Clusterpuck (Vegas Crush #9)

14. Widget Celebration

14 /

widget celebration

Tripp

Everyone is out tonight, celebrating our win. Even the married guys and their wives are out, including the GM, Grant, and his wife, Devon. There was press after the game and they asked me to sit in, a new face for fans to get to know.

I would think it would be obvious to anyone and everyone that I hate press. They asked me how it felt to score in my first game since the move. I said, “ It felt real good .” They asked me what made me decide to come back for a year after announcing my retirement. I said, “ Last chance at the cup I guess .” They promptly focused on the more outgoing players.

Pretty sure I won’t be asked to do press again. My evil plan worked. Actually, it wasn’t an evil plan so much as I’m just not a big talker, especially not to a microphone in my face.

We’re all at a big, long table at the Hard Rock, people talking in small groups as they sip their drinks. Grant bought the first round of drinks, plus a bunch of appetizers. I am, of course, the total introvert hanging in the corner, not quite in with the group. When Lila and Laura walk in together, they survey the room, including the two empty seats next to mine. Laura strides right over and sits in the one next to me.

“Nice goal. Way to put one in the net on your first trip out,” she says, holding out her fist for a bump. “How’d it feel?”

Lila is just one seat over. Close enough to touch, but facing away from me, talking to pretty-boy Aiden. I have to fight hard to stay focused on the assistant GM, who’s looking at me like she actually expected an answer. I thought it was rhetorical. Tells you just how good I am at reading people. And conversing with them.

I bump her back. “Uh. Good, I guess? I mean, I wouldn’t be worth my paycheck if I didn’t score every once in a while.”

Laura laughs, clapping her hands together. “That is true, sir, but congratulations anyway. It’s always good to come out and show ’em what you can do right out the gate.”

“I suppose it is.”

“There are kids three deep ready to kill each other to get Evan’s slot for next year. And you come in like, boom, that’s how it’s done.”

“Thanks. I’m just trying to help the team. I won’t be here for the bloodbath next year.”

“I dunno,” Laura says. “Keep playing well. Maybe there’s another year in it for you. We’re losing experience. It might be good to keep some of it if we can.”

“Meh. This year was just for fun. I don’t see myself staying.”

“Why? For real, though. You’re in good shape. It’s good money. Why?”

I make a noncommittal noise. The look on her face says it won’t satisfy the question. “I’m not sure if this is my place, you know?”

“What do you mean? It’s a team. A team is a team. Guys move around all the time. They make the best of it.”

“This one’s like a cult.” I huff a laugh as I bring my beer to my lips.

Laura takes a cheese-covered nacho from the appetizer plate in front of us and shoves it in her mouth, pulling her hand up as cover while she’s chewing. I wonder why women do that. It’s not like I don’t know she’s chewing her food.

“A cult?” she asks after finishing her bite. “How so?”

I hold my hands out toward the table. “Like this. We won a game and now we’re having a team party. It’s like we all sell widgets or something. Forced fun for the salaried folks. I hate it.”

“I don’t think this is the norm.” Laura arches an eyebrow at me. “I think this was just a home opener thing. And it wasn’t mandatory.”

“Sure, it wasn’t.”

She smirks and says, “You are as advertised , man. Tough cookie. Enjoy the widget celebration.”

I don’t ask what she means. She stands up and walks off with her drink, joining another group that’s likely way more interesting than I am. Lila is still talking to Aiden, just one chair separating us, nothing blocking my view.

What I can now see clearly is the way he leans toward her. The way he rakes his hand through his curly blond hair. He’s educated. I mean, playing hockey or no, a person doesn’t get into an Ivy League school—doesn’t graduate from one—without having some brains in his head. He probably comes from money. He’s probably a legacy. And like speaks to like, right? Lila is bright and educated. She comes from a successful family with money. She’s motivated and driven.

And they’re about the same age. They’d make a nice couple. Seeing them together reminds me of the vast difference thirteen years makes. Aiden is smooth and bright-eyed. He’s fit in that way elite athletes are when they are at their prime. And Lila is just so beautiful. It’s effortless for her to be anything but beautiful.

I want to punch Aiden Kennedy in the fuckin’ face for being so close to her right now.

