by Sophia Henry
“There’s a strategy, my dear,” Mindy says. “It’s a marathon, not a sprint. You have a drink, maybe a few waters in between, walk around until you’re hungry, then duck into a place to grab some food.”
“I’m glad I have an experienced guide for my first world’s largest pub crawl.”
“It takes practice. Last year I got so sloppy drunk I was peeing in an alley before five.”
I laugh and shake my head before dismounting, completing a half spin before landing on my feet.
“But don’t worry, Bree. I’ve matured since then.”
“God, I hope so. I take care of enough people at work. I don’t need to do it on my days off, too,” I say to tease her, but I’m only half-joking. After years of administering to the sickest of sick children, holding a drunk girl’s hair back doesn’t bring out my sympathetic side.
At the end of the park, we cross over Church Street and enter a small bar called Valhalla on the corner. I’ve been here once before, because it’s so close to my apartment. I’m not normally a junk food person, but I did try the Loaded Loki Fries last week when I stopped in after my first day of work. I hadn’t eaten anything during a full day of training and meeting patients, and I needed a guilty carb fest.
Who knew waffle fries topped with Jarlsberg cheese, sweet corn, pineapple, and jalapeños could be the most amazing flavors ever put together? The dish normally comes with ham and bacon as well, but I nixed those and it was still amazing. The extra time at the gym in my apartment building the next day was well worth it.
As soon as we walk in, my eyes are drawn to a lively group of people wearing the official pub crawl T-shirts standing around a high-top table. A gorgeous girl with a dark, shampoo-commercial-perfect mane notices us immediately and calls out, “Hey Mindy! Come on over.”
Mindy grabs my hand and leads me to the table. She gives the girl a hug before introducing me by saying, “This is my friend, Bree.”
I look around at the group during a chorus of “Hi, Bree!” and finally look at the guy I’m standing next to.
Holy shit! It’s Jon Snow in the flesh.
I’m taken aback by his smooth, youthful face and the amazing wavy brown hair that hangs just past his ears, which makes him look like Kit Harington when he’s playing his Game of Thrones character, Jon Snow. Except I’m pretty sure he’s one of the hockey players Mindy mentioned we’d be meeting, not a member the Night’s Watch.
Once introductions are over, I’ve learned everyone’s names and how they match up. Auden and Aleksandr are married, and Kristen and Pavel “might as well be married,” according to Mindy. The sexy Jon Snow look-alike’s name is Luke, but I don’t know who he matches up with, since there isn’t another girl at the table. Maybe she’s in the bathroom. Or maybe he and Mindy are a couple?
But then she would be standing next to him and he would’ve been the one to call out to her, right? I realize I’m overanalyzing things, but that’s not unusual for me, as assessing and analyzing is an important part of my job.
“We just finished our drinks and were waiting for you to head to the next bar. Is that cool?” Kristen asks.
Mindy and I both nod and follow the group outside. The sun beats down on my face, warming my skin, and I can practically feel the freckles popping across my nose and cheeks. The comfort reminds me of home.
I follow Auden across Brevard Court, the cute little strip of restaurants and shops, to a bar called the French Quarter. With such a promising name, I’m expecting that unmistakable and funky New Orleans vibe, like I just stepped in from Bourbon Street.
No such luck.
“Well, this is a bit disappointing,” I say out loud once we’re inside.
“Why?” Luke asks.
His voice startles me, though I knew he’d been lagging a few steps behind the group, holding his phone to the sky. I wasn’t sure if he was taking photos of something or trying to get a better signal. Either way, I shouldn’t be so aware of his actions after just meeting him. I don’t want him to think I’m a creep.
“Have you ever been to New Orleans?” I ask.
Luke nods. “Multiple times.”
I watch as our friends try to wiggle through the crowd to get to the bar, and quickly decide hanging back with Luke is the better choice. “Then you know what I mean.”
“Oh!” He looks around the restaurant, as if noticing the disappointing decor for the first time, or maybe just seeing it from a newbie’s perspective. His head bobs up and down. “Yeah, it’s definitely not authentic.”
