Behind the Net: a grumpy sunshine hockey romance

“WHERE DID you and Jamie go today?” Hazel asks the next evening, sitting across the booth from me in the busy dive bar.

It’s New Year’s Eve, and the only bar in town is packed. I glance around, taking in all the people, the Christmas decorations still up, and Jamie waiting at the bar to get us another round of drinks. He catches my eye, gives me a quick wink, and I automatically smile.

“I showed him around town, and then we drove into the mountains.” I bite back a laugh at the memory of his expression after I threw a snowball at him.

“He stuck up for you tonight,” she says, glancing at him. A group of guys are talking with him while he waits for the drinks, stars in their eyes.

“He did.” My heart squeezes. At dinner with my parents, they brought up the marketing job, and Jamie immediately told them how talented a singer and songwriter I was. They laughed and said it was important to have hobbies.

“Pippa has what it takes to make music her career,” he told them, and they were stunned until I changed the subject.

She leans forward, lowering her voice, and her eyes dance with teasing. “Just try to keep it down tonight, okay? The walls are thin.”

My eyes go saucer-wide, and I suck in a breath. “Nothing’s going to happen.” With everyone in the house? No way.

Her eyes roll back. “Oh, Jamie.”

I reach across the booth to cover her mouth, laughing. “Shut up.”

“Uhn, puck me harder with your hockey stick.” She sounds like a porn star, and people glance over.

I gasp with laughter. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

She bats me away, grinning.

Two big male bodies flop down into the booth on either end of us, ending our conversation.

“Happy New Year, ladies!” Hayden throws his arm around my shoulder, jostling me.

A surprised laugh falls out of my mouth. Across the booth, Rory’s grinning down at Hazel, who’s staring at him like he’s a cockroach that just crawled onto the table.

“What are you doing here?” she asks him.

“Streicher said he was taking a last-minute trip out here,” Hayden tells us. “We thought we’d pay him a visit.” At the door, half the team is piling in. “We begged the team to let us use the bus.”

I burst out laughing at Jamie’s confused expression as the guys surround him at the bar. They’re drawing a ton of attention.

Hayden tosses a coaster at Rory. “And this fucking guy likes us more than his own team.”

Rory won’t take his eyes off Hazel, and I have a feeling he knew she’d be here.

At that moment, Jamie returns to the booth with drinks. He looks at me with a begrudging expression, like he’s irritated that the players crashed our night but also secretly pleased, because they obviously consider him a friend.

“We have company,” I tell him.

“I saw.” He rolls his eyes before gesturing at Hayden to move.

When Jamie slips into the booth beside me, caging me in, he drapes his arm over the top, and his fingers brush my shoulder. Nerves skitter in my stomach and I hold down a smile. Around the bar, people glance over at us with curiosity.

“I don’t understand why you hang out with these guys so much,” Hazel is saying to Rory. She’s putting on an irritated front, but her eyes are bright and she’s having trouble meeting his gaze.

He’s looking at her like she’s the only person in the room. “I like these guys. There’s no rule that we aren’t allowed to hang out with our friends, even if they’re on another team. I just don’t talk about plays.” He tips his chin at Jamie with challenge in his eyes. “Not that that would help Streicher here. The dude could get all my strategies ahead of time and I’d still score on him.”

Jamie’s hand tightens around his glass, knuckles going white as he stares at Rory. Rory’s baiting him, trying to get a reaction from Jamie.

Half of me wishes they’d just talk about it. Or fight. Something to get it out of their systems. I doubt that would be good for either of their careers, though. Phones would be out within seconds, recording it, and it would be on the news.

My hand lands on Jamie’s thigh, and his gaze drops to mine. His jaw ticks, and I give him a soft smile.

“Ignore him,” I tell him.

He looks down at me with a small smile, and a moment later, his fingers brush my hair as he plays with the ends.

By New Year’s Eve standards, sitting in a small-town bar and listening to the house band play while drinking cheap beer is mild. Sitting here, tucked into Jamie’s side, though?

This is the best New Year’s Eve I’ve ever had.