Faceoff (Northbrook Hockey Elite Book 1) Page 4

  She grinned as she saw the pile of dipping sauces for Penny, and she wished she’d thought to bring her jacket so she’d have pockets to carry them in. Thankfully, they slid a bag across the surface too.

  Trying to get out of the way of others, Bree loaded up the package of candy atop the popcorn, where the edges of the bag would keep it from falling, and put the churros in one hand; she’d have to use spare fingers and balance for the five different dipping sauces.

  She’d look crazy, but that was fine. Nobody she knew would judge her for this anyway.

  Turning from the stand, Bree started her way back towards her section, focusing on the food in her hands with the intensity she usually saved for Ryker’s baseball games or her school projects.

  This, unfortunately, led her to almost slam into a very tall man in a group of other tall men.

  “Oh, heavens, I am so sorry,” she managed, fumbling awkwardly with trying to put the sauces in the bag the stand had given her.

  “No sweat, pet,” came his easy reply. He caught one of the sauces as it tumbled off of the others. “Whoa there! Got your hands full, don’tcha?”

  Once, Bree might have been embarrassed by the statement, but now she just smiled and let him help put the sauces in the bag. “So would you, if there were five dipping sauces for fresh churros.”

  She finally looked up at him and nearly swallowed her tongue. The tall, tanned, gorgeously featured blond-haired, blue-eyed, white-teethed man with exceptional shoulders was grinning, but that grin faded quickly as her words sunk in. “They have what?”

  Then he was gone, brushing by her to the concession stand, his friends laughing almost deliriously after him.

  “Mario!” one of them called. Then he chuckled and stepped forward to Bree, his unruly sandy hair almost falling into gray eyes. “Sorry, ma’am. Mario’s Canadian, and I’m not sure he’s quite grasped the rules of politeness.”

  The darkest of the guys whacked this one on the arm. “Hey! I thought Canadians were nicer than Americans, Fig.”

  “Then I have no explanation whatsoever.” Fig winked at Bree, which made her smile, not that she felt particularly flirted with, but she felt more like she was with the Six Pack.

  Which left only one conclusion.

  “And what sport do you all play?” she asked without any hesitation whatsoever.

  A few sets of eyes widened, and they all smiled. “How’d you figure that, ma’am?” the one who had hit the other asked, sliding his hands easily into well-worn jeans.

  Bree raised a brow. “Wild guess. And experience with this bizarre pack mentality. Rivals a fraternity, resembles a family, right? Gotta be a team, and if I’d hazard another guess, I’d bet you’re either minors or pros, whatever your sport is. Dressed too nicely for college, too fit to be pickup, and that one’s still got red in his cheeks. It’s not cold, so you must have had practice earlier.”

  “Where did you come from, and are there more of you there?” a third one asked, darker than the rest and grinning with a knowing smile that could have made any girl a bit dizzy.

  Just not Bree.

  She grinned right back. “I came from section 102, and there are two others there. But if you want food, get it now; the churros won’t last long.”

  “She just invited us along,” Fig stage-whispered to the others.

  “Does she know how dangerous that could be?” the dark one whispered back.

  “Maybe she’s a fangirl,” the other joined in.

  Bree laughed now. “Not a fangirl, don’t know any of you, and I’m not about to be particularly impressed. My brother’s an athlete, and I know the type all too well. You’re safe with me, and I promise I am safe with you.”

  The nearest one, who had hit the other, leaned closer, trying for a seductive look and failing. “And how do you know?”

  “Because she’s a Six Pack Sib, Junior,” a new voice announced. “She’s got her own security team on speed dial.”

  Bree turned, and her mouth dropped open without shame. “Clint?”

  His very McCarthy-brother grin was fixed in place, lopsided and eye-crinkling, and the sight of it did a funny thing to her stomach. “Hiya, Bree.”

  “Holy crap!” Without thinking, she shoved the food into Fig’s hands and practically ran to Clint, throwing her arms around his neck while he picked her up in the biggest bear hug she’d had in years. “How did I completely forget that you were here?”