Panels of frosted glass adorned with the French Quarter lion logo and classic Greek drama comedy and tragedy masks hang above the gorgeous oak bar. The frosted glass is encircled with stained-glass flowers in bright purples, golds, and greens. It doesn’t look New Orleans–ish at all, but at least the colors are correct.
“I mean…” I point to the wall across from the bar, where there’s a sketch of buildings on Bourbon Street with a random strand of purple beads hanging from one corner of the frame.
“Hey! They have masks,” Luke quips.
He’s right. On the wall next to the sketch are a few random Mardi Gras–themed masks, complete with brightly colored feathers. Other than those types of things scattered about, it’s pretty nondescript.
“It reminds me more of Greece,” I say, though there’s no conviction in my voice. “Or maybe a Greek interpretation of the French Quarter.”
Separating the bar area from the restaurant seating is a half wall painted in the colors of the Greek flag: cyan blue with white panel molding.
“Have you ever been to Greece?” Luke asks, mimicking my New Orleans comment to him.
“I have,” I say quietly. I hope my assessment of the restaurant didn’t sound snooty, because that’s not how I intended it to come out. Maybe I should temper my expectations of Charlotte. I already know it’s no L.A. or New York.
“Really?” Luke pulls back slightly as if surprised. “That’s a bucket-list trip for me.”
I don’t like to brag about the vacations I’ve taken with my family, but I’m not going to lie about places I’ve been either.
Before I have a chance to say more about it, he nods to the bar, where our friends have found a spot to stand. “Kristen’s been there, too. She’s Greek. Probably why she always drags us here.”
Speaking of Kristen, we both turn when we hear her voice ring through the crowd. “Luke! Bree! Get over here and toast with us!”
“What are we toasting?” I ask Luke as we inch closer to our friends.
“It’s not an occasion. The Russians toast to everything. Gribsy brushed his teeth this morning! Hey!” Luke lifts an invisible glass. “Varenkov blinked. Hey!”
I giggle. “Life is meant to be celebrated.”
“She’s exactly right,” Aleksandr says, handing me a shot of clear liquid, which I assume, without trying to sound stereotypical, is vodka, given the present company. “But the toast is always the same. “Za zdaróvye! Which means—”
“To your health,” I finish.
Luke flinches at my words as if they’re offensive, but Aleksandr’s eyes widen and his lips pull into a smile.
“You speak Russian?” Aleksandr asks, in English, thankfully.
“No, but one of my father’s best friends is Russian, so I’ve heard the toast before.”
No reason to mention that I had broken up with Arkady Stepurin, the son of dad’s aforementioned best friend, a few weeks before making the decision to become a traveling nurse and get the hell out of California. It’s much simpler to reference dad’s connection instead.
Despite coming up through the USA hockey system, and playing in the NCAA after that, Dad has friends in every league and every country. He and former Anaheim defenseman (now assistant coach) Igor Stepurin became close quickly. Igor played with the Ducks his entire career and Dad knew guys on the team. Those connections, along with their mutual interests in outdoor activities like hiking and water sports, created a friendship that
’s still going strong.
As their bromance blossomed, Mom and Anna, Igor’s wife, were thrown together whether they liked it or not. But Mom is an opportunist—in the best way possible—and she roped Anna into being the “face” of multiple Healthy Girl advertising campaigns. That business relationship helped seal their friendship. When we moved to our current house, Igor and Anna bought the place next door the day it went on the market. The Stepurin family and ours are intertwined in so many ways.
Which made leaving town an absolute necessity after finding out Arkady had cheated on me when he traveled to play at away games. It’s not like I was head over heels in love—or all that surprised—but no girl ever likes to be used, and having been together two years, ours had been my longest relationship. Betrayal is going to hurt no matter what, but—to add another layer to the almost incestuous relationship—Arkady is also my brother Mason’s best friend.
In hindsight, I never should’ve gotten involved with someone who was so tied to our family. But how could I not? Falling for the literal boy next door is straight out of a romance novel. Though I’ve used the last few years to focus on my career, I’ll be the first to admit I want the love story someday.
