“You? No. Me. I don’t just want a turn though. I’d lock that shit down forever. Those Eaton boys take after their dad. And Harvey Eaton is a total DILF. GILF?”
“I guess we’ll see who he chooses tonight, then.” The girl who says it is trying to sound lighthearted, but I recognize the streak of venom in her voice.
They all dissolve into a fit of giggles that are dulled only by the sound of me peeing and rubbing my hands over my face.
Because it’s only Day One, and I’m already going to be called upon to help keep Little Rhett in his pants.
Back out in the bar, the flock of women have descended on Rhett and are ushering him over to a table.
I’m standing at the end of the bar, steeling myself to walk over there and make Rhett Eaton hate me more than he already does. I’ve racked my brain for something I can do that doesn’t involve me being an embarrassing wet blanket.
Kip would walk over there and dole out a firm but fair verbal spanking. But I’m not Kip. I’m a twenty-five-year-old woman who is brand new to the job and in way over her goddamn head.
What was my dad thinking?
“Summer!” I follow the sound of my name over the buzzing sea of tables toward the back couches. Beau is there, wearing a friendly smile and waving at me. The perfect out.
And I take it.
I opt to go sit there and plan rather than shoot from the hip. My heels clack against the wooden floor as I head in Beau’s direction. When I reach the couches, I see the shape of his friend sitting with him on the couch, facing away from the main floor of the bar. It isn’t until I get closer to the low-slung table between them that I get a good look at the other man. And even with a beard and cap pulled down over his face, I recognize him.
Everyone in this country probably does.
Jasper Gervais, professional hockey player. Goaltender extraordinaire. Canadian Olympic sensation. And another one of my dad’s clients, whose name I know from spending the last several summers of my life doing paperwork at Hamilton Elite.
“Summer, this is my buddy, Jasper.” Beau hikes a thumb in his friend’s direction and scootches down as I hit him with my stupid, awkward smile-greeting before I can reel it in. But I’m a little relieved when Jasper gives me a matching serial-killer smile back.
“Hi, Jasper,” I say before flopping down onto the couch next to Beau.
“Hey,” he huffs out. Clearly not chatty, which is fine by me.
“We ordered you a drink.” Beau pushes a small wine glass, full to the top, in my direction with a bit of a grimace on his face. “Thought you seemed like a white wine gal.”
Jasper chuckles and tips his beer back.
My eyes roll. These guys are having way too much fun with the city-girl jokes. The worst part is, they’re not even wrong. “Wine and tequila. But this doesn’t feel like a tequila night.”
They both laugh, and I reach for the glass of wine, praying I don’t spill it all over myself.
From here, I have a perfect view of Rhett, seated on a stool where two round tables have been pulled together. He’s smiling, talking with his hands, and my eyes trail along them, the veined tops of them, catching on the glint of silver on his finger. The ring that matches the silver cuff bracelet around his wrist.
Only Rhett Eaton could make jewelry look so goddamn manly.
Outwardly, he seems like he’s having a good time, but there’s something off about it. Something is not quite right. His face looks serene and in his element, but his shoulders are tight. There’s a set to his jaw and a pinch to the corners of his eyes. His smile doesn’t quite stretch all the way.
“You trying to cast some sort of curse on my little brother?” Beau asks, head swiveling between my face and where I’m staring.
I snort and take a big gulp of wine. It tastes terrible, but I don’t care. I need a little liquid courage. “No. I’m trying to figure out how to do my job without making him hate me more than he already does.”
“Fair. He does seem to hate you.”
“Rhett?” Jasper asks with a raised brow.
I nod absently just as Beau says, “Oh, hell yeah.”
The hockey player snorts. “Nah. That kid doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. He’s nice to everyone.”
But does he mean it? That’s the question bouncing around in my head as I watch him sit there rigidly as a woman rubs his shoulder while staring at him with hearts in her eyes.
