Page 45 of Wicked Ends
Then he turned his back on me. Pain, like the feeling of saving a goal only for the other team’s forward to crash into you regardless, hit me in the chest.
Yep, that hurt like a motherfucker.
Giving my brother his space, I grabbed a couple of beers from behind the bar and made my way to the table where Cash and his old lady were sitting, their new little bundle of joy sound asleep in a baby wrap. A tiny baby, dressed in a pink onesie, cradled against a huge biker’s barrel chest, was quite the sight to see.
“Congratulations to you both,” I said and sat in an empty seat, setting the beers in front of them.
Misty, Cash’s wife, said, “I can’t drink, I’m breastfeeding.”
“And I’m not drinking out of solidarity,” Cash said and smiled down at his sleeping daughter.
Something twinged deep inside at that sight. He was going to be a great fucking dad. His kid was lucky.
I took a swig from one of the bottles of beer. “More for me, then.”
“Big game tomorrow?” Cash asked after a moment.
I nodded. The Harbor Hounds might be bikers, but this was Hade Harbor, and hockey ran in our blood.
“What’s Williams’ plan?” Cash prompted.
We relaxed into casual hockey talk. I barely noticed the door opening until Misty whistled loudly to attract someone’s attention.
“Well, as exciting as all this hockey talk is, I’m leaving you two to childcare duties. My friend is here for her birthday, and I’m going to make sure she has a good time. Looks like she brought some eye candy, too.”
Misty wriggled her eyebrows, and Cash growled, landing a playful smack on his missus’ behind as she walked away.
“How’s she been doing since the birth?” I asked Cash.
He nodded. “She’s all right, though it takes a goddamn fucking toll. I tell you, if I could have been the one bleeding and screaming, I’d have done it… but I couldn’t have managed it like she did. She’s a fucking warrior.” He grunted and tracked a thick, calloused finger over the downy hair on the baby’s head. “Women… they might be small, but they are mighty.”
“Amen to that,” I said and turned to see where Misty had gone off to.
I saw the English Lit professor first, the asshole who thought he was God’s gift to HHU, then I took in Sally, one of the admins. Sally moved forward to hug Misty, and that’s when I spied her.
My birthday girl.
She was hanging back, and another professor, biology, I thought, was talking to her. She had her arms clamped over her midsection and her face tilted toward the floor, hair loose and hanging like a curtain around her face, as if that might hide her identity.
In a pencil skirt that hugged her curves and a boxy jacket I knew she’d soon have to lose in the humid bar, she was a beacon in the dim, neon lights.
No one had ever managed to encapsulate prim and proper mixed with raw, unapologetic sensuality like Professor Moore.
“Isn’t that the chick from last weekend?” Cash asked. Not much got past him in The Clutch.
“Mm-hmm, she’s my teacher.” I took another long pull of beer.
Cash whistled. “Doesn’t look like any teacher I ever had. I hope you’re not contemplating doing anything that could get you expelled.”
I chuckled, and Cash grinned.
“Or I take it that ship has sailed?”
“What can I say?” I tossed him a smile. “Worth it.”
Cash got up to walk the baby around as she fussed, woken from her sleep by the start of karaoke. Apparently, a grizzled old biker singing his heart out to White Snake wasn’t an effective lullaby.
The teachers had moved to a booth, and Misty was making sure they had drinks. Ari sat down, and Wade immediately slid in next to her and rested his arm on top of the booth, right above her shoulders.
