling my skin prickle with awareness. Brenda and Kellie are long gone. I probably don’t need to keep my arm around Bailey.
I keep it there anyway.
Van steps in front of us just before we reach the table. “Sorry we got interrupted,” he says. “Where are we going?”
“I was buying Bailey and her friends drinks,” I say.
“Sounds good.”
I look at Bailey. “Is this cool?”
Bailey hesitates, like she’s weighing various options and outcomes. Finally, she sighs and then looks between me and Van, then peeks past him at the table. “Fine. My friends would be more than happy to meet you. I may not know hockey, but some of them do. I apologize in advance for the fangirling you’re about to be subjected to.”
“I love fangirling.” Van tugs at the collar of his shirt, adjusting for maximum tattoo teasing.
“You would,” I mutter.
We reach the table with Bailey’s three friends, one of whom looks significantly older than Bailey, and all of whom are actively staring.
Bailey drops onto the nearest chair, patting the one next to her and looking up at me expectantly. I waste no time sitting down and scooting a little closer to her. Van pulls a chair over from another table and turns it so he’s straddling it backwards. He turns his baseball cap at the same time, as though he needs his hat to match his chair.
“Everyone, this is Eli and Van,” Bailey says, her voice more bold and commanding than I’ve ever heard it. “Yes, they play for the Appies. That’s the hockey team in town, if you don’t know. Be cool. Don’t ask intrusive questions. And no”—here she gives a long look to the younger, dark-haired woman directly across from Van—“they willnotsign any of your body parts.”
“Eli won’t,” Van corrects. “But I’m happy to sign anything at all if you ask nicely.”
I roll my eyes. “Ignore him. He was raised in a cave by trolls.”