  Clint groaned and put her back down. “Because I’m a complete loser and didn’t claim a dinner when I first got to town. My bad, I owe you.”

  Bree rolled her eyes and stepped back. “Yeah, cuz it’s not like you’re busy or anything, Mr. Pro-Hockey Stud.” She glanced down at his shirt, then flicked her eyes back up, smiling further. “Nice shirt.”

  He looked at it, then at hers, and laughed once. “You too.”

  “Fido, this is adorable, but could we please have some introductions?” Fig called out.

  “Fido?” Bree mouthed, raising a brow.

  “Later,” Clint muttered, turning her to the others so they were side by side, their Belltown shirts proudly blazing. “Bree, that’s Jack Hotchkiss, Ryan Figaro, Jimmy Rodgers, and Cal Watterson. Maurice Reynolds is at concessions. Hotch, Fig, Junior, Cal, and Mario.”

  Bree snorted to herself. “I can figure all of that out except for Mario. What’s the deal there?”

  “First day on the ice, he comes in wearing a Mario T-shirt, and Coach couldn’t remember his name.” Cal shrugged. “Called him Mario, and it stuck.”

  “Figures.”

  Clint cleared his throat. “Guys, this is Bree Stone.”

  Two pairs of brows shot up, while her name had no impact on the rest. “As in Ryker ‘Rabbit’ Stone?” Fig asked in an almost-reverent tone.

  “That’s the one,” Clint replied. “And no, she will not get you his autograph.”

  Fig’s face flushed as the others gave him some good old-fashioned ribbing.

  “Thanks,” Bree told Clint quietly.

  He gave her a brief wink. “I got you.”

  Only then did Bree realize that Fig held all of the food she’d just bought for herself and the others. Her cheeks heated. “I’m so sorry, Fig. Let me take those back.”

  She took them before he could say anything resembling a refusal. “No probs,” he said easily, whatever starstruck attitude Ryker’s name had given him gone now. “I think you’ve tempted me to get a churro myself. What’re the sauces?”

  “Cream cheese icing, chocolate, chocolate caramel, white chocolate peanut butter, and salted caramel,” she recited, not bothering to hide how hard it was to recall them. “My roommate wants to try them all.”

  Fig grunted in evident satisfaction. “As well she should. I’m getting some stuff. You guys going with Bree?”

  “Is there room?” Clint asked her. “You are literally the only person I know in St. Louis that isn’t on my team.”

  That was oddly adorable, and Bree smiled at him. “There’s room. A row of at least eight empty seats behind me and the girls. We can fit you all.”

  “Perfect!” Cal clapped, then rubbed his hands together. “Let’s goooooooo, Lumberjacks!”

  “No,” Bree and Clint said together, making each other laugh.

  “What?” Cal cried out, looking between them both. “I can cheer for them!”

  “Not like that,” Clint told him. “Come on, you’ll hear how it goes.” He took the churro sauces from Bree without asking and gestured for her to lead. “After you, Breezy.”

  Bree shook her head, grinning helplessly at him. “It’s really good to see you, Clint.”

  He smiled back. “Same to you. We gotta catch up.”

  She eyed him for only a moment, the thought sinking in with some serious resolution. “Yeah,” she agreed with a nod. “Yeah, we do.”

  Bree Stone had never looked like that.

  She couldn’t have.

  Bree Stone was just a kid, a teenager with her nose in
a book that only came down when her brother was at bat. A funny kid, for sure, and a favorite of the entire Six Pack.

  She was not a stunning beauty that stopped him in his tracks and had worked over his teammates in three minutes flat just by being herself.

  Except the moment Clint had seen her, he’d known exactly who it was.

  Somehow that only made it better.

  As he followed her to the seats at the MSSL arena, his hands still holding the insane amount of dipping sauces for the churros, Clint’s mind raced. He needed to calm down, be himself—but cooler than himself—except not too cool, because Bree knew him.

  Bree knew him.

  Well, sort of. They’d been awkwardly grouped with the other siblings of the Six Pack madness, and that tended to form a bond when in the same place at the same time. Siblings in the spotlight left the others without any attention, and it was a strange feeling.

