Puck Princess (Houston Scythes Hockey #2)

26. Owen

26

OWEN

“What I wanna know is why are we sitting here at Pour Boys like a bunch of poor boys when Rodger Santos basically named a club after us downtown?” Kason is already drunk, and we’ve only been here for an hour.

I want to point out that he’d be out four times as much money if he’d gotten drunk at The Jaguar, but the only reason I’m here at all is to foster some goodwill. Setting off Santos isn’t the move.

Not that setting him off is hard.

Spencer slaps his hand down next to his second beer of the night. “I said the same thing. Why not go to the party hub of the Scythes and get a real party started? Instead, we’re at this dive.”

The waitress overhears him as she sets down a basket of fries and makes no effort to hide her offense. The next drink out is going to have spit in it, I’m sure.

I offer her an apologetic smile and make a mental note to tip her well.

She smiles back. “Can I get y’all anything else while I’m here?”

“Another round of beers. On me.” Spencer’s voice carries through the whole bar. He’s never quiet, and alcohol turns that dial up to eleven.

Spencer carries on, talking about himself and his daddy’s new club. To spare everyone the gruesome sight of me quieting him with the dirty bar towel, I take a private trip to the bar.

The waitress is filling two pitchers for our table. I make a point of reading her name tag. “When you have a second, Rachel, can I get a shot of bourbon?” Spencer’s laugh echoes through the bar, and I grit my teeth. “Make that a double.”

Rachel smiles politely. “You got it. In fact, I’ll grab that first. I think your guys need a break between rounds.”

“Sorry about them. They’re good guys. Mostly.”

She pours the honey-colored remedy that is going to chill my nerves and make Santos moderately more tolerable.

She pushes the glass towards me. “This one’s on me.”

I take it and pass her a one hundred dollar bill. “And that’s on me.”

“Hey, Sharpe!” Dax shouts. “Quit harassing the waitress so she can bring us our beer. We’re dry over here.”

I sigh, but Rachel just smiles. “Let me know if you need a refill. I’ll keep ‘em coming.”

I’d like to see any of the servers at The Jaguar dole out service like that. This place may be a dive, but the people are nice. They know how to take care of customers and mind their business. Plus, I’m not worried pictures of the guys drunk and flipping over tables will be all over the internet in the morning.

Spencer taps the side of my glass as I sit down. “My beer not good enough for you?”

“I needed something a little stronger.”

And as the pitchers continue to flow, everyone taking stumbling steps towards getting more and more shitfaced, my need for something a little stronger only grows.

“Here’s what I wanna know…” Heath slurs. “I’ve been playin’ for the Scythes for three years now?—”

“Two years,” Kason corrects him.

“Two years and some change… and no one even knows who I am.”

“That’s because you have to be good at hockey for anyone to give a shit.” Dax jabs him in the ribs, and Heath sloshes beer down his shirt.

He elbows him back, sloshing more beer. “Fuck you, bro!”

Everyone laughs, and even I join in this time.

Rachel did as she promised and kept the bourbon coming. I might be a little buzzed, but what’s the harm in that?

“I mean, I don’t know if you have to play well to get attention. As long as you know the rules of the game. Isn’t that right, Santos?” I ask, pouring myself a beer.

Spencer’s eyes narrow. “Which game, Sharpe? The one you and I are always facing off in or the fine game of hockey? Either way, you suck.”

The guys laugh and cover their mouths. There are a few muffled ooohs , but this is still within the bounds of good-natured shit talking. Only I can sense the venom in his words.

“Let’s clear the air.” Lachlan waves Spencer and I in closer. “Let’s get it all out. Whatever beef y’all have needs to be aired out so we can keep it off the ice. If the two of you hotheads learn to play together, we might win more games.”

“I don’t have any problems,” Spencer grins.

“Of course, you don’t. Daddy pays for them to go away. Is that why he’s trying to buy the Scythes? To make sure you have a bench to warm?”

Spencer’s smile slips for all of a second before he recovers, pretending to laugh it off.

Lachlan carries on, talking about the goalie for the Mohawks and his torn ACL. “We were already going to wipe the ice with them, but it’ll be a massacre if their backup is in the net.”

