Page 2 of Hockey Wife

He held up his phone and raised an eyebrow, signifying his busyness and her rudeness in one motion.

No joy. The brunette stayed where she was, all spiky-tipsy challenge.

He spoke into his phone. “Got to go. Call you tomorrow?”

“You do that. But not too early. Hopefully you’ll be busy tonight and will need your rest.” On that somewhat inappropriate wish, she clicked off.

Back to the Southern Belle. “Not really looking for company.”

She leaned in, giving him a clear view of nice tits that should have stirred something. Had this trade news broken his dick?

“You sure? You look so lonely down here. My friends bet I couldn’t get you to buy the bride a drink.”

Her T-shirt’s slogan was “Last Rodeo” followed by “Kristin’s Bachelorette, Vegas Baby!”

This must be Kristin, who evidently had more than cocktails on her mind. Her hand still lay on his arm but was now getting a wander on. Down to his forearm, back up to his bicep. It did nothing for him, especially with the added knowledge of her relationship status.

“Best head on back now.”

Annoyance flashed over her face. This chick was used to getting her way. “You want me to look silly in front of my friends?”

Pity for her plight had him rethinking his stance. A drink wouldn’t hurt, maybe a round for the entire bachelorette party. Weddings and Vegas, like PB and J.

Before he could signal to the bartender, another voice cut in.

“Hey, Big Guy, stepping out on me already?”

In rather comical unison, Banks and the bride turned to the questioner. She was petite, not more than a couple of inches above five feet, and his first thought was Princess Peach, what are you doing here? The dress was rose pink, the hair was cornsilk blonde, the eyes … a stunning blue with flecks of green. But it was her mouth that really set her apart. Sin and sweetness rolled into one, it was now shaped in a wicked curve. Like she knew all his secrets, and if he was good, she might tell him, one kiss at a time.

“You’re here,” he said, because it seemed like the right thing, the only thing, to say.

A raised eyebrow, almost approving. “Now, what have I told you about talking to strange women?” She delivered a withering look to the competition that made Banks pleased to not be on her wrong side.

“Uh, don’t?”

“Can’t leave ya alone for a second.” To the bride, she said, “Best go fishing in more available waters, honey.” She curled a finger around his pinkie and gave a little tug. “I got us a booth over here.”

He didn’t need rescuing. He could have easily repelled the bride with his usual, unstinting rudeness, but something about this woman’s command of the situation piqued his interest. Sliding off his bar stool, he grabbed his IPA and nodded at the bride. “Good luck with your wedding.”

She hmphed, not liking the reminder, he guessed.

He slid into the booth, his finger still looped by his rescuer. Once seated, she let it go, and now they stared at each other, wondering where to go from here.

He went first. “Thanks, honey.”

There was that saucy smile again. “It’s not every day I see a prince in distress. Figured you could do with the assist.”

“I had it covered.”

She tilted her head. “Did you? From where I was sitting, you were about to be on the hook for a round of Appletinis and a whole heap of trouble.”

“Maybe I’m looking for trouble.”

“Not with a woman about to get married!” She lowered her voice, which made him lean in. The bodice of her strapless dress showed cleavage and the upper swells of small tits, a very pleasant place to rest his eyes. “You’re too nice a guy for that.”

“Where’d you get that idea?”

“You were chatting to your mom while sitting in a Vegas bar. Only a nice guy would do that.”

---