  Clint and Rachel had been closest in age of the group, along with Levi’s brother, Rhett. Bree had been a few years younger but had always been around, so her age hadn’t really come up among the group. Axel’s sister, Silvia, was the youngest, but she was still occasionally in touch, mostly when Axel did something only other Six Pack Sibs would understand. Sylvia’s texts were always hilarious, but it had been a while since she’d sent something out.

  Rachel was now Clint’s sister-in-law, so he saw her all the time, and she had a completely different set of problems being a Six Pack spouse. Rhett was doing computer programming somewhere, and he’d set up their online group, usually moderating from wherever he was. Clint hadn’t seen him in years, but they messaged pretty regularly.

  Which pretty much left him and Bree.

  Bree and him.

  They’d both worn Belltown shirts despite not being Belltown alums. They wore almost the same shirt too. His was two years older than hers, and that was all.

  They were both in St. Louis. Had he remembered she was here? Had someone mentioned that?

  He felt strand after strand of connection forging between Bree and him as they walked, though she wouldn’t know anything about it. She was the only person outside of his team he knew here, and he was seizing upon that. He would take every advantage of that.

  Would he do that if she hadn’t grown so incredibly attractive since he’d seen her last?

  No clue.

  Did it matter?

  Probably.

  “Okay, here we go, guys,” Bree announced with a tilt of her dark ponytail. “And I apologize for my roommates.”

  Clint and the others chuckled. “Why?” Clint asked, following behind her as his teammates moved into the row just behind.

  Bree glanced over her shoulder with a wince. “Well . . . ”

  “Holy crap!”

  Clint coughed in surprise at the completely suggestive tone.

  Two girls stared at the newcomers with gaping jaws. The taller one, a blond, reached for the popcorn and chocolate from Bree, but her eyes never left Cal. The shorter redhead scanned the rest in succession.

  No one looked at Clint.

  Except Bree.

  “Bree,” the redhead gasped. “Babes. You brought all the goods back from concessions. How much do I owe you, and would you like it in tens or twenties?”

  Bree’s cheeks flamed and she turned to Clint, grabbing the sauces without meeting his eyes, then shoving them into her roommate’s hands. “Sauces. Cream cheese, chocolate, chocolate caramel, white chocolate peanut butter, salted caramel.”

  “Eeny meeny miney moe,” came the breathy reply. “Hi, hotties. I’m Penny.”

  “I’m Amy,” the blond one said to no one at all, a glazed-over look falling across her features.

  Cal, ever the social butterfly, sat in his seat and leaned forward, hand extended. “Hi there. Cal Watterson.”

  Penny seemed to snap out of her daze, her eyes going wide. “The hockey player?”

  Cal grinned crookedly. “The very same. You find yourself surrounded by a swarm of Hawks, ladies. That okay?”

  Penny scoffed and waved a hand. “Swarm away, babe. Sit, sit—we’re getting stares.”

  And like that, they all sat and chatted without hesitation.

  Bree looked at her roommates, at Clint’s teammates, then at Clint. “That was mortifying.”

  Clint grinned and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. The guys love attention, and they’re used to it.” He nudged Bree just a little. “Kind of like traveling with the Pack, right?”

  As he’d hoped, Bree rolled her eyes and settled into her seat. “Very much so. I swear, it’s like being with a rock star whenever I go out with my brother.”

  “Same. I don’t mind being the ‘other’ McCarthy brother, if it saves me from that attention.”

  “Dude! Jack Hotchkiss! Oh, no way, and Fig too!”

  Clint winced and leaned forward, rubbing his hands over his face. “And that attention.”

  The crowd around them began to realize who was among them, and soon autographs and selfies were being requested.

  Not from Clint, of course, but his teammates were being bombarded.

  “Good grief,” Bree muttered, leaning forward to match him and leaning closer as she was jostled. “Is it always like this?”

  Clint shrugged. “Can’t say we’ve done that much outside of practice and games, and I haven’t played yet, so . . . ”

  “Why not? I thought Ryker said they wanted you to start right away.”

  “They do, but they wanted me to get into a rhythm with the team first.”