But not with a hockey player. I’d sworn them off after Arkady.
Dad and Mason gave me an insider’s eye into the mindset and priorities of a professional athlete. His career—and quest for being the best—comes before everything else. And if a woman wants to be with him, she has to want to be there for the ride. She has to understand that he will be gone most of the time. He will have complete focus on the game, a borderline cockiness, and the selfishness—maybe even loneliness—that comes with that profession.
That’s not the life I want. I want someone who can have a career, but always put our relationship first. A job should be the means to have the kind of life you want, not what you put ahead of everything and everyone. It may be my own selfishness shining through. I have dreams and I don’t want to sacrifice those for someone else. In my ideal relationship, we should be able to grow and we would pursue our life goals together.
I totally understand why mom didn’t want to be a hockey wife.
Luke takes a half step closer to me, to accept the shot Pavel hands him, which gives me an excuse to check him out again. Both of his lean, muscular arms are covered in tattoos. Full sleeves, I’m sure, though I can only see the parts not concealed by his T-shirt. Bits of ink creep out of his collar, and it’s so fucking hot I want to lick every ink-covered inch of him. I’m curious to see what else he has under there—maybe piercings?
A jolt of lust makes my skin tingle at the thought of the places Luke might have piercings. With all the crazy things that run through my head, sometimes I think I should’ve been a writer instead of a nurse.
Once everyone has a shot in hand, we raise our glasses and Pasha says, “Za zdaróvye!”
To which everyone replies with the same thing, except Luke, who says, “Hey!”
“No Russian for you?” I ask him as I lean over and slide my empty shot glass onto the bar. When I straighten, I make sure to brush my arm across Luke’s stomach. He then scans my body with a sexy smile. His gaze stops at my chest before coming back up to my eyes and I almost wish I’d taken a pair of scissors to my T-shirt and modified it like Mindy did. I’m not lacking in the boob department.
“I never say it right, so I stopped. I think they appreciate that I quit butchering their native tongue.”
Lust swirls in my belly. After being the object of his wicked appraisal, I’d let Luke Daniels butcher me with his tongue. Whatever the hell that means.
After the French Quarter, we hit two more bars, both of which are located in the same courtyard. After drinks at both places I’m feeling a bit of a buzz. When we stumble out of Hooligan’s, a small soccer bar, Mindy insists we head to the Epicentre, which is a large complex of restaurants and things to do, like see a movie or go bowling. I’m interested to see what it’s about, since I haven’t gotten to that part of the city yet.
At first I thought a crawl with twenty thousand people would be overwhelming, but hanging with a small group and doing our own thing is a great way to experience it. I like that it allows me to get a glimpse of multiple places in a short time. It helps me decide where I want to go back to and where I can skip.
The guys lead the way, cutting through Latta Arcade, the indoor shopping area reminiscent of arcades in England, to get to Tryon, the main street running through downtown Charlotte—or uptown Charlotte—which is what locals call the downtown area.
As we walk, my head swivels from side to side taking in the vibe of the city. The streets are a sea of matching green pub-crawl T-shirts, ebbing and flowing with each traffic light. People in Charlotte city center who aren’t wearing the shirt are few and far between—as if they missed the memo. I never would have guessed this sleepy little city was a hot spot for St. Patrick’s Day.
“Let’s do karaoke at Howl at the Moon,” Kristen proposes.
“No!” Auden says, quickly vetoing her friend’s suggestion.
“When do you ever not want to sing?” Aleksandr asks her.
“I never said I didn’t want to sing,” Auden explains. “But Howl is gonna be crazy today and we’ll never get called. We’d have to go to Lucky Lou’s to even have a chance.”
Kristen leans toward Mindy and me and explains, “Auden was in a band.”
“So was I,” Aleksandr says.
“That doesn’t even count. It was only for one song,” Auden responds, lifting one finger in the air.
“It was an important song.” He kisses her forehead and Auden snuggles under his arm.
