Boston Hawks Hockey

Chapter 2 — Noah

The club is dark and loud, a perfect backdrop for poor decisions.

The section I’m in, a private, roped-off space our team captain Austin arranged, is exclusive in a way that permits regrets while keeping them private. I tip back my gin and tonic, letting the alcohol burn through my veins. At the very worst, I’ll wake up with a hangover. Meanwhile, if my brother were here tonight instead of detoxing in rehab, a g and t would be the first domino in a destructive maze straight to rock bottom. Irony.

I drain the glass, rattling the ice as I set it down on a side table and gesture to a cocktail waitress milling about that I’ll take another.

Below the railing, puck bunnies clamor for attention, desperate for an invitation up to where the team is enjoying bottle service. Sweeping my gaze over the crowd, pulsing with the beat the DJ dropped, I search for tonight’s pick.

For three years, I was a saint. Sure, I’d notice if a girl was smoking hot the same way I’d notice if a guy was jacked. But I wasn’t interested in any of the women, and definitely not puck bunnies, because I had my perfect girl waiting at home. Six months ago, right after we lost the game to qualify for the play-offs, Courtney’s perfection cracked when I discovered her serious reservations about marrying me. Courtney called off our wedding two weeks before the big day, leaving me publicly humiliated and personally devastated.

No matter how many women I’ve slept with over the past six months, and I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve lost count, none of them have held my interest beyond a sloppy hook-up. Still, I keep searching, as if a random screw will somehow heal a bit of my broken. It’s bullshit, because Courtney has already moved on with a lawyer, the kind of guy that can provide the “steady” lifestyle she desires, and I’ve regressed, bouncing back to my mid-twenties, when I partied hard and fucked any willing bunny.

My teammates tell me I’ve dodged a bullet and while I believe them, it doesn’t make the hurt easier to manage or the betrayal easier to swallow. The off-season was rough, a series of lonely nights and dark thoughts. Between Courtney’s cold feet and Easton’s hitting rock bottom, I’ve never been so elated for training camps to kick off. For the past three months, I’ve thrown myself into preparing for this season and with only two weeks to go until our season opener, I’m feeling optimistic for the first time in months.

“You good?” Austin asks, bumping me with his shoulder.

“Yeah, man. You?” I accept my refill from the cocktail waitress with thanks and take a large gulp.

“How is he?” Austin asks, lowering his voice. As my brother’s best friend, Austin’s concern is deeper than just hockey and what Easton’s rehab means for this season. He’s genuinely worried about East’s recovery, same as me.

I glance around but no one is paying us any attention. Some of the guys on the team suspect that Easton isn’t really sick tonight. Or that he is but it’s not a flu-like virus. Coach Phillips is going to break the news next week once East makes it through detox. “He’s managing,” I say, keeping my response vague.

The truth is, I have no clue how East is fairing in rehab. I know that he’s surviving but I haven’t been allowed contact with him. Even when I’m given permission to see him, I don’t know if he’ll want to see me. Or, more accurately, if he’ll want me to see him in rehab. After his stint in rehab last year, my brother could barely meet my eyes. Embarrassed and disheartened, he confided that his inheriting our father’s alcoholic gene bothers him a hell of a lot more than I realized. He fears turning into our old man, a father with a sharp tongue and even sharper hands.

Next to me, Austin raises his glass to his mouth but before he drinks, he leans over the railing, muttering swear words.

I try to follow his line of sight to see what’s got him heated but other than some hot girls, I come up blank. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m gonna fucking kill my sister,” he growls, waving over to the bouncer to let the girls up.

I laugh. Having spent many weekends at the Merricks’, I know firsthand that before Savannah married Mike, she was outgoing but always listened to her brother’s warnings. Claire, on the other hand, throws caution to the wind and pushes every one of Austin’s buttons just to see how much she can get away with. In the next blink, Claire steps onto the landing and I feel Austin’s pain.

Claire has always been beautiful but dressed the way she is tonight, every guy in here will be salivating over her.

“She does it on purpose, you know?” I tell my friend as he begins to stalk toward his sister. Claire purposely flirts with my brother all the time just to piss Austin off. I open my mouth to remind Austin of this but my words stall in my throat as I get a look at Claire’s friend.

Damn. The woman is a knockout. Long, brown hair that falls like a curtain of curls around her shoulders, sparkling green eyes that dazzle even from across the room, and a body that makes my mouth water, with hips I’d like to sink my fingers into and a graceful neck I want to run my mouth over.

I grab Austin’s forearm before he disappears. “Who’s she with?”

