Chapter Three

Keely

My beer-flashcard-cramming-session and the M my bite is worse than my bark."

I chuckle at the way he phrased that comment backward.

"I don't think that's how the saying goes."

"Yeah, I know. But I still mean it the way I said it."

My tongue slips out to lick my lower lip unconsciously at the thought of whether or not he's a biter in the bedroom or just a nibbler. Would he leave a mark?

God, I hope he'd leave a mark.

Proof that he was there.

His eyes shoot down to catch the movement of my tongue licking my lip. His eyes come back up to mine and now those tame irises from before have a fire in them that I hadn't seen until now.

"I wouldn't want you to have to bite anyone for me," I say, trying to shake the visual of his perfect teeth scraping over my sensitive body parts. I try to shake the thought but it's a hard one to kill. "I'll try to stay out of trouble from now on so you can enjoy your night."

He looks around the bar for a second, almost as if to detect any other threat to my well-being, or maybe I just imagined that.

"You shouldn't have any problems from here on out. The entire bar just saw that they'll have me to deal with if they decide to mess with you. And unlike you, they've all seen me in a bar fight."

My lungs seize up, forgetting how to expand and contract. A daily function that I'd like to think they've perfected over the last twenty-six years of my life.

"Someone would want to start a fight with you?" I ask, glazing over the fact that he just claimed to protect me against anyone inside this bar.

It's the first time a man has ever made a claim like that to me, though I'm sure my uncle would jump in without thinking twice. He's just never said it like Reeve just did.

My uncle is family, though, and Reeve is a stranger. He has no reason to protect me other than the fact that he wants to.

"No one here, most likely. It's mostly fans so I'm not anticipating an issue. But you'll tell me if anyone causes you problems?" he asks.

"Yeah, I will," I say, gripping the tray of glasses a little tighter.

Shivers race down my spine at the thought of someone wanting to shield me like that, though I'd be a fool to believe that it's possible.

Not that he can't protect me from some drunk idiot in the bar. I'm sure he can do that—but he can't shield me from the scrutiny of the media and the backlash I get when people find out who I'm related to. Even Reeve would run for the hills if he ever found out.

I might as well have leprosy when it comes to getting close to anyone looking for a long career in professional sports.

I cut eye contact to get some reprieve from the sincerity in his eyes that makes me feel a little guilty for not just confessing who I am right off the bat. My vision glides over his damp shirt that hugs every inch of his perfectly chiseled chest.

All of the other players are wearing windbreakers or jackets except for him.

"Did you forget your coat back at the stadium?" I ask, changing the subject.

"No. I don't need one."

I glance towards the front door of the bar as a customer walks in and I catch the pouring rain outside right before the door shuts behind them.

My eyes connect back to his.

"But it's cold and pouring outside."

"I'm a hockey player and I grew up in Alaska. I'm used to it being colder than this. It doesn't bother me."

"Oh right. I guess that makes sense," I say, instantly wanting to internet stalk the Hawkeyes player who made the kind of shot at tonight's game that a hockey fan might only ever witness once in their lifetime.

Was I a little turned-on seeing Aisa make that goal earlier this evening?

I'm a little embarrassed to admit it, but definitely. And now, seeing him in real life, hovering over me and making proclamations to protect me against anyone who dares to cause me any trouble, I'm curious what it would be like to be with someone with that much precision.

But that will never happen because I already like him too much to ruin his career by his direct association with me.

As he's opening his mouth to say something, Seven Wrenley walks up behind him and slaps him on the shoulder.

"We're up next. Are you ready to play?"

Seven's attention shifts to me and he takes a step forward, reaching out a hand towards me. "Hey, I'm Seven. You're Oakley's niece from Arizona, right?" he asks.

Reeve's eyes flash over to me, a little wider than before. He's surprised by the news; there's no doubt about that.

I nod and smile at Seven.

"Yeah, that's me. Keely," I tell him, reaching out and shaking his hand.

"You're the niece that just moved here?" Reeve asks.

My uncle must have told more than just Penelope that I was moving to town.

"That's correct."

"So, you'll be around for a while then?"

"I hope so," I tell him.

Reeve just stares back at me, as if he's having a conversation in his head and forgot to say any of it out loud, so I shift my attention back to Seven.

"If you ever want to watch a game, let me know. I can give you one of my season ticket seats next to my girlfriend Brynn and my daughter Cammy. I've offered the seats to Oakley before, but he's never taken me up on it since our game nights are his busiest."

That makes sense. There's no way my uncle could get away during a game

I'd love to get to see a home game in the stadium. And getting to watch from a player's seats would be amazing. How often does an offer like that come up?

"My schedule is up in the air right now since I'm helping out at the bar for my room and board until I land a job. If my uncle doesn't need me during one of the Hawkeyes home games, I'll take you up on that."

"I hope you do," he says and then turns back to Reeve. "Are you ready to kick some ass? Brent and Kaenan up against us next."

"Yeah, I'm ready. Let's go," Reeve says, but his eyes stay fixed on mine.

Seven turns and walks back towards the pool table, where a few Hawkeyes players are standing with pool sticks in one hand and beers in the other. None of them are paying us any attention, as Briggs Conley seems to be telling some elaborate story.

"It's Keely… right?" Reeve asks.

"Yeah, that's right."

"I guess if you moved here, that means I'll be seeing you around?" he asks.

"Yeah, I'll be around."

"Good," he nods. "Then you should take Seven up on his offer for the seats. Or I could always give you mine."

He searches my eyes for a moment and I'm not exactly sure how to respond back because I'm not sure if he's flirting or just being nice.

"Doesn't your girlfriend want your seats?" I ask, fishing for the answer to my question.

