Page 91 of Heartless As Puck

Along the table, Brown groaned, “Another Taylor Swift song? Fucking hell, don’t they realize this is a sports bar?”

Opposite him, Drew slammed his beer down hard enough to make Brown jump.

“There’s nothing wrong with Taylor Swift,” Drew growled. “She’s got more talent and money than you ever will.”

“Ooh, does Drew have a thing for Taylor?” Brown teased, but a sharp look from Drew had him zipping his lips.

I couldn’t help chuckling. Drew always had his headphones on, and I’d assumed he listened to heavy metal or classic rock, but perhaps our team’s biggest hothead was secretly a Swiftie.

“It’s nice to see them mostly getting along, isn’t it?” Nick said.

“It’s amazing.” We couldn’t say there was peace on the team. There was still tension. But they’d come a long way, and they’d deserved the win tonight.

“Shots, shots, shots!” Jesse chanted, setting down a platter of shot glasses filled with an array of colorful liquids on the center of the table next to ours. He grabbed two and placed them in front of Nick and me. “Bottoms up, boys.”

Laughing, I pushed mine away. “I’m too old for that shit.”

Jesse waggled his eyebrows. “You’re only as old as you feel.”

“Well, my knees feel ancient, so…”

“Spoilsport.” He grinned and took the shot back. “Nicky, can I count on you?”

Nick rolled his eyes, but he grabbed the drink and tossed it down the hatch. Jesse high-fived him and passed shots to Matt and Brown.

By the time the waiter came to take our orders, at least half the team were well on their way to getting drunk. We eventually managed to give the poor man our enormous order and then I made sure to grab the worst offenders and remind them not to do anything they didn’t want to see on the front page of tomorrow’s paper. I also gave them each a full glass of water and stayed with them until they’d emptied it.

Then, captain’s job done, I took a much-needed bathroom break.

I’d washed my hands and was winding between tables on the way back to ours when a woman stepped in front of me. She was young, possibly in her early twenties, with dark hair that spilled around her shoulders. She wore a belly-baring crop top paired with denim shorts.

“Hi.” She flashed pearly white teeth. “I’m Nadine.”

“Hello,” I replied warily. I knew that look in her eye. It was predatory.

She moved closer, her hips swaying with each step in a carefully calculated way. “You should buy me a drink.”

I backed up. “I have a girlfriend.”

She pouted and ran her hand down my arm. “She doesn’t have to know. I bet I can do things to you that she’s never even heard of.”

I snatched my arm away, my skin crawling. I felt like I needed to return to the bathroom to wash her touch off me.

“No,” I said firmly. “I don’t cheat.”

I stalked around her, coming up short at the sight of Rebecca Jansen at the table directly in front of me, her phone pointed straight at us.

My stomach dropped to my shoes. What was the chance she’d just recorded that exchange?

I was willing to bet that, if she decided it would make for a good headline, she wouldn’t show the whole recording on the Chicago Sports News Online website. There would probably just be a freeze frame of me standing with Nadine—or God forbid—of her touching my arm.

I groaned and buried my face in my hands. I’d just have to talk to Rebecca. I could make nice. Perhaps she’d drop it.

But I’d only taken a few steps toward her when I realized how flawed that plan was. If I confronted her, she’d no doubt find a way to turn it into a scene, and then she’d play the role of victim being harassed by a big, mean hockey player.

What was I supposed to do?

Perhaps I’d just have to explain everything to Jane if she tried to twist it. My teammates would believe me. I’d never hooked up with random women in bars. But would Jane see the truth?