“My cousin.” He sounds genuinely angry but there’s a hint of surprise in his tone too, like he wasn’t expecting to see his cousin tonight.

I sure as hell wasn’t prepared to see her either. “That’s Indy?” I ask, recalling an entirely different version of the Indiana Merrick I remember from my teenage years. She would visit Boston with her parents every summer and sometimes our paths would cross but she always held herself back, as if she preferred to be on the periphery while Claire beamed as the center of attention. Indy always had her nose in a book, rarely drank with us, and constantly talked about a hockey player she was dating.

I swivel my neck around the room, waiting to see which one of the guys steps up to claim her but nobody makes a move.

No one except Austin who is now striding toward his female family members with barely concealed fury in his expression.

Amused, I follow behind him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he hisses at his sister and cousin.

Claire rolls her eyes. “We came to troll.”

Indy winces and I snicker, drawing her attention to me. When her eyes meet mine, I feel like I’ve been sucker punched. Now that I’m closer, the vibrance of her green eyes is even more alluring. Deep and glowing, her eyes are the kind a man would willingly drown in. The kind that make it easy to forget the past and live in the moment, consequences be damned.

I blink, severing the connection while mentally swearing at myself. Indiana Merrick is the last woman I should sleep with. Well, Savannah and Claire are but they’re more like sisters to me anyway. Forget the fact that Indy is Austin’s cousin, she’s also the daughter of NHL legend Jeremiah Merrick, hockey god and my childhood idol. No hockey guy in his right mind would try casual with Indy and right now, tonight is all I’m good for.

Austin pulls Claire to the side of the room, leaving Indy and me to chat.

“Hi.” She smiles shyly, placing out a hand. “I’m not sure if you remember me—”

“It’s good to see you again, Little Indy,” I cut her off, using the teenage nickname she hated. I shake her hand with a grin and tip my head toward the railing so we’re not in the center of the room.

She follows beside me and as we post up next to the railing that overlooks the dance floor, I gesture toward the cocktail waitress. “What are you drinking?”

“Uh, I’ll take a vodka soda with lemon please,” Indy orders.

I study her, noting how she fiddles with the strap of her purse, glancing around for her cousins, unsure of herself. “How long are you visiting for?” I ask, hoping to put her at ease.

Her face swivels back to mine, surprise in her expression. “Oh, I live in Boston now. I moved here about six months ago.”

“Really?” Now I’m surprised, wondering why Austin never mentioned it. Then again, maybe he did. My life has been a roller coaster since last season ended. “Did you move for a job?”

Relief crosses her face as she nods. “Yes. And thanks for making that assumption. I hate that everyone always thinks I moved for a guy.”

I chuckle, liking how transparent she is. Honest. “What do you do?”

“I’m a professor.”

“Really?”

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah. I just started this school year. I’m teaching political science courses at Brighton.”

“Wow,” I say, impressed. I remember Indy being smarter than the rest of us but I had no idea she wanted to teach. “You already did your PhD?”

She blushes, dropping her gaze and nodding, as if I embarrassed her. Honest and modest.

“That’s awesome.” And then, hoping to make her laugh, “Any of the students hit on you yet?”

I grin as her laughter colors the air. Her eyes come back up, disarming me.

“No.” She shakes her head. “They’re mostly eighteen and nineteen. They’re still too nervous about doing their own laundry for the first time and remembering my name to try anything like that.” She wrinkles her nose. “Don’t get me started on work. I know it’s lame to gush about but it’s pretty much the center of my life at the moment.”

“No man demanding all your time?” I couldn’t care less if I’m being forward. How the hell is a woman who looks like Indy and has her brains, spark, and drive, single?

She bites her bottom lip. “No one worth mentioning.” Her voice is coy and my grin widens.

The cocktail waitress appears and I take Indy’s drink off the tray and pass it to her. When she accepts the glass, our fingers brush and a flicker of heat shoots down my arm. Raising my glass in her direction, I smile. “To your new job. Congratulations, Professor.”

She tips her head in my direction, her eyes flaring with amusement. Clinking her glass against mine, Indy lifts the cocktail to her lips.

I stifle a groan at the visual before me. Her mouth is luscious, her eyes gleaming, and everything about her screams unattainable. After months of easy, available women, Indy unknowingly entices me.

She’s the first woman I’ve met since Courtney who stirs something in my chest. Longing. One to know her better, not just undress her tonight. The realization is heady and dangerous. Still, I can’t stop the thrill that blazes through my body like fire, making my fingers want to reach out and glide over her smooth skin.

The Indiana Merrick I remember was prudent and oblivious.

This version is just as sweet but wildly tempting.

A recipe for trouble.