The Wingman Page 4

  “He was really nice, and was actually interested in my pottery.” She shakes her phone. “His eyes didn’t glaze over when I showed him pictures.”

  I laugh at that. I always enjoy hearing her stories and while I’m neither spontaneous or reckless, I do love living vicariously through her. “He clearly has good taste.”

  “He mentioned something about his mother and her upcoming birthday.”

  My lids pop open. “He talked about his mother? Are you serious?”

  “Sounds like he comes from a close family. Anyway, I think he wants to get her a few pieces.” She cocks her head, and gives me a dreamy smile. “Isn’t that nice?”

  “It’s really nice,” I say as I consider Kane’s family. Rider calls him brother, but they’re obviously not blood-related. Does Rider have a family of his own? A mother, a father, blood siblings?

  “Are you falling for him already?” I ask, my stomach churning uneasily. Hockey players are known for their wild ways—I can’t forget what Candy said about Rider—and I don’t want my friend to get hurt.

  “Of course not. He just seemed really…nice.”

  Oh no, she is falling for him.

  “Rider said he was one of the good guys,” I say. I really hope it’s true and he’s not stringing my friend along. She’s a girl who puts herself out there, wears her heart on her sleeve, and despite numerous bad break-ups and scars that run deep, she continues to step out of her comfort zone. She can tell me it’s about personal growth all she wants, but I avoid vulnerability at all cost, and nothing or no one is going to change that.

  “Rider?”

  “Yeah, his friend. You know, the guy who told you he had a third nipple.” I chuckle softly. “Remember him?” God, why is it I want to talk about him, to just say his name?

  Lindsay’s perfectly manicured brows arch, and her green eyes narrow in on me as she runs a curly lock of red hair around her finger. I fiddle with my own hair, which is still in a ponytail. I might have washed up, put on a clean pair of jeans and my favorite Rolling Stones t-shirt that’s just a tad bit snug in the breast area, but I left my hair pulled back. I don’t want to give anyone the wrong idea. I’m not here for a hook-up. I’m just here to hang out with my friend while she sings.

  And hopefully run into Rider again.

  Girl, you are all over the place.

  She smiles. “I remember him. He was the wingman. You know that’s what they call him on the ice too.” Before I can answer she says, “Of course you don’t. You don’t watch hockey.”

  “After you left, I asked him if his moves worked on guys, too.”

  Her jaw drops open in disbelief. “You did?”

  “I thought he was funny and I wasn’t ready to go home yet, so…”

  “So you asked him to hook you up?”

  “Yeah, but I was only kidding.” I take that moment to think about what he said about my breasts being too big and then burst out laughing. But that laugh is hijacked by a moan when I recall the way he eyed my wet t-shirt. He said my breasts were average, and that’s what he liked best. I liked his honesty, liked the heated way he looked at me. His gaze wasn’t lecherous, and didn’t make my skin crawl. No, in fact, he looked at me like he wanted to worship my body and the hunger in his eyes boosted my confidence. I hadn’t had a lot of that after Jason criticized my bedroom moves, or lack thereof.

  But wait, I’m not his type, right?

  “Are you okay?” Lindsay asks.

  “Yeah, I was…he was just so funny.”

  “And cute too. Did you see that dimple?”

  “Yeah, cute too,” I say softly, my mind wandering back to that dimple.

  She takes a drink of her wine. “So why didn’t you two hook up?”

  “I don’t know.” I fiddle with the stem of my glass and nurse my drink. “I’m just not into that kind of thing.”

  Her hand snakes out and closes over mine. “I get that your last boyfriend was a total jerk, and you’re not looking for anything right now,” she begins. “But why not have a little fun? We’re not talking about a serious relationship, or marriage here, Jules. Just two consenting adults having fun. Go find out if that man has a third nipple,” she teases when the conversation starts getting a little heavy.

  That brings a smile to my face, but it’s short-lived. “Well one, I’m hardly his type—”

  She holds her hands up, palms out. “Wait, how do you know that?” she asks cutting me off.

