Page 31 of He Has Charm (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
* * *
Finn picks me up and gives me a ride to O’Rourke’s place. He has a gem of a home in Charlestown not far from the Garden in a historical neighborhood of brick houses. The minute I’m let in the front door, his wife leads me back through the kitchen where the charm and chef-level equipment stun me into stopping to look around.
“The pool room is out back and through a separate entrance,” O’Rourke says over his shoulder as he pushes through the back door, but I don’t move as I look around, my eyes drawn to the Fisher & Paykel six-burner double-oven range in particular, where something is baking.
“Are we having Italian tonight?” I ask Chelsea. She laughs.
“Homemade pizza. Nothing too fancy,” she says. I take a deep breath of the garlic- and oregano-laden air, and if I hadn’t already jerked off twice the delicious scents might have gotten a rise out of me. I smile.
“Did you make your own dough?”
“No. I’m not that dedicated. Do you cook?” She eyes me with speculative interest.
“Yes. I—”
“Come on, Knight,” O’Rourke says. “You can talk food later.”
I give his wife an apologetic look.
“Later then? Captain’s orders.” I give an eye roll and she giggles as I follow O’Rourke out the door. We cross the brick patio area and take a few steps down to an ornate doorway into a dark room I’d swear was a speakeasy in a past life. I blow out a whistle.
“You need a license for this place?” I ask. O’Rourke elbows me and I nod at the others already gathered in the dark room. The walls are brick and the pool table that takes center stage must be older than dirt, a classic from an old pool hall or a Minnesota Fats movie set. The floors go from slate at the entry to dark burgundy carpeting farther in, giving the place a rich, old-world brothel vibe. Rafe and Aiden are playing pool, so I join Finn at the polished oak bar where he’s playing bartender.
“We have Sam Adams on tap or—”
“I’m sticking to ice water.”
“What’s with the jersey?” he asks as I take off my jacket. “You trying to get yourself beat up?” He grins.
“By my teammates?”
“Not us, but if you walk around the neighborhood dressed like that we can’t be responsible.” He shouts, “Hey Ryan. You got an extra team jersey lying around for this reprobate?” Ryan takes a swig of what looks like whiskey and shouts back.
“On it.” He goes through a door for a bit and I look around the space, which is set up with half a dozen barstools, a game table, and a corner with two leather couches and a fireplace. A couple of ladies sit talking amongst themselves and my conscience twinges at not extending the invitation to Harper. But we’re not together like that and I don’t want to give the wrong impression. Especially to my dick, who’s already abused and confused as it is.
“Where’s Harper?” Finn asks as if he’s reading my mind.
“Working.” I’m not lying. Finn snorts.
“That girl is a certified workaholic. We need to get her out, get her to loosen up before her life disappears and she wastes her youth on a bunch of stupid contracts.”
“Yeah, except those are our contracts she’s babysitting.”
“True.”
“She’s damn good at her job.” I don’t know why I feel compelled to state the obvious because it’s not like Finn doesn’t already know this.
“True again.” He grins at me and I cut him off before he makes a wiseass remark.
“Double or nothing in straight pool to one hundred,” I say.
“Double what?” he says.
“A thousand clams.”
He lets out a whistle. “You a pool shark or just a guy with a big mouth and a need to be taught a lesson?”
“That would be door number two. I’m learning my lesson. The Boston Brawlers are my teachers.” I grin and lead him to the pool table feeling reckless and unsettled, like my life is off its moorings. Funny, in the past few days with all the shit that’s gone down, all the changes raining on me, I haven’t felt it until now. My mind goes to Harper. Fucking Harper and her taking-care-of-business attitude. Damn it. I should have brought her with me because fuck if her presence doesn’t stabilize me, albeit in a deranged, tortured way.
