Page 49 of Bagging the Blueliner
“I don’t think I have the energy to deal with her and her smart mouth.” I was exhausted just thinking about a verbal sparring match with Hannah.
“Ooh. Now Ireallylike her. You know . . . When I mouth off at Nash . . . Ooh boy. He knows exactly how to put me in my place. If you know what I mean.”
I groaned. “Ugh. I did not needthatmental picture.”
“Are we going to pretend you didn’t catch us fooling around on the ranch at least half a dozen times?” Zoe taunted. “You probably use some of Nash’s moves.”
“Okay. Thanks so much for your useless attempt at help.”
“Anytime. But seriously, Cal. Think about what I said.” Her tone softened, all traces of teasing gone from her voice.
“Yeah, yeah. I will. Give the boys my love.”
“Of course. Good luck.”
Hanging up, I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply. Maybe Zoe was right and I needed to have an honest conversation with Hannah.
It would have to wait until we got back to Hartford in a few days. Talking now was too risky. Anyone could see us together or, worse, overhear our conversation.
My phone buzzed in my hand. Expecting a follow-up text from Zoe, I opened my eyes and glanced down at it.
Not Zoe.
Bad Decision:Down at the bar.
Yeah, I’d changed Hannah’s name in my phone. I was already playing with fire as it was. I didn’t need an accidental incoming text to be seen by the wrong person, raising suspicion. The new moniker was fitting. Sleeping with Hannah had been a terrible decision, but I couldn’t say I regretted it.
The text was accompanied by a picture. Hannah’s bare legs could be seen crossed on a barstool, and in the background, her fingertips toyed with the rim of a glass on the bar top. The glass contained a pink liquid, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes. There was no mistaking her drink of choice this evening—a hockey-branded pink lemonade vodka mixed with some kind of carbonated mixer.
Was Hannah suggesting I come down to the hotel bar?
The place would be crawling with fans, bunnies, and members of the Comets staff. It would be suicide to be seen together there.
Fuck it.
I could go down there and see what she was up to and who was around. It beat sitting up here alone.
Grabbing my room key and wallet, I took the elevator to the lobby. When the doors opened, I realized it was worse than I thought. The place was packed.
Coach played for Houston, and judging from the number of fans wearing Moreau jerseys milling around, they were hoping to see him during our stay.
For a fleeting moment, I considered going back to my room. That was until I saw Jaxon waving me over to a high-top table inside the bar. Fans surrounded him, but when I approached, he gently bid them a pleasant evening, and they dispersed, allowing me to sit with him.
Signaling a waitress for a drink, I nudged Jaxon. “What, no marathon call with Nat and the kids tonight?”
Jaxon playfully punched me in the arm. “We’re celebrating.”
“Celebrating what?”
“Beau scored his first goal today!” Jaxon beamed with pride.
“That’s amazing, man! Nothing in the world like that feeling.”
“I hate that I missed it. He was so proud of himself.”
“You’ll catch the next one. I’m sure it’ll be the first of many,” I reassured him. I knew how hard it was for him to miss milestones in his kids’ lives.
A round of beers appeared before us. I hadn’t ordered and looked to Jaxon in question, but he shrugged, just as confused as I was.