  I give her a look that suggests she’s dense. “Really, Lindsay?”

  “You’re beautiful, Jules. Beautiful. I don’t know why you don’t believe that. You just downplay yourself.”

  I snort. “Even if I didn’t, I’m still not Candy beautiful.”

  “Candy beautiful? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Candy was the puck bunny who interrupted us and straight up asked Rider if he wanted to go to her place, or his.”

  Lindsay’s eyes narrow in on me. “What did he choose?”

  “He didn’t.”

  She sits back, her expression smug. “What does that tell you?”

  “He doesn’t hook up or drink during game week. He told me that.”

  She opens her mouth, about to go therapist on me, but I stop her. “And two…” I let my voice fall off and bury my face in my hands. Lindsay has been my best friend since kindergarten. We share everything, which means she knows how my ex made me feel after he told me to loosen up. I was mortified, still am. “Jason.”

  “He was a jerk,” she says, pulling my hands away. “An egotistical, self-serving jerk who never deserved you in the first place. You know that.”

  “Lindsay—”

  Lindsay leans forward, her eyes soft and sincere. “It’s okay, Jules. You deserve happiness. You, more than anyone I know, deserves to have it all,” she says gently, hitting on a deeper issue, one I’d rather not think about. Then again, when do I ever stop thinking about it? I see death all the time. I see people love and lose every day. It takes a toll on me. I can’t deny that. I also can’t deny that I’m too afraid to put myself out there because I’m too afraid of loving and losing.

  Again.

  God, Brett was only eighteen. He was my first love. My last love. The reason I went into nursing. I felt so helpless when he got sick, and before I knew it, he was gone from my life forever. I’d given him everything, including my virginity, and when he died, he took a piece of me with him, leaving a big gaping hole in my chest that aches on a daily basis.

  “Go have some fun, Jules. Hook up with Rider and forget about real life for a while.”

  “I’m not sure I can do that, and can we please not ever talk about Jason again?” I say, but there is a part of me that knows he was right. I don’t fully commit, in or out of the bedroom, and when things get too serious, I pull back and throw up my guard. Christ, why would any guy want to be with a hot mess of a girl like that?

  “Good, because that guy was a jerk.”

  “Who was a jerk?” a familiar voice asks, and my heart leaps into my throat as I glance up to find Rider and Kane standing over us. My gaze latches onto his, but he’s not smiling. No, he’s frowning as he steps closer to me and taps his finger on the table. “You need me to take care of someone?” He looks past me and scans the bar. “Someone giving you a hard time?”

  “I don’t need you to fight my battles,” I say and square my shoulders, even though the ridiculously girly part of me loves his knight in shining armor attitude.

  “Don’t listen to her, she’s a lover not a fighter,” Lindsay says and my gaze cuts to hers.

  “What the hell?” I say.

  “So is he,” Kane says and jerks his thumb toward Rider. “Unless it’s on the ice.”

  Lindsay pushes a chair out for Kane and he lowers himself. “Great game tonight,” she says, changing the subject as she leans toward him, her body language displaying just how much she likes him. Kane takes a strand of her hair between his thumb and finger and begins to te
ase it, like he’s totally into her too.

  “Seriously, Jules, is someone bothering you?” Rider asks in a lower voice as he flips the chair around and sits beside me. I angle my body and find it a bit difficult to think when I catch the clean soapy scent of his skin.

  “No, we were just talking about my ex. He was an asshole. That’s all.” Not wanting to talk about Jason, I say, “I caught the end of your game tonight.”

  His eyes light up. “I thought you didn’t like hockey.”

  I give an exaggerated sigh. “I don’t. It just happened to be on the TV when I turned it on.” I don’t bother telling him I searched every station like an addict in need of a fix.

  “Yeah, well, I still don’t like nurses.” He shifts a bit closer and it takes everything in me to keep my breathing steady.

  “At least we’re still on the same page,” I say.

  “And once again, in the same bar.” He produces that damn dimple with a smile. “I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight.”