He smirks, and my question doesn't go unnoticed. He knows why I asked.

"If you want to know if I have a girlfriend, you could have just asked. No need to beat around the bush."

His smile widens—he's teasing.

Even half a lifetime of trying to remain invisible and blend in for self-preservation isn't enough to kill my natural competitive nature. The part of me that thrives best when playing organized sports like soccer and led me to finish first at the top of my graduating class, has me ready to counter his comment with my own observation.

"Then why offer up your seats if I was already offered a place to sit? Is it because you want to see me sitting in your seats?" I ask, giving him the same smirk he gave me.

I shouldn't be flirting back.

Nothing can come of this little banter back and forth because little does he know that being associated with me is dangerous for his career.

"Maybe I'm jealous of the idea of you sitting in another man's seat. Would it be so bad if I want to see you in mine?"

I'm taken by surprise by his claim of being jealous. So much so that I'm tongue-tied and I'm not sure how to respond.

Egging him on when I know that dating me could result in him losing his hockey career would be reckless on my part.

When I don't answer right away, he flashes me another smile.

"Think about it. I'll keep my seats open," he says, and then turns and heads for the pool table and the group of guys waiting for him.

Oh, trust me… it's the only thing I'll be thinking about for some time.

After an hour of trying to keep myself from getting caught making googly eyes at Reeve all night, my uncle walks up to me as I restock beer bottles in the under-counter fridges.

"It's getting late and you have that interview tomorrow morning. Clock out and head home, okay? You should be well rested for tomorrow's interview."

"You're sure you don't need me?" I ask, glancing around the packed bar and the two other bartenders that are still running to keep up with the demand.

It's just past eleven p.m., and since Oakley's is only open until one a.m., they only have two more hours left anyway. He's right; I do need sleep since my interview is at nine a.m. tomorrow, but I won't leave him if he needs me.

"I'm sure," he looks up and over at the crowded bar.

"Hey, Reeve!" he yells.

I fight the instant urge to duck behind the bar and hide from the eyes that turn toward my uncle's booming voice. My uncle and my father are both so similar in that way. Neither have ever minded being the center of attention, but I'd prefer to stay behind the scenes… invisible if possible. If I stay under the radar, people won't ask "Oh… aren't you that horrible mobster racketeering guy's daughter?".

Instead, I stand there, squirming in place with my eyes focused on Reeve and not at the other eyes on me.

He still has a pool stick in his hand even though he's not playing this game. He and Seven won their first few games, and based on the large chalkboard hanging against the wall behind him, they're at the top of the player bracket. They'll play the winner of this game for bragging rights and their bar tab paid for. For Reeve, it isn't much since he's only on his second beer of the night.

He turns his head at my uncle, calling out his name.

"What's up?" Reeve asks.

"Can you walk Keely out to her car? She's clocking out and it's too dark out there for her to be out alone."

The horror must be obvious on my face because Reeve's eyes shift to mine.

"No, I'm fine. I can walk by myself. I parked right across the street, so I'm not even that far away," I say, trying to reason my way out of having to be escorted out to my car by a man I shouldn't already be crushing on.

Besides, I've lived independently for so many years now. I can't even remember the last time someone walked me to my car. My dad was in prison for half of my life and my last relationship ended years ago.

"Yeah, I'm on my way," Reeve says, turning to set his pool stick in the holder against the wall and his beer down on a communal table that a few of the players are using.

My uncle turns to me. "Don't be ridiculous. We usually walk out together at the end of the night, but since the bar is busy, I can't walk out with you. Reeve isn't doing anything while he waits for his next game, and you can trust him; he's probably the only unattached player who won't hit on you."

Yeah, but he might offer me his season tickets so that he doesn't have to deal with the jealousy of seeing me in another player's seat. What would you call that?

My uncle's opinion on Reeve not coming on to me should set my mind at ease, especially since I've dated a professional player in the past, and it didn't end well.

Maybe the light banter from earlier was all that transpired between us—just talk.

"He won't hit on me? Why do you say that?"

"Because I haven't seen him leave the bar with a woman in about a year since he ended his last relationship."

He hasn't dated since his last relationship?

Did she crush him that hard?

Is he still pining over her?

"Really? Why?"

"I'm not sure."

Not that it matters if he still holds a flame for his previous girlfriend.

Reeve Aisa and the entire Hawkeyes team, for that matter, are all off-limits… for their own good. And maybe for mine too. Dating a pro athlete puts you in the spotlight. A spotlight that I'm trying to avoid.

I'm not the one who decided to work for the mob, but it turns out that I'll have to pay for those sins for the rest of my life.

Reeve starts heading straight for us. His eyes locked on mine.

"Are you ready?" he asks on the other side of the bar.

"Don't you have a pool game coming up? I wouldn't want you to miss it to walk me out. My car really isn't that far anyway. My uncle is being overprotective."

"Yeah, there's one last game. e play the winners, but Lake said he'll fill in for me until I return. And your uncle isn't overprotective. It's late out, and the visibility from all the rain isn't good tonight. You shouldn't be out alone. I'll be back as soon as you're safe in your car and headed home."

I flash a look at my uncle who makes a shooing motion toward me that means it's time for me to go.

"Fine, I'll go," I say.

But my uncle has already turned to the bar and is taking an order from a customer.

"Give me a second to grab my purse and my jacket." I tell Reeve.

I turn around to open an under cabinet door behind me and pull out my things, including a thin jacket that I brought in an attempt to stay dry. However, the jacket which is used for Arizona's fall season, is no match for the weather here.

I step out behind the bar while Reeve waits for me to walk out in front of him.

He was either taught to have manners growing up, or he wants to check out my ass as we head for the door.

Since it's him, I'm okay with either.