Page 8 of Tripped Up

Elsy

Joey gives me a good deal on the car, and Wyatt talks him into a maintenance deal at minimal cost, so now I don’t even have to think about getting regular checkups done. My wallet screams as I sign on the dotted line, but the fact remains, I need a car to get around out here. There’s no bus route that will get me across town to the rehearsal space and back to the symphony for performances without major headaches.

Wyatt lingers even after I’ve finished signing the paperwork. Joey sticks a big red bow on the hood of the car and Wyatt snaps a few pictures on my phone so I can send them to Bex and Vanessa.

Now I have to go back to my apartment and unpack my seventy million boxes. Joy.

“D’you want to grab a drink?” Wyatt asks.

My eyebrows jump up. “Excuse me?”

He clears his throat, his face pink from being in the sun all afternoon. “A few of the guys are getting together. Super low-key.”

Eyes narrowing, I try to figure out what his end game is.

“If you want to go home to your empty apartment, be my guest,” he says. “But I thought you might like some socializing with someone other than me.”

I sigh. I would. I don’t want to be alone. Even being around him is better than being by myself right now.

“Fine. Text me the address.”

He nods, pulling out his phone and sending me the location details. My phone buzzes in my purse. O’Malley’s Pub is only a few minutes’ drive from my apartment. Joey already set up the Bluetooth, so I can punch a button on the screen and pull up the map.

As I slide into the car, my dress rides up, and I hurriedly pull at the hem before my lacy bike shorts are visible. The last thing I want is Wyatt seeing them—or worse, asking why I need to wear shorts under every dress and skirt.

Because my thighs rub together when I walk. Chub rub is no joke.

The bar is warm and welcoming. Instant hockey dude-bro vibes, but not in a bad way. It reminds me of the pubs in Boston and the dive bar I frequented in college. Old world sense of style, punctuated by signed hockey jerseys on the wall. Everything is decked out in navy blue and gold—the Austin Aces colors.

Because my best friend plays in the NHL, I keep tabs on what’s going on in the league. I’m not a big fan of hockey, but I am a big fan of Mitch, so I try to show an interest in his career. Just like he’s not actually invested in whatever piece I’m rehearsing, yet he shows interest because he cares about me.

Wyatt lingers in the pub’s entrance. Almost like he’s… waiting for me? But that can’t be true; he’d never be so considerate as that. “The guys are over there,” he says, nodding to the corner. Like I wouldn’t recognize a group of tall, wide, and gorgeous hockey players. Come on. It’s not like they’re Clark Kent; everyone can see they’re superheroes in hockey jerseys, even in their street-clothes disguises.

“Hey, man,” one of them says, nodding to Wyatt. “Didn’t think you’d show up.”

Wyatt grunts like a caveman. If he wants to make friends with his teammates, he’ll have to try harder. “Had things to do.”

A hockey player with a wiry build looks me over. No way he’s of legal drinking age. “Who’s the chick?”

My eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”

Wyatt’s hearty laugh makes my stomach turn. “This is Elsy. She’s my kid sister’s friend and just moved to town.” He raises his brows. “That’s Riley. Try not to eviscerate him. He’s only a rookie.”

“Welcome to Austin,” says a guy with dark hair and a beard. “I’m Samson.” He’s wearing a wedding band and looks relatively normal.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Cian O’Leary,” says the man with collar-length hair, a neat beard, and green eyes.

And of course, I recognize Jack Vignier. Viggy is one of the older guys in the league—broadly built, dark hair, dark scruff. The kind of guy I’d like to take me home and do terrible things to my body.

Alas, he works out with Mitch in the offseason, so he’s thoroughly off-limits. My best friend would kill me.

“Hey, Viggy.” I give him an upward nod and get a rare hint of a smile from him in return.

This gets me raised eyebrows from the rest of the group.

“What’s the story here?” Cian says, glancing between us, then back to Wyatt.