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“Hey, Ollie!” he practically yells like he knows him, completely oblivious to the disdain radiating from the hockey god. “When are you heading to Chicago?”
I roll my eyes as the guy’s demeanor completely changes. Even the haze of beer pumping through the guy’s veins can’t dampen the glow around my hockey star.
Ollie ignores him, glancing over at me. His eyes are still stormy, and his jaw is clenched. “Are you finished for the night?”
I nod.
“I’ll meet you out front.”
I nod again and head to the back to grab my stuff. It’s so loud in here that I can barely hear myself think.
When the heavy front door to the sports bar shuts behind me, I look over to see Ollie leaning against the brick exterior. He has one foot resting against the wall with his knee bent. He looks deceptively casual, but there’s still tension radiating from his thick frame.
I tilt my head. “Are you mad at me? I didn’t mean to work late. Someone called in, and Nick asked me to stay. And I didn’t have time to check my cell.”
When I grabbed my things from the back, I saw that Ollie had messaged me twice and called once.
Ollie pushes off the wall and starts walking across the parking lot without answering. I pause for a second, surprised when he doesn’t wait for me and irritated that he expects me to automatically follow him. I stay standing in the same spot and cross my arms over my chest defiantly. It takes a few steps for him to notice that I haven’t moved.
“I’m not mad at you,” he scoffs, finally spinning around until we’re facing each other. There are at least two car lengths between us now.
I arch a brow. “Well, that sure was convincing.”
He sighs, angles his head to the sky, and then looks back at me. He eats up the distance between us until he’s standing right in front of me. “I’m not mad at you. I just want to get out of here.” His tone is softer now, but it seems forced.
He slides his hand down my arm until he’s lacing his fingers with mine. His skin is just as warm as I was imagining earlier. I let my arm hang limply for a minute to make a point before finally giving in and collapsing my fingers around his.
“You’re being an asshole,” I accuse as he leads me to the Bronco.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
We’re both quiet as we climb into the vehicle. I pull my seat belt across my body and lean back in the seat. Ollie moves closer and buries his face in my neck. I guess this is his way of apologizing.
“Care to tell me why you’re in such a good mood?” I ask dryly.
The air is still warm out even though the sun has set. The top of the Bronco remains off.
He sighs, and his warm breath causes goose bumps to pebble across my skin as he struggles internally with something. “I just missed you today.”
“So, you thought the best way to show me that you missed me was by being a jerk?”
He chuckles before growing quiet again. “Do guys hit on you on every shift?”
It’s dark out, but the parking lot lamps are glowing around us. I slide to the side so I can see him better, and he sits back in his seat. I’m surprised to see the serious expression on his handsome face accompanying the hint of vulnerability in his tone. He’s waiting for my answer. His demeanor has me unsettled. Ollie’s rarely unsure of himself.
“Sometimes.”
The truth is, most men love to flirt with the waitresses at Cheerz. Especially after they’ve had a couple of drinks. I’m not excluded from that fact, but it’s not like they are all clamoring after me either. As far as I’m concerned, it comes with the territory. It’s harmless.
“Does that bother you?” I ask.
“Fuck yeah, it does,” he states emphatically.
I arch my eyebrows, surprised again by the emotional response. “I can handle myself in there, Ollie. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“I know. I’m not worried about you, Mads. I just don’t fucking like it.”
I bite my lip to hide my smile. He looks like a sullen kid, sitting there in the driver’s seat. A gorgeous man-child. He’s pouting. I guess I’m not the only one clouded by jealousy at times.