“You think he’ll be nice to me when I walk over there and tell him he can’t take all those girls home tonight? Or drink too much?” I probably should have put my foot down on going out at all tonight. All the ways tonight could go wrong flash through my head.
Jasper scoffs and shakes his head. But it’s Beau who pipes up. “Rhett doesn’t care about taking those girls home. He’s just too nice to tell them to leave him alone.”
“Facts,” Jasper grumbles with a smirk before tipping the brown bottle back against his lips.
“If he was a prick like Jasper, he’d be fine.”
Jasper doesn’t even try to correct his friend’s assessment.
“I don’t know . . .” My nose wrinkles as I weigh my options.
It’s at that moment the server swings past. “Y’all doing okay? Can I grab you another round?”
And then Beau’s eyes light up like a kid on Christmas.
“Yeah.” He pulls a twenty-dollar bill out of his wallet and places it in the middle of the table. “I will give you another one of those for every ultra-girly milk-based beverage you take over to my brother.”
The server’s eyes widen. And so do mine.
Jasper holds a fist up over his lips and his shoulders shake. “Put an umbrella in it.”
Beau’s not done though. “And announce to the table that the drink is from his future wife and that she knows this is his favorite.”
My jaw drops as I stare at Beau. “What are you doing?”
“Pissing him off enough to drag him away from that table for you.”
I laugh. This is not the plan I had in mind. Boys.
The server nibbles at her lip, staring down at the cash as she hugs the brown plastic tray to her chest. “Is this a trick?”
“No, Bailey,” Beau answers, his voice softening. “This has nothing to do with you. All in good fun.”
She turns wide eyes on him, looking particularly young in this moment. Though I know to work in the bar, she has to be at least eighteen. “Okay. Fine.”
And with that, she swipes the cash off the table and scurries away.
7
Rhett
Kip: Talked to the rest of your sponsors today. A couple were undecided on what they’re going to do. But Wrangler and Ariat are still on . . . so long as you keep your shit together.
Kip: Hello? You going to thank me?
Rhett: Nope.
Kip: I know you love me.
Rhett: I don’t. You sicced an attack dog on me. Your princess is a real ball-buster.
Kip: Good. Your balls could use some busting.
I’m in the middle of recounting one of my most recent rides, something I actually like talking about, when a glass slides in front of my spot at the table.
My eyes snap up to little Bailey Jansen, nibbling on her lip with rosy cheeks. “This is from your future wife.” I rear back at that. “She says she knows it’s your favorite.” Bailey can barely get the words out.
I do some mental gymnastics as I glance around the table, but everyone here seems equally confused as I feel. The few men here are chuckling, but the girls range from looking confused to downright feral.
If one of them was smiling at me, I’d know it was her.
When I take a proper look at the drink, I’m even more confused.
“What is this?”
“It’s . . . um . . . a White Russian?”
My brows knit together as I stare down at the milky drink, threads of dark liquor pulling up from the bottom. What the fuck?
“Enjoy!” Bailey squeaks before peeling away. If I didn’t know she was the only good Jansen of the entire group, I’d suspect her. But the only thing I suspect is that someone else has put her up to this.
My first guess is Beau.
My eyes scan the bar for him as Laura, someone I’ve known in passing since high school, tries to flag down a server like this milky umbrella drink is an affront to my masculinity. There’s even a fucking maraschino cherry on top—plump and bright. And as I stare at it, I’m reminded of Summer’s mouth.
I ditched her and didn’t think twice about it when we got here. Not my finest moment. And definitely not a gentlemanly way to welcome her to town. I swivel on my stool, trying to see where she landed.
When I finally find her, she looks deep in conversation with my brother and his friend. They all seem relaxed, and oblivious to whatever this stunt is here. So, I rule them out. Though my eyes linger. She’s talking, and those fuckers are hanging on every word like she’s the most interesting person in the world.
And truth be told, if I wasn’t so miffed about this whole thing, I might be interested in talking to her more. She does seem interesting. There’s something intriguing about her. The way she looks, the way she talks, her confidence and spunk.