Clint blinked, then looked at Hotch. “What just happened? Moose doesn’t even like me.”
Hotch grinned and chuckled. “Nope, but he really doesn’t like people messing with his teammates. Liking you isn’t even a factor. His team, his people.”
“Huh. Go figure.” Clint shook his head and moved over to the faceoff.
His opponent grinned at him as he approached. “Fido, is it?”
“So?” Clint shot back, not particularly inclined to take anybody’s trash.
His tone had zero effect. “Charlie Dance. Played you back when I was with the Cyclones.”
Clint had no memory of that but nodded anyway. What was with the small talk?
Dance’s smile didn’t waver a bit. “Welcome to the big leagues.” He gestured to his cheek. “You’ve got something on your face there.”
Clint glowered as he got into faceoff position. “Shut up.”
What. Was. That?
Bree sat in her brother’s rental car, staring straight ahead, barely blinking.
She’d done nothing but go from seated to standing about three thousand and forty-two times in the last few hours, her voice was hoarse from cheering, and her eyes actually hurt from straining to see, even though they’d had good seats.
She’d been to enough sporting events in her life to be pretty good at catching things, but this was another animal entirely.
The speed of that game had left her exhausted and exhilarated and, she admitted, a little lost.
Ryker had talked her through parts, but then they both got so caught up in the game that instruction went out the window. She got the gist of the game, but the specifics were nowhere to be found. Not that it mattered all that much; she just preferred understanding what she was seeing.
How in the world did anyone play anything at the speeds she had seen today?
And Clint . . .
Clint had been amazing.
Her lungs hurt just at that thought, let alone at the memories, and she rubbed at her chest as if that would help.
“Heartburn?” Ryker asked as they pulled into the parking lot.
“Huh?” She shook herself and looked over at him. “What? No, just tired.” She forced a smile. “I haven’t yelled like that in a long time.”
Ryker coughed in mock distress. “What? You don’t scream your head off at my games?”
Bree raised a brow at him. “No one screams in baseball the way people screamed tonight.”
He seemed to consider that. “I guess that’s true. Well, maybe not true, but you certainly feel it more at hockey, huh?”
“Acoustics, if nothing else.”
Her brother was silent for a moment. “Man, that was intense. Clint looked great, didn’t he?”
“Sure did,” she said, maybe too quickly.
Drat.
She looked out of her window, the curve of her index finger flying to her top lip as though she were thinking.
In truth, she was finishing her sentence in silence.
Sure did. He looked REALLY great.
He looked attractive. He looked impressive.
He looked amazing.
By the third part of the game, whatever that was called, she wasn’t even trying to pay attention to anyone else on the ice. She only really cared about where Clint was, how Clint was playing, and if anyone else was going to crash him into the side of the rink, whatever that was called, like the filthy animal had in the first part.
She’d cheered especially hard when Clint’s teammate had delivered an amazing retaliatory blow to the guy late in the first part of the game. He’d also gotten a penalty for it, but the Hounds hadn’t scored during the powerplay, so it was fine.
Powerplay. Of all the terms to remember, that was it?
She was such an amateur.
Like an embarrassing amateur.
She could ask his five-year-old nephew to teach her hockey, and it would be an education.
Rubbing at her brow, she bit back a sigh as Ryker turned into a parking spot. As much as she loved the Six Pack, as great as it had been to hang out with them in the stands tonight, she really didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want to be at a late-night dinner with a big group, fun as they were. She didn’t even want to hang out with the McCarthy clan.
She just wanted to see Clint.
And it scared her that it was all she could think about.
They’d been out three times between the basketball game and tonight, and each time had been fantastic. Nothing monumental, nothing even particularly special. Two days ago, they’d just grabbed some ice cream after she was tired of studying for an exam.
They’d talked for two hours after they’d finished the ice cream.
She had never just talked with anyone like that, especially a guy. She wasn’t the most social person, it was true, but she kind of hated talking just for the sake of it.
Talking with Clint didn’t feel like talking.
Listening to Clint didn’t feel like a chore.
Being with Clint . . .
Well, it wasn’t like being with anyone else.
What a flipping cliché.
“Ready?”
Bree nodded and unbuckled her seatbelt, opening her door and stepping out without a word. How was she going to do this? How was she going to get through this entire crazy meal without putting her foot in her mouth or being noticeably silent or crawling across the table to kiss Clint right on the mouth?
The curb bashed into her toe at that thought, and she stumbled, her brother catching her arm before she could actually fall.
“Whoa there, sis,” Ryker laughed, steadying her.
Bree exhaled slowly. Get it together. She cleared her throat and grinned at Ryker somehow. “Did you see that curb jump in my way?”
He grinned right back. “Yeah! What gives? Stupid curb should watch where it’s going!”
“Honestly.” She snorted, even as her heart pounded unsteadily.
That was close.
She felt all of fourteen years old, and she was suddenly desperate for her deodorant, a toothbrush, and some scented lotion.
Why had she never actually gotten around to making the emergency refresher kit she had thought about so many times?
Maybe Ryker would take her to a drugstore really quick . . .
He opened the door to the steakhouse, gesturing for her. “After you, milady.”
