Page 8 of Trouble
He isn’t wrong. Interacting with anyone, let alone the media, all but makes me break out in hives. But Shawn was an All-Star pitcher for LA for years until his career ended after a car crash, so it’s hard to wrap my head around how little he likes the media.
“You coming to Thames?” I ask, flipping off the overhead lights in the bay.
He shakes his head. “Jules needs help getting ready for the morning rush. It’ll be a madhouse with so many visitors in town.”
His girlfriend owns a bakery and makes the most incredible donuts. I should tell Melina about them. Or ask Shawn to set some aside. Shit. I should have thought of that beforehand. If I get called out tonight, there won’t be much for her to eat in the morning. I grip the back of my neck to ease the tension there. Dammit. Maybe I should head to the grocery store now and stock up.
I blow out a breath, willing my anxiety to abate. “Think you could set aside a few tonight? I can send one of the rookies over to pick them up in the morning.”
Shawn claps me on the back, his smile easy. “You got it.”
Once he leaves and the place is quiet, I head out into the crisp winter night. Most of downtown is walkable, and the bar parking lot is likely a zoo, so I make my way on foot.
Due to our location near the water, we rarely get snow, but the scent of cold lingers in the air, signaling that we could get a dusting.
I dig my hands into my pockets, hunch my shoulders to protect myself from the cold, and nod to people as I pass. Most know who I am, and the faces are familiar to me since I’ve lived here my entire life, but I’m a man of few words, and people tire of trying to make conversation with a wall.
Most of the storefronts are dark this late. Only the bars on Hope Street create a buzz of noise. As soon as the harbor comes into view with the bar lit up against the dark water, I pick up my pace.
It’s as if my body knows everyone inside is having fun. Everyone is laughing. Cade and Melina are laughing. And I’m missing it.
As I step inside, the music and loud chatter drown out all my thoughts. I search the bar for Cade, his hockey players, or my firefighters, but it’s Melina who catches my attention. She’s bythe bar, surrounded by a group of men, her tongue poking out from one side of her mouth as she studies something with great effort.
She flicks what appears to be a quarter, and the crowd around her cheers. She squeals in delight, and her cheeks lift. I’m halfway to her when a set of hands circles her waist and lifts her up into the air. I’m about to reach for the guy, push him off, when I realize it’s Cade. He’s shed his Bolts sweatshirt, and now he’s in nothing but a black T-shirt, jeans, and his signature backward Bolts hat.
Melina, who’s now dangling over his shoulder, her legs flailing, smacks his ass repeatedly. “Put me down!”
“No can do, rock star,” he yells with a slap to her ass. He spins in a circle, practically walking right into my chest.
I put my hands up to keep him from crashing into me.
His grin widens. “Dec,” he yells, clearly already buzzed. It’s not surprising. Cade is a fun guy, and he’s charming as fuck. This is his MO. I’m not even a little surprised that he’s got an international pop star in his arms after knowing her for only a few hours.
Melina peers around one side of him, still upside down, and grins at me. “Hi, Chief.”
Maybe it’s the way she saysChiefor the slight flirtation to her tone. Maybe it’s her position, draped over Cade’s shoulder. Or maybe it’s how Cade is gripping her thighs and wearing a big smile. Regardless, I can’t help the way my lips twitch. “I see you’re going to be trouble.”
She pushes out her lower lip in a mock pout, but before she can reply, Cade walks away.
“Come on,” he calls over his shoulder. “The guys have a table by the fireplace.”
I follow him through the crowd, not at all surprised by the way it parts as we go. Melina peeks up at me and winks, then pinches Cade’s ass. He swats her again, and I cough out a laugh. Like he’s surprised by the sound, Cade eyes me over his shoulder, though he keeps moving.
He stops in front of an oversized booth where Brooks Langfield and his fiancée Sara sit on one side, and Aiden and his wife Lennox sit on the other. As soon as Lennox spots us, she’s scooting over and patting the vinyl cushion. “Put her here.”
In one quick move, Cade drags her down his body, then spins her ashe drops into the seat. As he settles, she’s sitting on his lap, his hand splayed across her stomach.
“You think you raised enough money?” Brooks asks as I drag a chair from a nearby table and situate it at the end of the booth. Brooks is the Bolts’ goalie and so very unlike his oldest brother, Beckett. He’s always smiling and chatty.
“If we didn’t, I’m sure your brother will cover it,” Cade answers for me, his thumb stroking along the skin just above Melina’s waistband. Every time his finger moves up, her shirt shifts.
“The surprise performance by Mel and Lake didn’t hurt. The holiday music was genius,” Lennox says.
A blush creeps up Melina’s chest at the mention of her name. She turns away from Lennox and into her own shoulder, her head on Cade’s chest, and her green eyes catch mine.
With her lip caught between her teeth, she gives me a soft smile.
I shift in my chair, uncomfortable with her intense focus on me. I like watching her, even when she’s sitting on his lap. Maybe because she’s on his lap. But I don’t like being watched.