  Bree frowned at that, her brow furrowing. “That doesn’t sound typical. Don’t they normally just toss you in and say, ‘Ready, go,’ and you deal with it?”

  “Pretty much,” he admitted, applauding with the crowd over something happening on the court. “Coach Singleton is a little different. He likes a cohesive team and focuses on building that rather than just having players out on the ice. The season is still early, so he wants me to build a rapport with my line before I’m in it.”

  “And how’s that working out?”

  Clint smirked and jerked a thumb behind him. “Hotch and Fig are my wings.”

  Bree glanced behind him, then snickered. “Oh boy. Lucky you.”

  “Yep. Winning.”

  He watched as she slowly rubbed her hands together, her attention now on the game. “Ryker said he and the guys are coming out for a game.”

  Clint nodded, trying to focus on the game himself despite his attention wanting nothing more than to stay with Bree. He could handle a bit of distraction for a while, if for no other reason than to rearrange his mind back to its usual function.

  “Yeah,” he said when he realized he hadn’t answered her. “Grizz says they’re all coming out next week.” He shrugged. “It’ll be great to have them, but it’s not like I’ll be able to enjoy it.”

  Bree gave him a sidelong look. “Why’s that? You know them; they’ll take you out after the game and make a big fuss.”

  “Right, right, and then what?” He glanced at her, raising a brow. “Before, the focus would have been all on them. Now?” He pointed a finger at himself.

  “Ohhhh. Ick.” Bree made a face that had Clint chuckling. She was one of the only people that would have that reaction, and he loved it.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You don’t want to be the next big thing?”

  He shook his head, still smiling. “Nope. Well, if I earn it, maybe. But not as an accessory to the Six Pack, you know? And having them be there is just going to drag the spotlight over to me, and what’s that going to do except bring attention to my playing?”

  A roar from the crowd around them pulled them both back to the game on the court for a moment, his teammates roaring with approval behind them.

  Clint checked the scoreboard, grunting at the tied numbers. “Doesn’t look like either team is running away with this one.”

  “Clint.”

  He looked back over at Bree, who was giving him a very bemuse
d look. “What’s that for?”

  She smiled, almost like she was laughing at him, but just to herself. “You’re a professional athlete, and now you’re playing at the highest level. You’re going to get attention, and probably a lot of fans.”

  “I know, it’s just . . . ” He sighed, fighting for the words that he hadn’t confided to anyone yet. “I just want to play, Bree. I’ve always just wanted to play.”

  “You are playing, and you will be playing. You just get to be on TV now.” She nudged him, making him smirk. “Smile for the cameras, Clint.”

  He rolled his eyes, forcing a grimacing grin for effect. “Cheese . . . ”

  Bree nodded in apparent approval. “Very good. Put that on the cover of Sports Monthly.”

  “Will do.”

  “Nah, Fido’s a page-six piece. Maybe a footnote.”

  Clint looked up at Mario wryly as his teammate reappeared with armfuls of food. “At least I make the issue, Mario. When was the last time you did anything noteworthy?”

  The guys crowed with appreciation at that, nudging and razzing each other to the delight of anyone around them.

  “What was that you were saying about being part of the team?” Bree asked him with a smile as she took a bite of her churro.

  “These clowns?” He glanced back at his teammates, then at Bree again. “Nah. It’s easy to horse around with them. That comes with dying on the ice together. But I’m not worried about the rest of it. It’ll come together, and we’ll see what happens when it does.”

  Bree raised a brow as she swallowed. “That’s very fortune cookie of you. You believe it?”

  Clint laughed, then made a face. “If I say it enough, I just might. But enough about me. What about you? How’s school?”

  “Why does everyone ask that?” Bree mused aloud, heaving a sigh that he didn’t understand. “It’s the strangest question. How’s school? Well, the buildings are falling over, but we’ve been doing drills, so . . . ”

  “I hate when buildings fall.”

  She gave him a look. “Funny. Do you want to know about my grades? My program? My social life? I’ve been recently quizzed on this by Ryker, Trista, and my parents, so my answers are prepped.”