She inclined her head very regally and marched by him. “Thank you, sir.”
Ryker snorted, then came to her side, draping his arm across her shoulders. “Ah, it’s good to see you, Bree. I miss you.”
Bree smiled and leaned her head on him as best as she could while walking, slipping her arm around him and patting his back. “I miss you too, dork. Season’s over; you could come see me more.”
He glanced down at her. “With my wife’s shooting schedule?”
“Are you a wealthy professional athlete married to a Hollywood actress, or aren’t you?” she demanded without shame.
“Point taken.” He pulled her in closer and kissed the top of her head before ruffling her hair. “I’ll figure something out.”
Bree shoved away from him, biting back an almost curse word her roommate was particularly fond of as she ran her hands down her hair to smooth it, flicking the miraculously still-curled ends a little to bounce them. The one time she actually did something to her hair, and she had spent hours in a crowded arena sweating with thousands of others despite the cold. Her hair was probably frizzed to the point of what-do-you-call-that-hairstyle by now.
“Hair’s nice,” Ryker commented at just the wrong time. “You do something to it recently?”
Scowling at him, Bree collected her hair in one hand and draped it over her left shoulder, away from him. “I did my hair. That’s what it is.”
He held up his hands in defense. “Okay, sorry, just asking.”
She made a face and walked ahead of him into the back room they’d reserved.
“BREE!” came
a wall of sound as she entered, startling her.
“Oh my gosh, seriously?” She looked around at the group of them, shaking her head. “I literally just saw all of you. Why would you do that?”
“It’s just so much fun!” Sawyer explained, coming over to give her a quick hug. “You have the best name for cheers.”
Bree raised a dubious brow. “You need to get out more. Before Erica pops.”
He shrugged happily, his impending fatherhood seemingly not terrifying him. “What do you call this trip?”
“I have no idea.” She moved away from him to Rachel, who wore a similar expression of longsuffering tolerance.
“Hi,” Rachel sighed, looking as tired as Bree felt.
“Save me,” Bree groaned, pulling out a chair and sinking into it. “Why do we get dragged into these things?”
“Because we’re their family and they love us,” Rachel recited, just as someone had inevitably said every time that question had been asked. “Diet Coke?”
Bree nodded emphatically. “Please.”
Rachel picked one up from a nearby tray on a tall table. “I ordered some ahead. Preemptive strike.”
“Bless you.”
They shared similar smiles while the Six Pack proceeded to behave like hyper teenage boys.
Typical.
“How did you marry one of them?” Bree asked when Cole suddenly howled like a coyote.
Rachel sighed. “To be fair, I didn’t marry that one.”
“Points to you, but still.”
“Eh. Grizz is hot, and I fell for it.” She pulled out the chair next to Bree and sat down. “How’s life? We didn’t get to talk at the game.”
Bree shrugged, making a quick face. “Fine. School and stuff, but I’m almost done. Clint coming to town is a highlight.”
She bit her lip hard at admitting that. Rachel might be a friend and a fellow Six Pack Sib, but she was also Clint’s sister-in-law, of all things.
If Rachel suspected anything by that, she gave no indication. “Clint’s great that way,” she admitted to Bree, smiling softly. “Really good about putting people at ease. Might be a McCarthy trait, actually. David’s amazing at it, and the others . . . I don’t know, his parents are that way . . . ”
“You’re that way . . . ” Bree broke in, her tone taking on the same list-like note Rachel’s had.
The addition earned Bree a quick smile. “Thanks, babe. Maybe it comes with marriage.” She leaned back, her eyes widening as she looked at Bree. “You know, Chicago’s a quick train ride, if you need a weekend away.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Bree murmured, considering the idea.
Then she remembered.
“Well, like I said,” she added hastily, “Clint being in town helps. Gives me something to do outside of school.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
Oh crap.
“CLINT!”
Bree turned to the front of the room as the guys cheered in welcome. Clint walked in with his parents, grinning and raising a hand to slap high fives with everyone. His hair was damp, his black T-shirt perfectly fitted, and the cut on his cheek wasn’t bleeding, even if it was visible. It was already starting to bruise, but it gave him an almost-dangerous look. An edge.
Something virile.
She swallowed harshly. “Did the kids go back to the hotel?” she asked Rachel with as much innocence as she could manage.
“Yeah, it’s too late for them.” Rachel grinned quickly. “Emily and Eric were pretty mad, but they’re the oldest, so . . . ”
“And will Uncle Clint or Uncle Grizz be making it up to them?”
“Probably. They usually do.” Rachel rolled her eyes, though her smile was warm and affectionate.
“Okay,” Clint said over the noise of the others, “can we eat? I’m starving.”
“Get the man a steak!” Axel bellowed playfully.
“A raw one,” Levi suggested, leaning back in the chair he sat in. “For his shiner.”
The room reacted in varying degrees of appreciation, but for Bree’s part, it wasn’t very much. Attractively dangerous edge or not, that hit to the face had scared the life out of her. Seeing the cut now made her wince just as much as it made her strangely proud.
Clint gave Levi a dark look. “Your lady give you that tip, Steal? She’s the tough one, I hear.”