Their interaction is sweet, but I’m completely confused by their entire exchange.
Suddenly, I hear a deep scratchy voice in my ear. “They’re talking about life before any of us knew them,” Luke explains.
Every time Luke speaks, a shiver ripples down my spine. His voice is pure sex. And there’s no question the alcohol I’ve consumed is loosening up my morals, because I can’t think of anything except screwing this dude I just met, which is totally crazy.
“I knew them then,” Kristen corrects him. “It was back when we were in college.”
“All of you went to college together?” I ask. It doesn’t seem likely, but who knows.
“Auden and I did. We met Aleks at a bar during a winter break,” Kristen tells me.
I nod in understanding at the connection. “And you met Pasha through Aleks.”
Kristen bursts out laughing, which replaces my short-lived sense of understanding with more confusion. “How I met Pasha is a story for another time. We’ll get dinner soon and I’ll tell you the entire thing.”
“Jesus,” Pasha hisses. “Can we get back to finding a place to go?”
“Good idea,” I agree, since I’m completely lost as to why he’s so pissy about Kristen telling me the story of how they met. Maybe he doesn’t like it when she talks about their relationship. Some people are super private about personal details. Or maybe it’s because we’re standing in an extremely busy part of Charlotte during a pub crawl with twenty thousand people. That could be part of the reason, too.
“So is the other karaoke place on the crawl?” I ask. I’ve never heard of it, but I’ve only been in town a few days. Today’s event is perfect, because it’s my first real walk around the city.
“Lucky Lou’s?” Kristen asks. “No, it’s on Park Road close to all the Montford bars.”
Being in a group of people who know each other and the city definitely has its upside, but it also has the I-have-no-clue-what’s-going-on side, too. The confusion must show on my face, because Luke answers my question before I even ask.
“Montford is an area of Charlotte with a group of bars and restaurants. Not as many as Uptown, but it’s another spot you can walk around and hit some cool places,” Luke says. Every time he explains something I feel like he’s my personal guide to Charlotte.
Actually, havi
ng him as my personal tour guide sounds like the best idea ever. The cloudier my head gets, the more the first place I want him to take me is to see the view from his bed.
“Cool,” I say with a nod. Every time Luke speaks, I’m surprised. His face is smooth shaven, which makes him look young, but the deep timber of his voice suggests maturity. The slightly crinkled skin at his temples and purple circles underneath his eyes hint at the experience behind that deep, hardened voice. It seems like he’s always on alert—and tired of it. I want to know why he’s like that.
After I fuck him.
“Let’s skip the Epicentre,” Pavel suggests. “It’ll be a shit show over there.”
Mindy, who has had her head down while texting furiously throughout the conversation, looks up. “I’m meeting someone at Mortimer’s.”
“Nolan?” Kristen asks. I have no clue who Nolan is since I barely know Mindy and she hasn’t mentioned a Nolan in the few days we’ve worked together.
“Yes.” Mindy’s cheeks flush when she answers. Then her eyes immediately drop back to her phone.
Kristen puts her hand on my forearm and says, “That’s her hookup. He’s a drummer in a local metal band and a tattoo artist. I think he works at Common Market, too.”
“Oh, wow,” I say, impressed. I’ve always had a penchant for hardworking rock stars. “Get it, girl.”
“Do you want to head over there with me?” Mindy asks.
I hesitate before answering. I know she’s asking because she doesn’t want to ditch me after inviting me to the pub crawl with her, but I don’t really want to be the third wheel. At the same time, I just met the group we’re with and feel a little weird staying, since I don’t know them.
“Why don’t you hang out with us?” Kristen suggests quickly.
“I don’t want to impose,” I say, even though I totally do.
“We’re supposed to make random friends today. It’s a pub crawl rule.” Kristen says and winks at me.
“You’re welcome to come with me,” Mindy says, though I can tell she appreciates Kristen’s offer.
Less than a week ago, I packed two suitcases and moved to Charlotte for this assignment without ever having set foot in this city before. The whole reason was to meet new people and enjoy new places.