11. Maddox

ELEVEN

Hannah can't hide her reaction. She doesn't want me to come.

Brandon is even worse at masking his annoyance, and that just makes me more certain of my first impression of him. Which is that I don't like him. And now I know he has his sights set on Hannah.

"Oh, uh, don't feel like you have to. If you had plans…" Brandon glances back and forth from me to Hannah, who's still frozen between us.

"No other plans." I step forward and place my hand on Hannah's back— guiding her out of the office— and, if I'm reading him correctly, pissing Brandon off.

"How many?" the host asks me as I walk into the restaurant.

Then he does a double take.

"Holy fuck!" He winces. "Sorry. But fuck! You're Mad Dog Maddox, aren't you?"

I nod, and he runs his hands down his face. "Damn, dude, I love you. I mean, not in like a weird way. But…"

I cut him a break and smile. "It's alright, kid. I appreciate it."

The door opens behind me, but the kid— who is probably in his twenties— doesn't pay the newcomers any attention.

"My dad and I watched all your games, and when you came to play for the Biters…" He shakes his head and presses his hands to his face again. "Can I get a selfie?"

I glance over my shoulder to see the group of MinneSolar employees crammed into the entryway behind me.

"Sure," I tell the kid, even though he's already coming around the podium he's been standing behind. "But then it looks like the rest of my table is here."

I didn't bother inserting myself into the carpool discussion, so I beat everyone here. And now my new employees are all watching as I move into my usual Mad Dog pose— arms crossed, shoulders back, mouth in a flat line— for the photo.

No one wants to see Mad Dog smiling.

I hear a few whispers, but the only employee I look at is Hannah.

And she's looking right back.

Except her eyes aren't on mine, they're on my chest. Now my arms. And my shoulders.

And lower.

The side of my mouth pulls up. She's checking me out.

Thankfully, the kid is already done with his picture, so he steps back and slides his phone into his pocket. "Thank you. Seriously. I'm gonna frame that for my dad's birthday."

"Hope he likes it." I nod toward my group. "Looks like there's eight of us. That gonna work?"

From where we are, I can see the restaurant is pretty busy, which makes sense since it's noon and downtown on a Friday. But the kid is already nodding.

"Yeah, we got a table ready." He waves a hand. "It was set up for a group coming in at twelve thirty, but we'll put them somewhere else."

I shrug. Sucks to be those guys. Then I angle my body to let everyone else go ahead of me.

"Pays to be famous." One of the guys, whose name I don't remember, grins at me as he follows the host into the restaurant.

Hannah rolls her eyes, but then she keeps them forward instead of looking up at me.

I take up the rear of the group as we make our way to the far side of the dining area.

Like all good sports bars, there's a lot of dark wood, hockey memorabilia on every wall, and a whole row of TVs above the bar— all playing hockey games or something sports related.

The host stops us at a rectangular table with four chairs on either of the long sides, and everyone starts to sit.

Hannah takes one of the end spots, and I swear Brandon lunges for the chair next to hers.

Casually, because I'm not a desperate man-child, I pull out the chair directly across from Hannah.

End spots give me more room for my wide shoulders. It's just a lucky coincidence that I'll be looking at my long-lost Hannah for the next hour.