Cole whooped loudly at the comeback. “Shots fired! I got fifty bucks on Fido!”
“A hundred,” Grizz and Sawyer said at the same time.
“Come on,” Rachel groaned at her husband and her brother, not bothering to distinguish between which one annoyed her most.
Levi only grinned, which was one of the rarest sights in existence, and shrugged. “So what if she is? I’m man enough to admit it.”
“Ten points to Levi,” Bree said without thinking.
All eyes moved to her in an instant.
Levi beamed at her. “I love you, kid.”
“Great,” Bree replied, her cheeks coloring at the sudden attention. “You can buy me dessert.”
“Happy to.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Ryker interrupted, waving a finger in the air. “We compliment our ladies, and you get dessert out of the deal? When was this arranged?”
“Sit down, Rabbit,” Grizz groaned as he sat beside Rachel, resting his arm on the back of her chair. “If you ask really nicely, someone might compliment you, and then Bree can support it, and maybe she’ll share second dessert.”
It was the most perfect thing Grizz could have said, and suddenly everyone was complimenting each other ridiculously, nobody remembering Bree’s part in it, so the attention was removed from her.
Her cheeks were still hot, and she put a hand to one, silently breathing to try to cool them down.
She glanced down the table to find Clint staring at her, not talking to anyone at all and smiling very softly.
Fire started down at her toes, but her lips didn’t seem to know that as they smiled back at him.
Which made his smile grow.
Which made the fire worse.
She grabbed for the Diet Coke on the table ahead of her, her fingers slipping on the condensation at first, then, with another almost curse, she snatched the glass and sipped through the straw deeply. Gulping down the carbonation without tasting or thinking, she looked over the menu, trying to ignore how her chest hurt for the full course of that swallow.
Stupid carbonation.
Everything she read blurred together as one in her mind as she wondered if Clint was still watching her. This was nuts; she wasn’t this nervous to see him any other time. They’d been ridiculously comfortable together, and she hadn’t felt the need to pretend anything or put on a show.
She didn’t need to have it all together for Clint.
Until now, anyway.
Her fingers drummed against the hard plastic cover of the menu, looking up as the server entered, her stomach rumbling. “Chicken tenders with honey mustard, side of mac and cheese, and can I also get a side salad with ranch?” she recited when asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Bree exhaled as he moved on, glancing at Rachel. “Apparently I’m eight years old in my dietary preferences.”
Rachel shrugged. “I got a BLT and fries. No judgment here.”
This was why she loved Rachel. Kind of hated her for the kind of body she could rock while eating whatever she wanted, but when one considered the hours of work Rachel put in as a professional dancer, it seemed fair enough.
“Clint,” Grizz suddenly called down the table. “What’s eating Zamboni? You guys get into it earlier?”
Bree’s attention flicked down to Clint, whose smile faded.
“It’s been a few years, Grizz,” Clint replied without emotions. “People change.”
There was a definite note of finality in his words, and no one could miss it. He didn’t want to talk about the hit or the guy who had delivered it.
Why? If they knew each other, why wouldn’t he ta
lk about it? That would have been something fun, a photo op, at least.
But that hit had been anything but fun.
It had been ugly.
And the table felt it.
Clint wasn’t looking at anyone anymore, just down at his knuckles, and it made Bree want to hug him for some unknown reason.
“How did it feel, Clint?” she asked, her voice tight with other questions she would much rather ask.
His eyes raised to hers, almost wary.
She let herself smile, her hands clasping together between her knees. “Being out on the ice tonight. Your first game as a Hawk.”
His slow smile curled the ends of her hair and the walls of her stomach. His eyes never moved off of hers, and they might have been alone in someone’s living room.
She wished they were.
“Amazing,” he said softly, and for a second, she forgot what she had asked him. “It felt amazing.”
Yeah. Yeah, it did.
A slow exhale escaped her, almost a sigh, her smile gentling. It had felt amazing to be there, to watch him, to know him off of the ice after seeing him on it.
The whole thing had felt amazing.
Still did.
“On a scale from zero to riding the Scrambler after three corn dogs,” Cole began in an almost-serious tone, “how close to upchucking were you before the faceoff?”
The room erupted with laughter and groans, and Clint’s smile turned into a full-on grin as his attention moved to Cole. “Why do you think I skated around the rink so many times? Nice cool breeze settles the stomach.”
“That must be why Axe Man takes so many practice swings before he bats,” Ryker mused aloud with a sage nod. “Nerves. Gets him every time.”
“Hey!”
Bree laughed with the rest of the group as they all settled in for the meal, individual conversations taking place now instead of a mass one. She preferred it like this.
“Bree.”
She looked over at Clint’s mom in surprise. “Mrs. McCarthy?”
She smiled indulgently. “You can call me Aubrey, sweetie.”
There was no way she could do that, but Bree smiled anyway. “Okay.”
Mrs. McCarthy’s smile spread. “We’re going to be in town as often as we can for Clint’s games, and we would love to take you out whenever you’re free.”
“Oh, you don’t have to!” Bree shook her head. “This is time for you guys. I don’t need to . . . ”
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