Page 12 of Never Sleigh Never
Willa takes a sip. “Suffering through the occasional toe fungus and bunion talk over dinner is better than having to answer all the questions from my family. Plus, both of us are way too busy to settle down. So the casual hookup works.”
I grin. “Are you convincing us… or you?”
She points at me. “Don’t knock it till you try it.”
The music dies down as Cara rings a cowbell to get everyone’s attention. In unison, the entire bar turns toward her as she stands behind a table in the bar’s corner. “Who’s ready for the first drawing?” she says into the microphone.
The entire bar erupts in hoots and cheers. All the noise dissipates as Cara spins a numbered wheel on the table. A low rumble fills the room as the needle connects with the pegs, slowing with each passing second until it comes to a stop.
“And the winner is… number eighteen!” Cara shouts.
I glance down at my ticket. Nineteen. Of course, just my luck. It’s only one number away.
“I won!” Sloane’s chair legs screech across the wood floor as she shoves away from the table and jumps to her feet, waving her ticket above her head. “I won!”
“Woohoo!” With a resounding clap, I celebrate my friend.
The bar booms in unison, “FIRST MEAT!”
It’s a tradition that started years ago when George, and his pocket jerky, won his first meat raffle. He rose to his feet and pumped his fist in the air and declared, “first meat.” It stuck, and now the entire bar joins in at the first raffle draw.
Sloane weaves through the crowd until she reaches the raffle table. With her meat prize in hand, she returns to her seat. “I got meat sticks!” She waves the package in the air before sitting down.
Cara does another round of tickets before starting the next raffle. With each passing round, my number doesn’t get called, but Willa snags two pounds of bacon. Round after round, people win pork chops, jerky, steaks, ground beef, and even a whole chicken. Cara spins the wheel for the next prize as a hush falls over the crowd.
“If it isn’t the hockey legend himself,” Simon bellows from behind the bar.
My stomach drops like a bad amusement park ride. Before I turn around, a collection of “Hi, Logans” confirm my worst fears. Too bad there isn’t another hockey legend in town. Meat raffle night ruined. The cacophony of the bar fades to muffled chatter as if I’m submerged five feet underwater. My gaze tracks Logan as he struts across the room to the bar. Cara’s voice sounds over the microphone. Someone a couple tables away jumps to their feet.
“Holy shit!” Sloane backhands my bicep. “Do you know who that is?”
I turn my glare on her. “I know exactly who that is. We’ve only been talking about him for the past hour.”
Her eyes widen. “Wait? Hockey legend Logan Crawford, the hat-trick king of Chicago, is the same Logan Crawford you’ve been talking about?” She points to Logan across the bar. “Can you introduce me? He’s always been my favorite Chicago player.”
I frown. “Um. How about not? When did you become such a hockey fan?”
“I had an ex-boyfriend who made me watch all the games with him. At first, I only did it to spend time with him, but I quickly found the appeal.”
Cara stops at our table. “Are you in for the next round?”
Sloane and Willa both say yes.
I shake my head. “I think I’m going to head out. The bar suddenly got too crowded.”
Willa rests a hand on my forearm. “You can’t leave. There are still at least five more rounds.”
“I’m getting tired.” I cover my mouth with my hand and fake a yawn.
Willa slaps my hand away. “That’s a lie. You’ve never left a meat raffle early, even when you had that terrible chest cold and were on the verge of dying. You want to leave because of Logan. Newsflash. It’s Mount Holly. You’re going to see a lot more of him. What are you going to do? Leave every time you see him?”
I hate that she’s right. This town is too small to avoid each other. He hasn’t been here for twenty-four hours, and I’ve already seen him twice. Granted, the first time was my doing. But either way, he doesn’t get to strut into my favorite hangout and send me running. I’ve been here longer than he has. He should be the one to leave. Across the room, as if summoned, his head tips up. Our eyes lock. One beat. Two. Three. I don’t blink. He doesn’t either. My nostrils flare. The corner of his mouth ticks up into a smile. Of course, he would find this amusing. He always found joy in my misery.
“What are you staring at?” Sloane says to me. Without answering her, she follows my line of sight. “Oh.”
“What’s happening?” Willa twists, just as Logan rises from his seat. “Yes. Yes. Brie vs. Logan: Showdown, Part Two.” She’s practically vibrating with excitement.
Fantastic. Exactly how I wanted to end my night: beef, bacon, and a side of public confrontation.
