Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Troy

With my hand on her lower back—to sell the part, obviously —I escort my damsel in distress over to my group. Glancing over my shoulder at the guys who'd cornered her, I catch them watching us. God, I hope they leave us alone. I figured fobbing them off with the business card would do the trick, and it seemed to, but with my luck, they'll beg the bartender for a pen and come over with a coaster. Shit, since they figured out who I was, odds are they'll recognize Nick Abernathy and Benjamin "Dozer" Boggs and want their autographs too.

And with guys that obnoxious and annoying? There's a fifty-fifty chance the bartender will give them a pen to shut them up or toss them out on their asses. Fingers crossed it's the latter.

As we get closer to the table, Nick's looking at me, eyebrows raised, but at least his wife, Tina, offers us a welcoming smile. Dozer looks like he thinks the entire situation is hilarious, and the girl he brought with him for the week watches us with wide eyes. I suppose she's his girlfriend, but he didn't even mention her until two weeks ago. He apparently thought it was a couple's trip and we'd all be coupled up. I'm the only one who didn't get that memo, I guess. I thought it was a post-retirement relaxing trip so I could recover from a rough final season and start trying to figure out what comes next.

In the three days we've been here, I've made zero progress on the second goal, but it's only been a month since we got knocked out of the playoffs, ending my final season without winning a Stanley Cup. The galling thing is that I think the team would've had a better chance without me. They brought up a guy from the minor leagues to fill in for me while I was out, and the guy is younger, stronger, and faster than me. And after my last surgery, I took fewer risks. Pulled back instead of pressing forward, not wanting to chance another injury.

I'm tired of surgery and rehab, and that weariness plus the fact that recovery takes longer now at thirty-six than it did a decade ago, outweighs the fear of who I am and what I'll do without hockey being the focus of my life.

I guess I can start a career rescuing young women from douchebags in bars. That thought makes me smirk.

"And who's this?" asks Tina.

Blinking, I glance down at the woman next to me. "Anna," she offers, a tight smile on her face.

"Anna," I start, glad to have found out her name, "this is Nick, his wife Tina, Ben—who we all call Dozer—and Jenny, his girlfriend." I do my best to not make the last word a question, and Jenny preens at being called Dozer's girlfriend.

She half stands, reaching out to shake Anna's hand. "Hi!" she chirps brightly. "So nice to meet you! I didn't know Troy knew someone in town. Why is this the first we're meeting your friend?" she asks me.

Nick turns his laughter into a coughing fit, while Dozer ducks his head, whispering something to Jenny that has her bright, cheerful smile dimming. She's a sweet girl, but she doesn't seem too quick on the uptake.

Tina turns wide eyes on me, smoothly ignoring Jenny in favor of welcoming Anna. "Hi, Anna. So nice to meet you. Why don't you have a seat next to me?" She elbows Nick, forcing him to scoot around to the middle where I'd been before I spotted Anna being cornered by assholes. He grumbles, but moves anyway, allowing Anna and I to slide onto the end.

It's a tighter fit at the booth with an extra person, and she looks up at me through her rimless glasses, eyes wide, though I'm not sure if it's from surprise or concern when I sit next to her. I do my best to give her space, keeping as close to the edge of the bench as possible without falling off. For her part, Tina gets cozy with Nick, helping me make sure that Anna has a comfortable amount of personal space.

"I'm the office manager at the local dental office," Anna says to Tina. I'm assuming Tina asked her what she does, though I missed that part. "I'm here with some friends." She gestures toward a table of women, one of whom is watching us with a bemused expression. Anna waves at the woman, then gives a large, obvious shrug.

My eyes immediately cut to the assholes, but they're not paying attention to us, thank god. They're still here, though, so the coast isn't clear yet.

"Sorry to hijack your evening," I lean in close and say to Anna. "As soon as those guys leave, you can go back to your friends. I just don't want to risk them cornering you somewhere again."

Her liquid brown eyes gaze into mine, her plump lips curving in a tiny smile. "Thank you." The words are little more than a whisper. Gazing around us, she sips her drink, and after observing her while she stood at the bar, I have the distinct impression that her wandering gaze isn't because she finds our company or conversation boring, but because she enjoys people-watching.