I always feel this way around Lila. I’ve always felt this way. Started when she was about fourteen. By sixteen, she had my full attention. By the time she turned eighteen? I was ready to tuck her away in a tall tower somewhere, just to keep men from looking at her. For the most part, it was brotherly. Protective. She was smart and had no idea of the beauty she was growing into. She still doesn’t. And I still want to protect her. But the difference between then and now is that she’s grown all the way up. All. The. Way. And I can’t pretend I see anyone other than a beautiful woman who makes my breath hitch in my chest every time I look at her.

The thought of anyone else touching her makes me want to go full rage. Which is so stupid, for all the reasons I remind myself every single time I think of her.

I realize I’m full-on scowling as I stare at them, and Aiden notices, his mouth twitching down like he’s trying to figure out what the hell he did to deserve a Level Ten Death Stare from me. “Hey, Blackburn, way to make that puck your bitch tonight.” He raises his pint glass in a salute. “Another round?”

I drink the last of my beer and stand. “Nah, I think I’m just going to call it for the night.”

Aiden’s not the only player who adds to the chorus of “Noooo,” at this announcement, but he does tack on, “Dude, it’s a celebration. We won. You helped. Don’t be such an old man. One more beer.”

Lila is now looking at me and when I catch her eye, I see something there that isn’t hate or annoyance or disgust—all of which I’d deserve after having her find me in that bathroom. I don’t know what she’s feeling toward me, but it intrigues me enough to stay.

Aiden delivers another beer as Lila wanders over to talk to Laura at the other end of the table. She’s been studiously avoiding me since she got here, but she’s advanced to purposefully ignoring me now. It drives me nuts, and not completely in a bad way.

“You sticking around another year after this?” Aiden asks. “Be honest.”

“You angling to get rid of me so you can fight for Kazmeirowicz’s job?” I ask. “Be honest.”

White teeth, straight in the way rich-boy smiles always are, flash behind his wide grin. “Just need to know my competition, man.”

“I’m not planning on another extension. You can relax. Or, at least, not try to take me out at the kneecaps.”

There’s a bouncing dance music booming through the place as Aiden’s head and knee bounce to the beat. “You want to hit the dance floor?”

“Ha! No. Not a dancer.”

“Pfft.” He stands and says it’s time to get the boogie on. Several people stand and head out to the dance floor.

The group remaining shifts a bit, Tyler Lockhardt coming over to sit next to me, his ridiculously hot, model-looking girlfriend in tow, holding his hand. When he takes a seat, she sits on his lap. He clinks his beer bottle against mine. “Cheers, man. Nice score tonight.”

“Thanks. Good game out of you, too.”

“This is Zoya,” Tyler says. “Kolochev.”

It takes me a second to catch up. “Kolochev? Like, as in Georg Kolochev?”

“My brother,” Zoya says, rolling her eyes.

“Well, we can’t pick our family,” I say, fake grinning.

“Right?” she asks, a soft, Russian accent framing her words.

“That must make for interesting family events,” I say.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Tyler says. “Like, seriously. Georg tried to murder me when he found out Zo and I were together.”

“Real murder,” Zoya confirms, nodding vigorously. “It was not pretty.”

“I learned a whole lot of Russian curse words real quick,” Tyler says.

Zoya leans in and kisses him, and it is so ridiculously evident that these two are in love. They’re a strange match. She’s tall and thin like a supermodel. He’s big and bulky and cocky as fuck. Zoya is a lot younger than him. I don’t know how old Tyler Lockhardt is, but he’s got to be eight or ten years older than her.

“How’d you two meet?”

“We met at media night,” Tyler says. “I was looking extra sexy in my monkey suit and this smokeshow couldn’t resist. Had her hands all over me in the coat closet.”

Zoya smacks his arm, rolling her eyes. “Actually, my sister would have happily taken him to the coat closet. I was uninterested.”

“In all hockey, not just me. And I’m glad I waited. If I’d gone to the closet with Irina, she might have eaten my head and impregnated me with her eggs.”

She smacks him in the arm again but laughing as she does it. “We were friends for a while before we started dating. He was going through a lot at the time.”

“Oh, did I hear that Georg and his wife adopted your siblings or something?”

“That is true,” Tyler says, “So you probably did hear it.”

“So, all one big, happy family now, huh?”

