Page 54 of Securing the Pucking Rebound

But tonight, rumor has it that they’re shutting down at the usual time. Rett’s planned a romantic date with his girl, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t sparking ideas of my own.

Calvin: I hear you’re not working late tonight.

I stare at my screen as my message is delivered, but the ticks never change color. I know she’s busy, but a little disappointment still trickles through me.

“You coming out with us tonight?” Sutherland, our third-line winger, asks from farther down the table. “Lovvy, Reeves, and Whit are coming.”

Previously, I’d have been all over it. But tonight, there’s potentially another option, and going out drinking with the guys isn’t sitting at the top of my list. Although it’s been the same way since my injury.

My cell buzzes in my hand, and my heart skips a beat when I see her name staring back at me.

Sienna: Closing the doors at five thirty. Won’t be an early night though.

Calvin: You need a night off.

Sienna: You’re telling me, but this place is a disaster. It needs sorting out.

Calvin: The others staying too?

I wait with bated breath for her response, ideas already spinning through my head.

Sienna: No, they’ve all got plans.

I’m unable to stop the smile that curls at my lips, and as I start tapping out my response, I can’t ignore the stare burning into the top of my head from the other side of the table.

Glancing up, my eyes collide with Rett’s all-knowing ones.

“What?” I bark.

“Who ya messaging?” he asks, turning a few more heads in my direction.

“None of your fucking business.”

Rett’s eyes narrow. He hasn’t said much about whatever Sienna could have said to Bea the other night, but something tells me he knows something, and the nosey motherfucker wants more.

“What are you doing tonight, Killer?” he asks, sitting back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest like a smug asshole.

I lower my cell, ensuring I shut the screen down so no one gets a glimpse of her name.

“Dunno. Probably just hanging out at home.”

Rett’s eyes flash with mischief. “Your home?”

“Yes,” I snap. “I’ve got some shit to do.”

“What kind of shit?”

My eyes narrow in warning. “Gotta finish knitting the baby blanket I’m making for your kid,” I deadpan.

I push to stand as the others laugh around us.

“Hey, I’m gonna hold you to that,” Rett calls after me as I storm off. “My kid wants a Killer-knitted blanket.”

“I can’t fucking knit, asshole,” I seethe before abandoning my tray and empty plate and storming out of the restaurant.

It’s not until I’ve turned the corner and taken a breath that I realize I probably overreacted.

“Fuck. Fuck,” I hiss, sinking my fingers into my hair and pulling until it hurts.