  “Sorry to disappoint.” Before he can respond, I ask, “So what brings you here tonight? Back on wingman duties?” I cast a glance at Lindsay and Kane, who are deep into their own conversation. I’ve never seen her hit it off quite so well with someone before. I really do hope Kane is one of the good guys. Lindsay could use one in her life.

  “As a matter of fact, I am,” he says.

  I nod toward Kane. “I think your brother might have something to say about that.”

  Rider grips the back of his chair. “Who says I’m here for him?”

  Oh, God was he here for me? Did he come because he knew I’d be here tonight?

  No wait, he just said he didn’t know I’d be here.

  “Oh, who are you here for?” I ask, working to sound causal, despite the roaring storm tearing up my stomach.

  “You. I owe you a date remember.”

  For a brief second I think he’s talking about the two of us going on a date, but he looks past my shoulders.

  “Tall, dark and handsome, right?”

  I quickly pull myself together. “That’s right, and you don’t care what she looks like as long as she has a pulse.”

  He feigns offense. “I never said that. You really don’t think much of me, do you?”

  I laugh to lighten things. “Okay, maybe that was uncalled for. So far you’ve been a perfect gentleman.” I scan the bar and spot a cluster of girls near the hall leading to the bathroom.

  “Okay, so let’s do this,” I say.

  “Can’t wait to see you in action,” he responds.

  Just then the DJ calls out for a girl named Dani to take the stage, and one of the girls from the group I’d been watching throws her arms up. She’s pretty and holds the attention of almost every guy in the room as she sashays up the steps, although I must say, Rider is still looking at me.

  “How about her?” I ask and gesture with a nod to the stage. “She has a ponytail,” I say and work quickly to dispel the image of me in bed with Rider, him tugging on mine.

  Oh boy!

  He casts her a fast glance. “She’s cute,” he says, noncommittal. “What about him?”

  I turn to follow his gaze. “He’s nice looking.”

  “Before we do this, I want your number.” He takes his phone from his pocket and hands it to me. “Put your contacts in here.”

  “Why?”

  “If I’m going to set you up with someone, I need to know you’re safe.” I stare at his phone. “Put your number in,” he commands in a soft voice.

  “You’re kind of bossy.”

  I put my name and number into his phone, and he takes it and calls me. I reach into my purse and pull my phone out. I raise one brow.

  “I had to make sure you didn’t give me a fake number, and now you have mine. All you have to do is text me a code word, and I’ll come get you.”

  “You take safety seriously.”

  “I do.”

  I liked that. A lot.

  “Okay so what code word should we use?” I ask.

  I wait for him to elaborate and he shrugs. “You choose.”

  “You’ve done this before, though, right?”

  “No. I’ve never set a woman up before, and believe me, Jules. I take that responsibility very seriously. If anything ever happened to you…”

  My heart does an odd little twist in my chest. Could the guy be any sweeter?

  “Okay, code word,” I say and think about it. “Wait, you need one too. I’ve never set a guy up and I wouldn’t want to send you home with some crazy organ harvester.”

  He laughs. “How about…” He glances around the room. “Karaoke?”

  “Okay we can both use that,” I agree.

  “Now what about non-verbal code words?”

  “You think we need that?”

  “Yeah, say you’re over there in the corner making out with a guy and you want out. Give me a gesture and I’ll break it up.”

  I twirl my ponytail around my hand. “That’s a good one,” he says.

  “This?” I ask and tug my ponytail.

  He nods. “I like it.”

  “What about you?” I ask. “The other night when you needed my help with Candy, you patted your leg for me to sit.”

  “If we’re being honest, I could have handled Candy. I just wanted you to sit on my lap.” He gives me a cocky smile and I whack him.

  “Very funny,” I say, my body warming, recalling the way it felt to settle on his lap. He’d slid his hand around my back, generating enough heat inside me to set off the overhead sprinklers.

  Hook up with Rider and forget about life for a while.

  As Lindsay’s words tumble around my brain and entice me, Rider says. “That’ll be my cue. I’ll tap my leg.”

  Dani finishes her song on stage, and they call Lindsay. She squeals, jumps up and drags a grumbling Kane up with her. When Dani comes down, I push from my chair and stand in her way.

