Page 3 of Power Move
Some of the light leaves his eyes. “The team’s break starts today, so I won’t be back on the ice with them for over a week.” He drums his fingers on the side of his glass. “Managementwants me to play a few games with the Slash in the interim, so I’ll be joining you guys this week.”
The thrill I’ll have him as a teammate zips through my chest, lightning-fast, then fizzles at the frustration fraying the edges of his smile. “That’s exciting news for us, but for you, I’m guessing, not so much?”
“The timing of everything’s just annoying. I’ve been part of full contact practices for the last few days. Now, having to wait longer for an actual game with them sucks. I get what management’s thinking, sending me to you guys.” His gaze leaves mine to roam over the teammates sitting at our table. “But if they’d cleared me to return two weeks ago, like I wanted and thought I was ready for, I could’ve contributed to my team. We need to win games. Being held back and unable to help them is the worst.”
Empathy washes over me. I rest my fingers on the chunky knit covering his forearm. “I know it is. With that wrist injury, I couldn’t play the last two games of our playoff series. Hated every second of it. I felt so useless.”
He tips his drink toward me. “Exactly.”
I take another sip of my whiskey sour. “I know we’re not the Metros, but we’re a fun group. You’ll like us.”
The right corner of his lip lifts in a half smile. “I’m sure I will.”
“We have two away games against Henderson at the end of the week. Since it’s so far, we get to fly. So maybe your timing isn’t so bad. You get to avoid countless hours cramped in a bus.” There. I’ve found a bright spot.
“It’s been almost seven years since I played in the minors, and I definitely don’t miss the long bus rides.” His smile turns full blown. “Remy said you’re a good guy.”
“Remy says that about everyone. He’s an optimist.”
Rhys leans in, his gaze roaming my face, his subtle scent of spice so good I want to roll around in it. “So, it isn’t true?”
“I didn’t say that.” My pulse beats faster. Drawing in a breath, I lick dry lips. My cock jumps when Rhys’s gaze focuses on my mouth. “I like to think I’m a good guy. I try to be.”
“So do I.” The sincerity in his tone wraps around me like a warm blanket.
The sound of a glass hitting the table jars me out of the cocoon of Rhys’s presence.
At the opposite end of the cluttered table, Morgan, Soren, and Quinn stand, rattling the glasses and plates in their wake. Quinn leads them to another group of Metros, playing pool in the back of the room.
I grin at Rhys. “Morgan’s a shark. They better watch out.”
“So’s Quinn.” He smirks at their backs. “I’m half-tempted to head over and watch them battle it out.”
My stomach rumbles. Dinner wasn’t that long ago, but since I was so anxious, I didn’t eat much. “I’m going to order some food. Anyone want anything?”
Remy and my friends wave me off. Maxim and Jonas are still in conversation. Rhys pushes his empty glass to the table’s center and stands. “I’ll come too. I was going to grab another drink.”
We make our way to the bar, Rhys stopping to introduce me to his teammates along the way. There’s more variety in ages than we have on my team. I count two guys with crutches, another in an arm cast, and one with a nasty gash across his chin, sewn together with several stitches.
Along with my whiskey sour, I put in a double order for nachos because Remy and Morgan will help themselves to whatever I get. Rhys orders another Guinness and sliders for himself.
The bartender passes me the drinks. Rhys is a few feet away, tucking his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans. Damn, he’s attractive.
I take a step toward him, and my boot catches on something hard. Pitching forward fast, I jerk my arms up, sharp panic slicing through me. The whiskey sour sloshes out of the glass, soaking my hand. I slam into Rhys’s chest. His Guinness erupts out of the pint glass like a volcano spewing lava.
His arms clamp around me, hugging me to him. The thump of us banging into the iron and wooden bar vibrates through him and into me. A grunt huffs past Rhys’s lips. He protected me when he didn’t have to. If he hadn’t caught me, my head probably would’ve connected with one of the barstools or the floor.
My heartbeat pounding, breath heaving, I’m overwhelmed by the scent of Guinness. I lean back, peeling away from him. A huge brown splotch covers Rhys’s chest and shoulder, spreading across the white knit. The remains of the stout are on my hand and seeping into my sleeve.
Horror rocketing through me, I set the glasses on the bar. The closest patrons have gone quiet, their attention focused on us. A few of Rhys’s teammates come over, but he waves them away.
“I’m sorry. I tripped.” I move forward, shame and then fear clawing out of my skin. If he was injured in our tumble… “Are you okay? You didn’t hurt your shoulder, did you?”
He rolls it and twists his torso. “I’m fine. Are you?”
“I think so. I can…” Adrenaline is pumping too fast for me to feel anything. I snag a bar towel, and press it over the soaked material on his chest. His heart’s pumping fast. Stammering more apologies, I continue dabbing it over various spots. My face heats like it’s on fire and my pulse is thundering in my ears.“I’ll pay to have your sweater cleaned. Or replaced. I’m sorry. So sorry.”
His hand wraps around my wrist, holding it in place against his pec. “Sage.”
