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I should have met Jameson at the Pancake House.
Hollis’s expression softens when he sees me, until his eyes shift to Jameson, whose hand is currently pressed against the small of my back. Hollis’s gaze turns murderous, and my vagina gets stupidly excited.
“Is that Hollis Hendrix?” Jameson asks.
Hollis tucks his toque into his pocket and heads for us. “Hey, Princess.” He shocks the hell out of me when he pulls me in for a hug.
I stand there, stiffly, trying not to appreciate the way he smells, or how right it feels to be in his arms—even though I’m highly confused and justifiably pissed off. Eventually, I get it together and poke him in the ribs.
He releases me. I give him a look. He smiles.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Hollis asks expectantly.
“Right. Yeah.” I glance between them. “Jameson Grover, this is Hollis Hendrix. He plays right wing for Toronto, and he’s my dad’s best friend. Hollis, this is Jameson, one of my friends from school.”
Hollis extends a hand. I seriously hope he doesn’t crush Jameson’s.
“It’s so amazing to meet you,” Jameson gushes and pumps his hand. “I’m such a huge fan. I have your jersey at home. And your rookie card. I’ve been following your career since I was a kid.”
“Oh yeah? You play hockey?” Hollis asks through a tight, made-for-TV smile.
“For a few years, as a kid, but I uh…liked watching better. You’re having such a great season. That hit you took was such bullshit. Man, we were worried you’d be out again, but you showed them, huh?” Jameson finally releases Hollis’s hand.
Hollis runs his hand through his hair. “Mostly they were worried about the concussion.”
“Oh yeah, I can totally see that.”
I need to get us away from Hollis. “Well, Jameson and I should probably head out.”
“It was so great to meet you, Mr. Hendrix,” Jameson says. “Good luck tomorrow night.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you later, Princess.”
“Sure, Hollis.”
I grab Jameson’s arm and drag him toward the lobby doors. Fucking Hollis.
Jameson waves over his shoulder as I push through, and we step outside into the cold February afternoon.
“Holy shit. You just introduced me to Hollis Hendrix.”
Jameson is a nice guy. Kind, hardworking, polite. It totally makes sense that he’s starstruck. I was when I met Scarlet Reed. “I did.”
“It’s one thing to know your dad is a pro hockey player, but the reality didn’t set in until that.” He thumbs over his shoulder. “Was that weird for you? I mean, I guess you’re used to being around pro hockey players all the time.” His brow furrows. “He called you Princess. He and your dad are bros, right? Like tight? That’s how the media makes it look, anyway. You must know him really well.”
I know what it feels like to have his tongue in my mouth. I’ve also fantasized an unreasonable number of times about being fucked by him. But I seriously doubt that’s what Jameson means. “I’ve known Hollis since I was in high school.”
Jameson nods thoughtfully. “He’s kind of like family then, right? Like an uncle or something?”
I choke back a hysterical laugh. “Yes and no? Mostly it’s this giant friend group who all have each other’s backs.”
When the light changes, we cross the street to the diner.
“Right, yeah. It’s kind of like having a bunch of older brothers. Like a lot of brothers who could kick some ass.”
“They can be protective like brothers.”
“I kind of caught that vibe from Hendrix. I hope I made an okay impression.”