Spencer turns to me, talking under his breath for the first time all night. “I might have used my dad’s money to get on the team, but you’re going to need my dad’s grace if you want to stay on the team.”

I swivel my chair to face him, remaining neutral. Lance is the only other person close enough to hear anything, and he stiffens. Probably expecting a fight.

Maybe it would’ve gone that way a few days ago. But right now, Spencer looks every bit as pathetic as he is.

“That sounds like a threat.”

“It’s more than a threat. When my dad buys the Scythes, you’ll be nothing more than last season’s wet dream.”

I hop up from my stool. Lance follows.

Spencer and I square off for a moment—just long enough for me to see the flicker of fear in his eyes. Then I smirk, shaking my head. “Not worth it. You, Santos, are not worth it.”

I walk around him, making sure our shoulders don’t even bump. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of being able to say I started a fight.

I close out my tab, feeling oddly good about this night. Callie didn’t want me to go out. I think the only reason she finally decided to spend a night at her new place is because she didn’t want to witness the aftermath of a night out with Spencer Santos. I can’t seem to be within five feet of the asshole without wanting to skin him alive.

But tonight, I’m walking away.

He wants to start shit and cause drama, but the team has had enough of it. I’m the leader the team needs, and I’m proving it right now.

As I’m pocketing my card, cheers erupt from the table behind me. I also hear Lance curse under his breath.

Still, none of it prepares me for what I find when I turn around.

Miles is standing in the doorway of Pour Boys, a wide smile on his face that I immediately want to rip off.

He’s being greeted like a war hero, clapping people on the back and shaking hands.

The only time his mood dims is when he looks up and sees me at the bar.

I don’t see anything.

Between one blink and the next, I cross the room and slam Miles into the wall. “What the fuck are you doing here, Solomon?”

He should be in jail. Or the ground. I’m not picky.

Miles must remember the way our last fight went because his throat bobs against my forearm. “I was invited.”

I’m about to ask who would be stupid enough to invite Miles when Spencer’s voice breaks through the noise.

“Glad you could make it, Solomon. Take a seat.” Spencer pulls out the chair next to him.

“Santos and I go way back,” Miles explains.

“Come on, O.” Lance tugs on the back of my shirt, but I don’t cede an inch. “Let’s go.”

“You can’t be here,” I growl.

“Is Summer here?” He makes a show of looking around for her, and I could strangle him just for that. He’s never going to lay eyes on my sister again if I have anything to say about it.

When he doesn’t see her, he shrugs. “Summer has the restraining order; not you. As long as she isn’t here, I can do whatever I want.”

I slide my forearm another inch higher, enjoying way too much the way he chokes. “After what you’ve done to two women I love, you can’t even breathe near me.”

I’m prepared to see that threat through to its natural conclusion, but suddenly there are two sets of hands on my shoulders, pulling me off.

“Easy, O. Not here. Not now.” Lance’s voice is calm, but again I don’t care.

I lunge for Miles, but Lance and Dax drag me back.

“Time to get an Uber and go night-night,” Dax jokes, and I could hit him too.

But then they’re shuffling me out the door and onto the sidewalk. The fresh air does actually clear my head slightly.

I shrug them both off.

“I’m fine,” I bark out.

Lance doesn’t look convinced. “Are you, though? Because you look like you’re about to commit capital murder.”

Dax hands a twenty to somebody standing on the sidewalk and then holds open the back door of a Honda Civic for me. “This kind gentleman is going to let you have his Uber.” Dax looks over his shoulder at the man. “Thank you, sir. You’ve saved a life tonight.”

Lance is right. I want to turn around and kill Miles.

But I also want to climb into that car and head straight to Callie.

I know she’s fine. Miles is in the bar behind me. He can’t hurt her or Summer. But there’s an itch under my skin to be with her, to touch her and taste her. To make certain that she’s perfect.

I stalk towards the car with a growl. Lance tries to clap me on the back, but I shrug him off.

“You’re making the right call.”

“Shut the fuck up.” I slam the car door closed.

The driver glances nervously in the rearview mirror. “I don’t have your address in the app. I’m not supposed to— I can cancel that other ride and you can?—”

“Heights Boulevard, just off the ten,” I snap.

Before he can argue, I toss another hundred into the front seat. Spencer Santos is onto one thing, at least. Money solves a fuckton of problems.