Page 40 of Tripped Up

She pauses. “I don’t know. Am I dressed okay?”

Well, if she’s asking… I trail my gaze over her thick curves, her tight jeans and sneakers, drinking in the sight of her. She’s wearing an Aces zip-up—not the kind with a guy’s number on the back, but a generic team jacket.

“Yeah, you look great,” I tell her honestly.

She bites her lip. “Most of these clubs have a dress code…”

And we’re all wearing our post-game suits.

“Don’t worry about it,” Henry says. “If you’re with us, you’ll get in.”

Elsy gives him a skeptical look.

Teasingly, I nudge her with my elbow. “You forget the draw of hockey players.”

But she doesn’t laugh. Instead, she almost looks sad. “I guess so.”

I slip my arm around her shoulders, and when she doesn’t shrug me off, I count it as a victory. “Come on, I’ll drive.”

Her brow furrows. “I’m not driving your car when you get stupid drunk. We should call an Uber.”

“I won’t get wasted,” I promise her.

I can’t look out for her if I’m drinking heavily. One, maybe two. That’s all I’ll have. I know my limits.

* * *

The bouncer lets us in with no problem. He didn’t even glance at Elsy, busy scrutinizing Puppy more closely before stamping his hand as under twenty-one. The rookie doesn’t seem to mind, too excited to be out with us. We left our suit jackets in the car and I took my time rolling up my shirtsleeves, noticing how Elsy kept sneaking peeks out of the corner of her eye. I don’t understand women’s obsession with forearms, but hey, I’ll do whatever I can to get her attention on me.

“I’ll grab drinks,” I offer.

Henry raises an eyebrow. My eyes narrow, flicking to Elsy, who’s vibing to the beat. We have a silent conversation with our eyes, a jerk of my chin, and he shrugs, before he sighs and nods. He’ll look out for her.

He may be a sleazy playboy, but he’s a good dude. Most of the time. He certainly seems to care about her, though I’ve never seen him care about anyone else before.

“Els, you drinking?” Henry asks.

“Just one.” Her eyes dart between him and me. “Tito’s and⁠—”

“Tito’s and Sprite. I’ve got you.” I know all of her favorites. She’s a creature of habit, just like me. We like our structure, our routines.

And she’s sending mine all wonky.

Henry says something to her, something I can’t hear. Evidently, she can’t either, because he leans down and speaks into her ear. She nods, and then he’s grabbing her hand, pulling her into the throng of people on the dance floor.

“So, like,” Riley says. “Is this some kind of sharing thing? Because I’ve heard rumors in the locker room…”

“Fuck off. No, you haven’t.”

“Because I thought you two were together, but now they’re out on the dance floor, and⁠—”

“We’re not together,” I grit out. Spinning on my heels, I stalk off toward the bar, and he follows close behind me.

“So why is she always hanging around?” Riley is like a dog with a bone.

“Because she wants to.”

“She a puck bunny?”