Page 31 of Pickled
To my surprise, Riley shrugged. “They look like fun.”
“Oh, not you too.” Jameson groaned. “Remember, we have a game tomorrow.”
While the two defensemen flirted with the ABC socialites, Jameson and I did a hole-by-hole recap of our game. By the time Owens and Riles returned, we had almost finished the beer.
“How did you do?” Jameson raised his eyebrows as they sat down.
Owens shook his phone. “I got a couple of phone numbers.”
“Just a couple?” I joked.
“Sandi and Jennifer are looking for a third for a golf game next week.”
Either Owens was completely clueless or a total player. My money was on the latter. “I’m sure that’s exactly what they want to do with you… golf.”
Owens shrugged. “Either way, it’s all in the hips.” He gyrated in his seat.
Jameson rolled his eyes.
“What about you, Riley? You not going to join them? I asked. “Make it a four-way?”
Riley shrugged. “Not into that scene. That girl is more my type.” He pointed to the pickleball courts. “The one that just walked in, at the end, with the pink top.”
Curiosity got the best of me. If hot socialites or the cute hostess weren’t his type, who was? I craned my neck to see the woman. Shading my eyes, I sucked in a breath. She was far away, but I’d recognize the silky blonde ponytail anywhere.
Piper.
“That’s a pretty impressive rack, but I’m more of an ass guy myself.” Owens slid his sunglasses down his nose.
Had the pointless patio heaters suddenly been cranked on? Sweat pricked my forehead, and my face burned like my skin was going to melt off. A balled fist sat on my thigh. I stole another glance at the court, this one less obvious. Past the kids, past the Myers sisters, Piper and a woman with black hair were on the court opposite a couple of older men.
Piper tossed the ball into the air and, with perfect serving form, smashed it past the two men into the rear fence.
Riley chuckled and spoke under his breath. “She thinks she’s playing tennis.” Then, a little louder, “Maybe I should go show her how to serve.”
The burning sensation intensified. Up until that moment, Piper and I had existed in our own little world. One where we rescued kittens and got naked in my pool. Out here, in the wild, the realization that other men were checking her out settled into my guts like a bad egg salad sandwich. I felt… possessive.
“Maybe you should stop objectifying women,” I growled. “You are the reason hockey players have a bad name.” Everyone turned to me, brows furrowed like I’d just spoken a foreign language. “Not you, Jameson,” I clarified.
The big forward shrugged. “Bailey’s right. There’s more to the perfect woman than what you can see with your eyes.”
“Chill out, dude.” Owens held up his hands. “There’s nothing wrong with appreciating a woman who takes care of herself.”
I hated to admit that he had a point. The first time I’d driven up behind Piper, I hadn’t been able to tear my eyes away from her power walking ass. “What Jameson is trying to say is you sound like chauvinistic assholes. Fine, so we all think it, but keep the comments to yourself.”
“Or save ’em for the locker room.” Jameson looked around and lowered his voice. “In this day and age, the last thing the team needs is for someone to hear us objectifying women.”
“Fair enough. What time is pre-game skate tomorrow?” Owens changed the subject.
In the background, a cacophony of giggles erupted from the cougar table.
“Nine.” Jameson finished his beer. “I’ll see you there. I’m going to head out before one of their husbands shows up.” He jutted his chin toward the table of women. As he stood to leave, Sarah rushed to the table.
“Can I get you guys anything else?”
I finished my beer. “I think we’re done.”
Owens reached to put his hand on Sarah’s tanned forearm. “Hold on a second. How about another pitcher, Riles?”
