7. The Promise

SEVEN

THE PROMISE

CAM

D id something bad happen to Becca's brother? That's all I can think of when I return to the table where a bunch of us players came here to live it up after the pre-season game.

To inaugurate the new arena, we played the Denver Aspens today. Even though the Gamblers won and we're opponents on the ice, my college teammate and old buddy Eli Lewis brought some of his Denver teammates to meet me and Big D here for friendly drinks.

It's great to catch up with Eli, and proves the distraction I need right now, because my eyes keep darting back to the Goddamn black door Becca charged through at this club.

"So, who's the little chick?" Eli winks, swigging back his beer. Clearly they all witnessed my display of heroics.

"An old friend," I say, for lack of a better term. An old enemy would draw too many questions.

"You came to her rescue mighty quickly," Big D shares his observation. "And Max looks pissed. Let's hope you don't run into him again in Vegas anytime soon."

I snort. "I can handle him."

"Don't tell me he's been here a month and getting in trouble already? That's Cam for you. But hey, whatever gets him to bed with her. I mean, this guy," Eli shouts across the table above the music for everyone to hear. With his dark hair askew, he's clearly had one too many as he wraps an arm around my neck and points to the rest of them with his bottle in hand. "Let me tell you all about this guy. Cam could charm the skirt off any woman, especially the virgins on campus. I swear he had a nose for them and could spot them anywhere."

"Virgins, huh? Remind me to tell the team to keep their sisters and daughters locked up when you're around," Big D quips. He's got a quick wit that never fails to entertain. Too bad he's taken because he's the kind of wing man who attracts the ladies with his younger Brad Pitt type of looks.

"Yeah, funny." I keep up with the conversation, but my eyes are on alert watching for Becca. "Believe me, though, virgins are too much work. Convincing them to give it up is one thing, then when they discover how great sex is, they want more—with other men. Forget about it." My New York accent seeps through on that last bit, something I've worked hard to mask over the years.

"Are you telling me you quit virgins?" Eli raises an eyebrow. He knows all about the secret society club I ran on campus our senior year, one of many ventures I had a hand in because I didn't intend to leave college in debt.

I recruited virginal coeds for an auction where slick rich men would bid on one night with them. I got a cut of it, and the money was good; in my mind I justified what I was doing because the chicks were usually down on their luck and needed the money. I'm not proud of it though.

If the alcohol in Eli's system starts blurting out details, I'll clock him, no matter how good of an old pal he is.

"Shit. In Montreal, I had all the frozen puck bunnies there to heat-up. Plenty to keep me busy, you know what I mean?" I play it cool and keep it light.

"No wonder they call you the playboy of hockey." The guy they call Kringle barks out a laugh. His real name is Kris Kringer. He's the center for the Aspens, fast-charting his way up the stats each year with goals, like his stick can do no wrong. Too damn bad Vegas didn't get him in the trades.

"Guess I prefer mine over what they call you," I throw back at him.

"Touche." He grins. Considering they call him the hockey heartbreaker, I'm sure there's an interesting story behind that.

I turn the tables on Eli while a buxom blonde bobbing around on the stage suddenly distracts the others with her tits on full display in front of us. "What about you? I'm surprised you're not locked down yet."

"Many have tried, my friend. But one costly mistake at the altar was enough for me." Poor guy. His divorce hit him hard. I wonder how long it'll take him to trust someone again.

As the single largest recipient of a billion dollar lottery—lucky fucker—a fact he's shared with me and less than a handful of other people, he's become quite the skeptic in life and love. Hell, he doesn't have to work a day for the rest of his life and he could buy all the pussy he wants. But he plays hockey because he loves it and he's a damn good left defenseman. He's also a guy who falls hard when he's with a woman, and if he's not careful, he gets taken advantage of. I've seen it happen many times when we were in college.

I look around the table and realize we're all just a bunch of idiots clueless about love and life. Hockey is what we know. If only women were a game with rules spelled out clearly for dumb players like us to understand.

Speaking of… I spot Becca exiting the black door, and the security escort takes her into another back room. I'm guessing to collect her things, judging by her tear-stained face and slumped shoulders as she saunters with her arms crossed.

Something thumps in my chest, like I have a beating heart for her. Fuck that. It's just a guilt pang. If something bad happened to Jared, then I feel like shit for not staying in touch. I need to find out what's going on.

Which leads me back to thinking about Jared again and the summer after our senior year. So wild. I spent most of it working on Coney Island, and he spent most of the summer camping out on the beach with me there. The parties, the chicks, the concerts…a crazy time.

At the end of the summer, we went our separate ways for college, me to Fairfax, him to the Air Force Academy, but not before he asked me to watch over his sister in a moment of panic talking about all the what ifs that probably plague anyone going into the military. Which was completely absurd because, from a family with money, anything Becca wanted was pretty much handed over to her on a silver plate.

If she ever were to get in trouble, her parents could buy her way out of it. They certainly did from time to time for Hayes to keep his reputation clean. Why would she need someone like me keeping an eye on her? Needless to say, I gave an empty promise, never believing I'd have to follow through. But now…?