Finn, page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Books by S.R. Grey
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Epilogue
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Destiny on Ice
Copyright
Breakaway Hockey series
Hayden
Arden
Nils
Finn
Boys of Winter series
Destiny on Ice
Resistance on Ice
Complications on Ice
Caution on Ice
Player on Ice
Vows on Ice
Illusion on Ice
Forbidden on Ice
Bet on Ice
Dare on Ice
Risk on Ice
Men of Fall series
Forward Progress
Fair Catch
Eligible Receiver
Down by Contact
Hard Count
Judge Me Not series
I Stand Before You
Never Doubt Me
Just Let Me Love You
The After of Us
Inevitability duology
Inevitable Detour
Inevitable Circumstances
Promises series
Tomorrow’s Lies
Today’s Promises
A Harbour Falls Mystery trilogy
Harbour Falls
Willow Point
Wickingham Way
Laid Bare novella series
Exposed: Laid Bare 1
Unveiled: Laid Bare 2
Spellbound: Laid Bare 3
Sacrifice: Laid Bare 4
Sammie
“Bye, guys. Thanks for coming.” I lift the damp rag I’m wiping down the far end of the bar with and use it to wave goodbye to two of our regular customers as they stand and push in their stools. “See you next week.”
Ben and Jason are brothers, both in their midtwenties, like me. They’re decent dudes, and Boots—the bar and restaurant where I’m usually waitressing, but tonight am filling in for an out-sick bartender—is their faithful Thursday evening stop.
I walk down as they’re zipping up their jackets and catch Ben slipping their usual big cash tip under his beer mug.
I know the customers and their habits from bartending in the past.
Once Ben is sure I’ve seen the tip, he says, “You know it, Sammie. We’ll be here. Same time, same place.”
Catching his gaze, I mouth, “Thank you.”
He smiles and nods.
As they turn to leave, Jason calls over his shoulder, “Have a good rest of your night, girl.”
A laugh escapes me. It’s not a cheerful chuckle; it’s more of a scoffing snort. I’m glad Ben and Jason are closing in on the exit and can’t hear me, as it’s in no way directed at them.
It’s just this night.
There’s nothing about it that could ever qualify in any way as “nice.” Not with it being the anniversary of the absolute worst night of my life.
But I don’t want to think about that.
The whole point in picking up this late bartending shift, even after I already waitressed both lunch and dinner, was to keep my mind on anything but that awful evening.
So far, it’s been working.
Well, for the most part.
I’ve been fortunate that Boots has been busy all day and into the night. It’s kept me preoccupied.
But things are slowing down now. Not a surprise, since it’s past eleven, and we’re only open until midnight on Thursdays.
Two more customers pay their tabs and get up and leave. I’m down to just Old John at the far end of the bar. He’s a harmless sort, even if he does look a tad scary.
Old John is a hulk of a man with a long gray ponytail and a scruffy salt-and-pepper beard. He’ll tell anyone who’ll listen that he’s Georgia-born and raised, and that he always knew once he retired that he’d settle down here in Atlanta.
Hey, I get it. I’m from this town too. And though I have a lot of reasons to move, I doubt I ever will.
But back to Old John, which is what he prefers to be called. He was once a long-haul truck driver but has since retired. He likes the food at Boots and is always telling me we grill up the best steaks he’s ever had.
“I’ve been all over this damn country too,” he’ll always add in his smooth Southern drawl. “So I know what I’m talking about, young lady.”
Shaking my head and laughing softly, I generally tell him, “I’m sure you do, Old John. I’m sure you do.”
Our food is pretty good, so he’s probably right.
Before I head back down to the end of the bar to see if he needs anything, I take a look around the restaurant.
It’s empty now. Dinner hours are long over, and the few folks who were still here eating are gone.
I smile because, despite the occasional obnoxious patron, I really do like working here. Boots is a great place. Our boss, Annie, is the best, as is the whole staff.
And the tips are amazing.
Of course, our “uniforms”—a short red-and-black plaid skirt layered over boy shorts, a white blouse that we all leave unbuttoned down a bit, and high-heeled black leather boots—play a big part in those hefty gratuities.
And then there’s the fact we tend to attract a huge clientele of mostly men.
Big surprise, huh?
That’s okay. I’m secure in myself and wouldn’t have it any other way.
Besides, Boots has become like my second home, which is great since I live by myself and hate sitting around my townhouse feeling lonely.
Even if that is what I really deserve.
To combat this new bout of self-loathing, I tuck back a strand of my auburn hair, one that had escaped from my ponytail, sigh, and head down the bar to finally check on Old John.
“Are you good?” I ask once I’m standing in front of him. “Do you need anything?”
He holds up a dark bottle and says, “Maybe one more beer.”
