Page 14 of Resist

“Turn the channel,” the older man demanded gruffly, pointing to the ancient TV. “See if you can find highlights from the hockey game. Atilla got rid of her cable, so I had to sit there and listen to her and my wife talk about a bunch of boring bullshit. Who the fuck gets rid of cable?”

So far, no one in the tavern had recognized Coulton, which wasn’t that surprising. As goalie, his face was completely covered by his helmet, so he was better able to go places incognito than his other teammates. He’d wondered last week if Ainsley recognized his name when she ran his credit card, but if she did, she didn’t give any indication.

Ainsley flicked through the channels until she found the highlights. Coulton didn’t bother watching them because he’d had a front-row seat to the game, and he was still pissed about letting those pucks get by him.

He watched Ainsley to see her reaction to the game, but she didn’t spare the TV a second glance, grabbing her sketch pad from the counter and picking up her pencil, chewing on the end as she studied whatever drawing she was looking at.

Coulton’s curiosity was piqued—by her disinterest in the gameandher artwork. “Not watching the highlights?”

Ainsley shook her head.

Then Petey cussed at the TV. Or more specifically,him. “Jesus Christ. Moore needs to get his head out of his ass. How the fuck did that puck get in the net?”

Coulton grimaced, wondering the same goddamn thing. Then he looked at Ainsley and rememberedexactlyhow it had flown by him. He’d been thinking about her.

“Not a hockey fan?” Coulton asked.

“Fuck no. Though to be fair, I hate all sports equally. Sat through enough of them when I was a kid because it’s all these losers around here watch.”

Petey rolled his eyes at her comment, clearly unaffected by her insult. Coulton wondered how long the older guy and Ainsley had known each other. There was a familiarity that seemed to indicate it had been a long time.

“That’s a shame,” Coulton said. “Because I was going to invite you to a hockey game.”

Ainsley stared at him for a couple seconds, blinking like she was trying to translate what he’d said. He had never met a woman like her. She was a ballbuster, overflowing with confidence when it came to running this tavern. She seemed to literally hold the rough patrons in the palm of her hand.

Yet, when it came to his flirting, she was completely flustered.

“Pass,” she finally said. “Hard pass. Not interested in going to a hockey game.”

So much for using his superpower with Ainsley, he thought, grinning.

Ainsley gave him a curious look. “That’s funny?”

“Not really,” he said with a shrug. He didn’t mention his career because he liked being able to sit unrecognized in this bar. “What are you drawing?”

She responded to that question exactly how he expected. She closed the pad and shoved it out of sight under the counter. “Nothing.”

“Can I see?” he asked.

She shook her head. “It’s all crap.”

He doubted that, but he also knew she wasn’t going to waver on giving him a peek, so he let it drop.

Despite her unease, she leaned on the counter to continue talking to him. “Visiting your Cherry Hill friend again?” she asked.

Coulton nodded. “Yeah. By the way, Jerome says hi.”

“Jerome Walker is your friend?”

“His cousin, Slade, is my Little Brother,” Coulton explained.

“Oh sure. I can totally see the family resemblance,” she joked.

Coulton cracked up, because he was clearly white and Slade Black. “We’re partnered up through Big Brothers Big Sisters.”

“You volunteer to be Slade’s Big Brother?”

“Yeah,” he replied.

---