  “Oh, excuse me,” she says and is about to go around me until I block her again. Honestly, this isn’t like me. I’m completely stepping out of character here, but I can’t deny that it’s fun. Since I’m so far out of my comfort zone, maybe I should go ahead and sleep with Rider.

  “You have a great voice,” I tell her, and she beams.

  “My friend over there thinks so too.” Her gaze slides to Rider, who is now talking to the man he pointed out earlier, and I can’t help but wonder what he’s saying about me. Something ludicrous, I’m sure.

  “He’s your…friend?” she asks.

  “Just friends.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me? That’s Rider Lewis. Seattle Shooter’s wingman. How could you keep things platonic with a guy like that?” I hold my hands out, about twelve inches apart, and catch Rider’s eye. His mouth drops as he approaches with the guy he’s trying to set me up with, and I grin. I turn back to the girl and whisper in her ear. Her eyes go wide, and she turns to Rider, a new appreciation backlight her baby blues.

  “Rider, this is—” Before I can get her name out, she sidles closer to Rider, and for some strange reason, I want to call abort, and position myself in between them. Which is insane. I don’t want to date Rider and he clearly doesn’t want to date me.

  Yeah, but you want to sleep with him.

  I shut down that inner voice and watch the exchange. “I know who you are,” she says. “And I’m Dani, a huge fan.”

  “Hey Dani,” he says in a sexy way that has probably already melted the girl’s panties. I resist the urge to look down to see if mine are steaming.

  “Jules, this is Tate,” he says.

  “Hey Jules.” The guy is cute enough, but he’s no Rider. “Want to grab a drink?”

  “Sure,” I say, and exchange a smile with Rider before I go off with Tate. We grab drinks from the bar, and head back to his table. As soon as we sit, his gaze drops from my eyes to my snug shirt.

  “Rolling Stones, huh? Have you seen them play?”

  “No, my sister b
ought me this for my birthday.”

  “You and Rider,” he begins, a little unsure. “You’re just friends?”

  “That’s all.”

  He shakes his head, and smiles, like he’s completely enamored with the guy. “He’s a hell of a hockey player.”

  “So I hear.”

  His head rears back. “You mean you don’t watch him?”

  “I don’t love hockey.”

  “How can you not love hockey?” he asks, and I tip my wine to my lips for a sip. Tate leans forward, braces his elbows on the table, and as the sounds of Kane butchering the song, Jeremiah was Bullfrog, reaches my ears, I resist the urge to cringe. I steal a glance at the stage, and while the man can’t sing, he looks like he’s having a hell of a time. I guess hockey players are used to the attention. My gaze slowly slides from the stage and searches the room for Rider, but he’s nowhere to be found. Wow, that didn’t take him long.

  I work to ignore the bitter taste in my mouth. I have no right to feel any sort of jealousy. I set him up for God’s sake, and he set me up. I focus in on Tate, wanting to make this night work, needing to make this work so I can stop thinking about Rider already, but my eyes glaze over as he continues to talk about hockey. Like. Non. Stop.

  I eventually finish the wine in my glass, and toy with my phone in my back pocket.

  “And in game seven, the guy they call The Playmaker…”

  He continues to talk, but my brain has fogged over. I’m trying not to be rude, I’m really not, but this guy is clearly more interested in the Seattle Shooters—and every single play they made last season—than me.

  I pull my phone from my pocket and set it on my lap. I shouldn’t bother Rider. Heck, he’s probably doing the horizontal mambo by now. Still, I can’t sit here for one more second. I’d excuse myself, but every time I try to get a word in, he starts on another story.

  Okay, that’s it. I can’t take one more second of this. I pick up my phone and type in ‘karaoke.’ My hand hovers over send. Dammit, I can’t do this. I can’t break up his night. I’ll just have to find another way to get out of this situation. I sigh, and I’m about to shove my phone into my pocket when someone bumps me. Before I realize what’s happening, my finger hits the send button. Shit. Shit. Shit.