He’s been here for a while, so I raise a brow. “You’re taking an Uber home tonight, right? You didn’t drive here?”
“I didn’t, and I am,” he assures me. “Uber is how I got here, and that’s how I plan to go home. So don’t worry your pretty little head about that nonsense.”
He means no harm; this is just classic Old John.
I chuckle and reply, “Okay, good to know.”
Since he likes to talk, I’m not surprised when he lifts his phone and informs me, “I actually have one of those there Ubers on the way. But it says here he’ll be another fifteen minutes. That’s more than enough time to down one more.”
“It sure is,” I agree as I reach down into the cooler under the bar and grab a cold bottle of Old John’s favorite beer. “Here ya go.” I twist off the cap and set it down in front of him, adding, “Oh, and by the way, this one’s on me.”
Smiling big, he says softly, “Why, thank you, Sammie.”
I see two new customers coming in and heading this way, so I walk back down the bar to see what they need.
Over my shoulder, I call out, “You’re welcome, Old John.”
As I close in on the other side of the bar, where the two guys have just sat down on the same stools Ben and Jason were occupying, I mutter, “Ugh.”
Not these two again.
I roll my eyes.
I’m not sure if these dudes are brothers, like Ben and Jason, or just friends, but unfortunately I know from experience that they definitely fall into the category of “obnoxious patrons.”
Just my luck that they decided to come in tonight.
They’ve been here before, to eat and to drink, and I’ve found them to be rude. They never cross the line, or else their asses would get thrown out and banned, but they give off a creepy vibe, nonetheless.
Hopefully, tonight they’ll just have one drink each and leave.
Plastering on my best fake smile, I saunter up to where they’re seated and ask what they’re having tonight.
“Mmm, maybe you,” the one with the darker hair mutters.
“Excuse me?” I snap.
They’re usually not this aggressive.
Well, one thing is for sure—I will not put up with their shit. Not tonight. I will hit the buzzer under the bar—the one that alerts our night manager, Evan, who’s in the back and doubles as a bouncer in situations like these—so fast it will not even be funny.
I guess my serious demeanor and sour look get my message across, as the jerks just quietly order two drafts that are on special tonight.
After I give them their beers, I walk down to where Old John is still seated.
I’d much rather engage in conversation with him than deal with Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, the two new names I just came up with for these clowns.
Unfortunately, though, Old John is on his
“My ride is here,” he shares as he stands and pushes his bar stool back in. “Seems like they got here a little quicker than they were supposed to. Anyway…” He sighs. “I’ll see ya later, okay?”
“Okay.” I give him a sad smile. “Have a good rest of your night.”
He walks away, waving. “Thanks, Sammie.”
And then he’s gone, leaving me with the Tweedle boys and over half an hour to go before I can kick their butts out.
Great.
Finn
It’s Thursday night, and I just left the theater, where I watched a movie…alone.
Yeah, that kind of sucked.
Sadly for me, there was no one I could find to go with. My Atlanta Thunder teammates, at least the ones who are close friends of mine, are either out of town or at home with their significant others.
I don’t have one of those.
So the choice tonight was to go see a movie alone or stay home.
My house, though aesthetically beautiful thanks to the work of a slew of professional decorators I hired not all that long ago, is just too damn huge and too fucking quiet.
That’s why the movie option won out.
Too bad the flick I picked wasn’t very good.
But still, I can’t complain.
It was something to do.
Now I need another activity to occupy my time. I’m not anywhere near tired. That’s probably because there are no games or practices this week to wear my ass out.
Unfortunately, that’ll be the case until next Tuesday, when our NHL All-Star break comes to an end.
Thank God.
I tap my fingers on the leather steering wheel of my graphite-gray Cadillac Escalade as I drive through a small stretch of businesses that are about a mile from my house.
I pass by a strip mall, a fast-food restaurant…
Oh, and there’s Boots.
I always smile when I cruise by that place. It makes me think of Sammie Monroe. She works there.
I guess you could say I have a little bit of a crush on her. She’s a friend and coworker of Ellie Troy, who dates my best friend and teammate, Nils Sten.
I actually met Sammie through Ellie, though.
It was after one of our games the two of them had attended, when Ellie brought Sammie down to the locker room.
I was immediately attracted to Sammie and made a point to chat her up a bunch. Right away, I liked that she’s kind of mellow and laid-back like me.
We hit it off, and my crush took off from there.
Now I always tag along with my teammates when they’re heading over to Boots for dinner. This way I get to see Sammie as much as possible and not look like a creeper.
Despite our casual interactions, or maybe because of them, I’d like to get to know Sammie a whole lot better.
She is just so fucking gorgeous. The best part, though, is it’s she doesn’t even realize just how stunning she is.