I can relate to that. That's what I was doing when she caught my attention, after all. Part of it's an occupational hazard—always being aware of what's going on around me. Looking for openings, trouble, oncoming defenders …

That's how I spotted the trouble brewing around Anna. I saw her clear relief from across the bar when she moved into my line of sight, and I glanced back to where she came from to see what she was so happy to be escaping. And then I watched the trio of assholes moving for the attack like an opposing team's center and forwards. Except Anna didn't have a pair of defenders and a goalie at her back. My instincts kicked in, and here we are.

Leaning in close again, I pitch my voice low. "Anyone interesting?"

She jerks her head in my direction, looking like a kid caught with her hand in the candy jar.

"Sometimes I like to guess what people are doing," I murmur, leaning back and slouching down to make it easier for her to see past me. I jerk my chin at the couple at the bar near where the guys cornered her. "Like those two. They're clearly together, but what do you think? First date? Fifth? Old married couple?"

When I chance a glance at her, she's grinning, and the sight fills me with satisfaction. Much better than the cornered, scared look she hadn't quite shaken after the encounter with the assholes.

She hums thoughtfully. "Not a first date. They don't look awkward and uncomfortable enough for that." That makes me chuckle. "Plus," she continues, and I glance at her again, catching her wrinkling her nose, "this is a terrible place for a first date."

That has my eyebrows shooting up. "You think so? I could see the casual atmosphere being good for meeting someone you don't know. Where was your last first date?"

A strangled laugh pops out of her, and she covers it with a sip of her drink. "Well, we met in college, so it was a little different. We knew each other from classes, so the first date wasn't that awkward." She glances at me, a self-deprecating smile on her lips. "Well, at least no more than usually awkward for me."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Shaking her head, she chuckles and gestures at herself. "I'm not sure if you're just pretending surprise or if you genuinely haven't noticed, but"—biting her lip, she darts a look around, leaning toward me and lowering her voice—"I'm a little awkward," she finishes in a whisper.

That makes me laugh, and I sip my beer, grinning at her. "Coulda fooled me."

She rolls her eyes, but she's grinning. "Okay. Sure. If you say so."

I'm tempted to say something else, push harder at this, but her reaction makes it seem like this is more than just lighthearted banter, and I don't think she'd want a random dude telling her about herself. Hell, maybe she is awkward even if I haven't seen any evidence of it yet. Maybe it takes time for the awkwardness to really come out, like how some chicks seem normal until you get to know them, and then they let the crazy out to play.

Some dudes are that way too, though. Hell, I've had some teammates that seem nice at first, then you get to know them and they're just sadistic assholes. One guy I played with in college was that way, finding special joy in hurting the opposing team on the ice, taking cheap shots when the refs weren't looking, provoking fights, and generally going way too far.

If all Anna's worried about is a little social awkwardness, I can work with that. I refocus my attention on the couple at the bar. "I think you're right about them, though. Not enough awkwardness for a first date. Do we think they're still in the early stages of a relationship, though? Or have they been together for a long time? Old married couple with kids?"

She giggles, shaking her head. "They're not old enough for that. I dunno. They seem comfortable together, so they've at least known each other a while. Could be a friends-to-lovers thing, though. Maybe they've worked together for years, know each other well, and this is their first date."

"I thought you didn't approve of a bar for a first date?"

Another giggle, but this was right after taking a sip of her drink, so she covers her mouth with her hand, and it's about the most adorable thing I've ever seen. Her brown bob falls forward, partially blocking my view of her profile with her glasses sliding down, her cute nose wrinkled in mirth, the dimples that pop out when she laughs or smiles, and pretty pink lips compressed to keep herself from doing a spit take. Once she controls herself enough, she playfully smacks my arm. "You're going to make me choke!" she protests, pushing her glasses back up her nose.

Chuckling, I shake my head. "Apologies. I wasn't trying to be funny, but it's gratifying that you think I am."

She's still grinning as she shakes her head. "Whether or not I think a bar is a good venue for a first date is irrelevant to what they think about it. But no, I don't actually think it's a first date. I was standing near them, and they were pretty freely touching each other. Not in a gross way, but in a comfortable, been-together-a-while kind of way."

I almost make a quip about her feeling comfortable putting her hands on me—she did just smack my bicep after all—but decide to keep that thought to myself. It sounds overly flirty, and I'm not trying to hit on her. I rescued her from dudes who don't know how to stop when a woman isn't interested. I've already co-opted her night, keeping her from the friend group she came with—who I notice is starting to break up, only a couple of women left at the table, including the one who waved to her when we sat down—she doesn't need me acting like a douchebag too.

