Page 15 of Facing the Line

I laugh. “I’ll allow it. Thanks, babe. See you soon.”

Pocketing my phone, I change direction and head to Henry’s. Not a sports bar and not as cheap as The Cactus, it’s the perfect nondescript place for how I’m feeling. It’s also just a few blocks away.

I hustle to get there, feeling lighter already. Maybe I need to go out and be social, because the prospect of drinking, dancing, and flirting with Kendall by my side perks me up.

It’s a Saturday night, so Henry’s is crowded. Pushing through the throng, I make it to the bar and flash my fake ID, then order a tequila shot. I relish the burn of liquor down my throat as I toss it back and slam it on the smooth wooden surface. No limechasers here, but that’s okay. I get a Miller Lite after and find a spot against the brick wall to lean and breathe.

The lighting is dim, the bass thumps, and conversation hums around me. The smell of alcohol fills the air and I people-watch for a bit, enjoying the scenes unfolding around me. Couples dance, a group of girls clink their martini glasses together, and raucous laughter rings out from a circle of guys. Yeah, this is better.

It’s not long before Kendall pops into my line of vision, embracing me in a hug.

“How was the hockey game?” she asks. A colorful scarf holds her hair back from her face and her cheeks are dusted with sparkles. Her straight, white teeth flash in a smile and her all-black outfit screams chic—when I try that, I resemble a stagehand who wandered out of the theater by mistake.

I shrug. “My dad was there.”

Her eyebrows hit her hairline. I’ve told her the basics—former hockey star dad, self-absorbed mother, and my vows to avoid both of those cliches at all costs.

“Did you know he was coming?”

“Nope.”

“Ah, I see.” She puts her hand on my forearm, and even in the low light, compassion radiates from her brown eyes.

I nod once. “So. Let’s get you a drink and shake it off.”

“That sounds great.”

Kendall is a godsend. She understands I need to blow off some steam with a distraction, and she provides it. After a shot and a beer for her—to catch up, she says—we mingle. It doesn’t take long for two guys to approach us.

“Hi, I’m JaShawn.” A tall, slim man holds out his hand to Kendall, and I can practically feel her swoon next to me. His eyes twinkle, and he has a dimple when he smiles. A freaking dimple. He wears his hair in short dreads, and a tight purple shirt with alion roaring on it stretches across his impressive chest. So yeah, I can see why she stutters a little when she introduces us.

The tequila is hitting my bloodstream, a light buzz to keep me feeling the tiniest bit floaty. I’m not drunk, but loose, and I like it.

His friend’s name is Ethan, and I give him a once-over. He has a nice smile, short, light brown hair, hazel eyes, and his slightly crooked nose makes him appealing instead of ordinary. Everything else about him is average—height and weight, the flannel shirt he’s wearing open over a Harrison tee. It’s like standard guy apparel. But his gaze is kind, and when he bends his head to hear me speak, he smells nice.

He’ll do perfectly. I don’t want anything more than a fun time, a little validation and stress release. Someone who doesn’t care about hockey and can’t let me down because I have zero expectations.

And the fact that he looks nothing like Jonas doesn’t hurt, either. Because I need to get those soulful brown eyes out of my head. He picked the team over me tonight, which is fine. It’s great, actually. I needed the reminder that he’s all wrong for me.

And Ethan? He’s right in front of me, and that’s enough.

Chapter

Six

HADLEY

Hadley: Hey, how’s Boston? I saw a news report about a cold snap there and thought of you.

Mom: Oh, I don’t know. Brandon had a few days off and we popped down to Florida.

Hadley: Have fun!

Hunter: Don’t party too hard this weekend.

Hadley: Thanks for the advice, old man.

Hunter: Hey, I’m not that old.

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