If she does, she sure is humble about it.
I like that, too, along with her shiny, long auburn hair, green eyes that are a shade darker than my own, hot-as-hell body, and the cute smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose.
Fuck, she is so my type in both personality and looks. It’s a damn shame she’s not interested in dating anyone. Not that I asked her out and heard it firsthand from her.
No, I checked with Nils for the 4-1-1, and he informed me that Sammie has no time for men.
“Her words to Ellie,” he said, “not mine.”
Supposedly, she’s too busy working her two waitressing jobs—the one at Boots and the other at Applebee’s.
That seems strange, though, seeing as Ellie works at the same two places in the same capacities and still had plenty of time to get to know and fall for Nils.
But hey, who am I to judge?
In any case, my crush may be unavailable, but I still fucking like her.
What can I do?
You could go into Boots right now and grab a drink.
Yeah, great idea.
Maybe Sammie is working.
If she is, not only can I say hi and talk to her some, but I can also fuel up a few new fantasies for later.
Shit.
That’s how bad I have it for this girl.
I’ve done my research, so I know she works at Boots a lot.
Dinner hours are long over, but she could possibly be helping to close up. She could even be covering for a bartender. Ellie mentioned to me once that Sammie does that a lot when the opportunity arises.
But she could be off tonight, I remind myself.
I don’t want to get my hopes up too high.
Aw, hell, whether she’s working or not, I’m going in.
I have nothing else to do, right?
Hitting the turn signal at the last minute, I swing into the Boots parking lot.
I park in a space right out front, cut the Escalade’s engine, and run my fingers through my reddish-brown hair.
Rapping my jean-clad thigh, I mutter, “Okay, let’s do this.”
Once I’m inside Boots, I scan the restaurant area. It’s dark and empty, which is no surprise.
I then shift my gaze over to the long oak bar.
And yes!
There is Sammie.
I can’t help but break into a wide grin.
As usual, she looks exceptionally tempting in that sexy-as-fuck Boots outfit.
But wait.
When I scan up to her face, it’s clear she doesn’t look too happy.
Yeah, she definitely has a stressed-out expression as she sets down what look to be two draft beers for a couple of punk-ass frat boy dudes.
Man, I hope they’re not giving Sammie a hard time.
I bet they are, based on how tense she is.
When Sammie finally glances over to the doorway and sees me, she looks surprised for a beat, then instantly relieved.
Stepping away from the frat boys, who are now busy downing their beers, she subtly jerks her chin toward them and mouths, “Help me.”
I’m a big guy and an elite athlete, so I’m not one to be messed with. My muscles aren’t just for show. I’ve thrown down on the ice many times, as well as back in my home state of Alaska, where I grew up before I became a professional hockey player.
So, yeah, bottom line is I’ll take these dudes out in a heartbeat if I have to.
Both of them too.
Damn the consequences.
First, though, let’s try the deterrent route.
Swooping in, I stride straight to behind the bar, stopping where Sammie is standing.
I give her a quick wink, like “Are you ready to play?”
She nods once.
Okay, show time.
Sammie smiles at me and exclaims in a loud voice, “Finn!”
“Babe!”
I wrap her up in a big hug right in front of the two jackasses. We’ve never embraced before, but this is for show.
Fuck, I need to keep that in mind, because I like far too much the way she feels pressed up to my body, especially when she hugs me back just as enthusiastically.
I press my nose into her hair—which smells fantastic, like fresh strawberries or something.
Finally, leaning back ever so slightly, I say loud enough for the jackasses to hear, “Hey, sweetheart, how are things going tonight? Sorry I was late getting here.”
I’m trying really hard not to notice how warm and soft Sammie’s body feels still pressed close to mine. She doesn’t need me creeping on her too. That’s why I just let go of her and take a step back.
Playing along with our ruse, she shrugs. “Things have been okay, I guess. Well…” Her gaze slides over to the two frat boys. “They were okay up until a few minutes ago.”
I side-eye the dudes, and they get real fucking nervous real fucking fast.
As they should.
Crossing my arms, which makes my chest and arms look huge, I ask them, “Do we have a problem here, fellas?”
“No, no,” they reply in unison as they shake their heads like synchronized puppets.
It’s actually kind of funny.
The one with the darker hair throws a twenty onto the bar and, standing, says, “In fact, we were just leaving.”
“Wise choice,” I mutter.
The dudes take off so fast, leaving their half-full beers, that they’re like a blur.
“Okay, that was interesting,” I say, chuckling, once they’re out the door.
Sammie’s shoulders slump as she rests her hip against the bar. “Thank you, Finn,” she breathes out. “I was holding off on bothering our night manager, but those two were beyond inappropriate.”
I look at her worriedly. “They didn’t touch you, did they?”