“Most days,” Tyler says. “I still find ways to annoy Zoya’s starshiy brat .”

“Does that mean older brother in Russian?”

Zoya smiles and nods. “Yes, it does, very good. Do you have siblings, Tripp?”

“I have three brothers and a sister.”

“Are you all close?”

I shake my head. “Big family, and most of us are into sports, but we’re scattered to the wind. No big drama or anything. We just don’t talk much except for holidays and big events.”

“That’s too bad. I wouldn’t know what to do without my family, even though they are all crazy people,” she says with a shrug.

We talk for a bit about the team, Tyler giving me the most honest assessment of the team culture out of anyone so far. He laughs when I call the place a cult.

“It’s not quite a cult, but there’s definitely a vibe about it. I can’t quite explain it, but if you’re here long enough, you kind of want to be better. You know what I mean?”

“I guess.” I’m still unconvinced.

“Ownership is expecting another cup this year. And they are buildin’ up the bench behind that. So, the nutrition and the fitness and the rah-rah are all part of their vision for the future. It’s fine.” Tyler lifts a shoulder. “I mean, there are guys still partyin’ and whatever. It’ll always be that way. But the rest of the stuff, they get behind because they want to win, too.”

“I do like winning,” I answer. “I want to feel that, winning a cup.”

“It’s pretty sweet, not gonna lie.” He grins widely with a twinkle in his eyes as if he’s back in time to the night they won it.

Zoya says, “Let’s go dance, moya lyubov .” I can’t help but notice the huge rock on her finger when she stands and holds her hand out to him.

“I do love it when you talk dirty to me, Smokeshow,” Tyler says before dropping a kiss onto the top of her hand.

As they head off, Tyler turns and says, “Come on, man.”

With a heavy sigh, I follow them, stopping short of the actual dance floor, hovering along the railing. So many of my teammates are out there, having a good ole time. Aiden and Lila are dancing together. She’s doing that reserved thing she does, her arms at her sides, her movements rhythmical but controlled. Aiden is trying to make her laugh, pulling stupid faces and making silly moves. He turns around and shakes his butt at her. She grins a little, but I read the annoyance in it, too. She’s not that into this.

At one point, he grabs her hand and twirls her around. She laughs but when he pulls her close, arms wrapping around her waist, I can see her stiffen.

I’m out on the floor before I can think twice about it, shoving him off of her.

“What the fuck, dude?” he barks at me.

“She doesn’t want your hands on her. Read the room.”

Aiden scoffs. “We were just having a good time. Look it up; you might enjoy it.”

“Consent,” I snarl. “Look that up.”

Everyone’s staring at us. Aiden just shoves his hand through his hair and says, “I’m sorry, Lila. We could’ve had more fun, but you’re grounded now. Tell me when your dad lets you out again.”

He walks away and I’m thankful for it. I don’t need to be punching my teammates this early in the season. I turn to Lila, as she scowls at me, hands on her hips. “You’re not my dad,” she says before storming off the dance floor.

My head swivels back as I look up at the ceiling, at the swirling, twirling, sparkly lights. I can’t win. I just can’t. Gratefully, everyone’s back to their fun, so I push my way through the crowd, following Lila back to the table.

“Why do you keep doing this?” she asks as I approach. There are tears in her eyes. “That was so embarrassing, Tripp. I’m not a child. You don’t have to be my keeper.”

“I feel…protective. Of you.” There, I said it. It fuckin’ needed to be said.

“I don’t need a protector. I can handle myself. I learned self-defense when I was, like, fourteen. I have a mouth, and I can say no if I want to. I don’t need some over-puffed, chauvinistic man to come to my rescue.”

“Over-puffed, chauvinistic man?” I miraculously choke out her words on repeat.

“The shit that comes out of your mouth. You were not raised that way, Tripp Blackburn, so knock it off.”

I’m speechless as I take in what she just said.

The way she truly sees me.

Over-puffed? Whatever the fuck that means. Chauvinistic . I know what it means.

“I can never fucking win with you, Lila. It’s okay, though. I hear you, and I’ll do something about it. I’ll leave you alone from now on.”

I head to the bar and don’t look back.

I don’t dare look back at Lila after what I just promised her.

I just pay my tab and head out, vowing that I’ll make those words true, no matter what it costs me.