"What's a better first date venue around here in your opinion? Like where did your current boyfriend take you on your first date?"

Her smile fading, she looks at me out of the corner of her eye, then focuses on her drink, toying with the stem of her glass. "I don't have a boyfriend." She hesitates a beat before continuing. "I haven't dated anyone since I moved here. My last boyfriend …" She trails off, wrinkling her nose again, this time with something more like disgust than mirth, and shaking her head. "Let's not ruin a perfectly good evening by talking about him."

My eyebrows raise. "That bad, huh?"

Another soft chuckle, but this one doesn't sound very amused. "Yeah." She sucks in a breath and looks at me. "What about you?" She gestures at the bar. "Is this your idea of a good first date?"

The question hits me in the gut, and I grunt reflexively because it sounds like she's asking if we're having a good first date. And I know this isn't a date. Obviously. But it almost feels like one with the get-to-know-you questions, sitting close and cozy like we are, the way I've nearly stopped paying attention to what's going on around me, only vaguely aware that Dozer, Jenny, Nick, and Tina have all gotten up and left us alone and we're still crowded together like the booth is full.

She turns those pretty brown eyes on me again, her eyebrows raised in expectation.

Clearing my throat, I drag my gaze away and shrug. "I dunno. I guess it depends on the vibe of the girl I'm with. I don't object to grabbing a drink with someone to get to know them the first time, but these days …" Trailing off, I shrug again and shake my head. "No, I probably wouldn't pick a bar as a first date place."

The only reason we decided to come here tonight is because we'd wandered around town today and hadn't been recognized. Or at least, no one said anything. It seemed like a safe place to be. While I've been playing for the Seattle Emeralds the last few years, hockey isn't nearly as popular of a sport around here as it is in the Midwest. Or Canada. We get recognized out there all the time.

But here?

Not so much. The anonymity has been nice, for the most part. When I first went pro and started getting recognized, I loved it. But after a while, it got old. It's weird having random strangers know things about you, feeling like they know you. And it was even worse when I dated a model for a while in my twenties. We got photographed everywhere and it turned going out to eat into a circus every time. Then my clothes were getting dissected on all these style channels, as though I were somehow a model too instead of a random hockey player, and my then-girlfriend berated me for making her look bad and insisted I buy a whole new wardrobe and dictated what I wore each time we went out.

That was the first and last time I dated someone with any notoriety of their own. Though some puck bunnies are just as bad, only they want to ride the players' coattails into that type of lifestyle.

Hard pass.

Which means I haven't had a relationship in a few years either. It's hard to meet someone naturally, and online dating is extra tricky as a pro athlete. It's difficult to know who wants to date me because they like me , and who just wants me for my status and money.

Anna nods, glancing around. "How long are you and your friends in town for?"

"We rented a big cabin on the lake for a couple of weeks. It's a nice spot, a little bit out of town, with water toys we can use. Nick has two kids who are with us too, so they really like getting to play in the lake all day."

"Oh, that's fun. I bet they're having a blast. It's great you have good enough friends you'd willingly spend that much time with them." She spins her glass around a few times, her lips pressed together, and I wait for her to spit out whatever she's holding back. "So."

I wait another beat. "So?"

She shakes her head, looks at me, looks away, narrows her eyes. "So, those guys asked for an autograph?"

I chuckle. Since she hadn't said anything, I wasn't sure if she knew who I was and was playing it cool or what. "Yeah."

Her shoulders tense, and she glares at me like I'm a dick for making her ask her whole question instead of guessing what she wants to know. "I feel like a jerk asking this, but are you someone famous?"

Grinning, I finish off my beer and lift one shoulder. "In certain circles."

She rolls her eyes, but she's smiling, and I can't wipe my own grin off my face. This is the most fun I think I've had in ages. Her reactions are priceless, and I can't stop myself from prodding her a little to get them. "And what circles would those be?"

Shifting my mouth to the side, I briefly wonder how vague I can be and still answer the question honestly. But I think we're reaching the limits here. "Hockey circles."

That has her eyebrows jumping up her forehead. "So you … play … hockey? Professionally?"

I dip my head, not quite a nod. "I just finished my last season," I admit at last. "I'm Troy Easton, and I've played for the Seattle Emeralds for the last four years."