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Gail
Even though she can’t see it, I flip Luce, my bestie, off as she and her husband Sawyer disappear into the night, leaving me alone with his two best friends and teammates, Mickey and Soren. It’s a little weird. I’ve seen them around when Luce has brought me along to Sabertooths’ games and functions, but I don’t think we’ve ever exchanged more than names and casually shallow pleasantries.
Well, when life, or in my case, your bestie, gives you lemons, at least I’m left with some serious eye candy instead of lemonade.
Soren’s so put together in his dark navy shirt that hugs his body just right, showcasing the muscle underneath without showing off. His jeans are dark and perfectly tailored, fitting him like they were made for him. Polished brown boots complete the look, giving him a relaxed yet refined edge despite his many tattoos. He’s not flashy, but the clean lines and effortless style make him stand out. A simple watch on his wrist catches my eye, understated and classy—just like him.
Mickey, on the other hand, exudes a completely different vibe. His black leather jacket fits perfectly over his broad shoulders. The dark gray band t-shirt beneath clings to his chest, the faded logo adding a hint of rebellion. His jeans are dark and snug, low on his hips, paired with scuffed black boots. A silver chain around his neck catches the light, and a black leather cuff on his wrist adds to his rugged, effortless vibe. Mickey doesn’t have to try to command attention—he just does.
Oh, and did I mention that they’re, of course, both drop-dead-fuck-me-all-night handsome? Yep, yep, and yep. It’s not fair. I have to keep it in my pants in case I suddenly become busy for New Year’s, which is right around the corner.
“Fucking hell,” Soren gripes, running a tattooed hand through his short, dark hair as he looks after our disappearing friends.
Frowning, Mickey adds, “Talk about beingpussessed,” blowing a few strands of his shaggy, white hair out of his eyes. He doesn’t sound any happier about being ditched like this.
“Pussessed?” I question, arching an eyebrow.
Mickey waggles his eyebrows playfully, but it’s Soren who answers, sounding put out. “You know, pussy obsessed.”
Can’t say I blame either of them for being annoyed since they literally just arrived at O’Jackie’s with Sawyer just for him to take Luce home within minutes. “Or dickmatized,” I laugh. “Luce is no better than Sawyer. Worst friends in the world.”
I don’t actually mean it; Luce is, in fact, a saint on the friend front. She’s the best, a queen who’s put up with my shit for over a decade. But none of that means it’s okay to leave just because she’s horny and in love.
The two hockey players turn to me, both wearing matching expressions of incredulity and intrigue. “Dickmatized, eh?” Soren chuckles.
Jesus, can a sound be sexy? If so, the deep notes flowing from him are just that. “Yep,” I nod eagerly, immediately regretting the motion when the room starts to spin. I’m way drunker than I thought. Wait… drunker? More drunk? Drunkest?
“If you think you’re the drunkest, we definitely have some catching up to do.” Mickey lazily runs a finger across my bare shoulder blade, which makes a delicious shiver run down my spine.
“Oh!” I gasp, realizing I spoke the words out loud and didn’t just think them. “Anyway, I sshould head home asss well. Call it a night.” Damn, I’m still slurring my words.
Soren shakes his head and wags his finger at me. “Sorry Gail, we can’t let you leave just yet. Lucia specifically told us to take good care of you, and we can’t do that if you leave, now can we.”
She said that? Oh, right, she totally did. “Okay,” I agree easily. I mean, staying isn’t exactly a hardship.
We move from the table to the bar, the guys joking that they need to be close to the alcohol if they’re going to catch up with me. They’re not exactly wrong since I’m several shots of tequila ahead of them.
While we wait for the bartender to come over and take their orders, we talk about the holidays, and our shitty friends who abandoned us. I can’t help noticing the puck bunnies circling around us like sharks, waiting for an opportunity to insert themselves into the conversation. But I seem to be the only one noticing them, both Mickey and Soren are only looking at me.
“So how come you weren’t around for our last game before the Christmas break?” Mickey asks, brushing a loose tendril of my hair away from my forehead. The small movement is enough to make my breath hitch.
“Did you guys move closer?” I ask, narrowing my eyes when it becomes clear I can barely move without brushing against either of them, and Mickey barely had to stretch his arm to reach me.
“Are you complaining?” Soren asks, smiling cockily.
No, I’m not complaining, but I am curious since I didn’t even notice it. I’ve been too busy staring at them and telling my brain to stay away from the gutter. “Not at all,” I confirm.
The bartender finally comes over, apologizing profusely when he realizes who he made wait like commoners. “I’m so sorry, Mickey, Soren. What can I get for you?”
When the guys take too long to make up their minds, I decide to help out by mentioning how amazing the tequila is here, as is evident by my buzz. The bartender arches his eyebrow when they promptly order eight tequila shots, and when I mention I’m not having anything but more water, they make it ten. Thankfully, that’s the total, and not each.
I happily sit out while they quickly do four shots each, both of them pulling faces as the tequila slides down their throats.
“Why did you order tequila if you don’t like it?” I laugh.
“You said it was good,” Mickey deadpans. “Clearly you can’t be trusted.”
I roll my eyes. “Clearly,” I agree, dryly.
