Reforming The Playboy. Karin Baine
coughed away the sudden surge of awareness heading south of the border. It had been a long time since he’d had the pleasure of seeing a female body who wasn’t a patient, otherwise he wouldn’t be responding like a virgin seeing a naked woman for the first time.
‘I hope you’re not too tired to go Anderson-hunting?’ Although it might be better if she was. Regardless of Gray’s insistence and the prospect this could somehow improve working relations between him and Charlotte, he was beginning to have doubts this was a good idea.
He kept losing focus when he was around her, not concentrating on the game or the arrival of his VIPs but watching spots of colour rise in her cheeks as he baited her. There’d also been that moment when she’d stood up for him against Gray. That had been unexpected. From both sides.
Clearly he and his one and only friend still had unresolved issues. Although Hunter knew Gray had said those things in the heat of the moment, there was truth behind them. He’d let him down in the past and though the words had hurt, he’d deserved them and Gray had needed to say them. He just hoped now he’d got it off his chest they could move on again. He wouldn’t dwell on it when he knew how much more pain could be caused by letting a grudge fester out of control. It had already ended one career and he didn’t think he had it in him to start over again if this didn’t work out.
No, it was Charlotte’s attitude that had been most surprising when she’d been the most outspoken about his reputation so far. Perhaps they were starting to make progress after all and she was no longer seeing him as the Ballydolan Demon come to life. Whatever it was, it had felt good to have someone on his side after all this time. Someone whose opinion of him appeared to be turning and she wasn’t afraid of saying it out loud.
‘Of course I’m not too tired,’ she snapped.
‘Of course you’re not,’ he replied. For a woman who appeared so delicate on the outside she wasn’t afraid of much. He got the impression she’d trawl the whole of Ireland even if she was dead on her feet if it meant sticking two fingers up at the doubters.
‘Where do we start?’ Charlotte was back at his side, refusing to let him forget her.
‘Wherever’s within walking distance.’ He set off at a brisk pace, determined to get this over with and get back to his bachelor pad as soon as possible. Minus company.
‘How do you know he hasn’t just gone home or taken a six pack off into the woods?’ Charlotte was almost running to catch up with him as she struggled back into that hideous jacket but he didn’t slow down for her. With any luck she’d get fed up and go home.
That was as likely as Anderson being tucked up in bed.
‘I know we Canadians are a hardy lot but we’re not stupid. That would mean having to go into the bar to buy booze and take it away. Dark woods might appeal to a brooding romantic hero but he’s a hockey player, he needs to blow off steam fast.’
‘He could have gone home like any other disgruntled employee after a hard day at work,’ she grumbled under her breath, but she didn’t know hockey players the way he did.
It was much easier to understand Anderson’s state of mind when you’d been there yourself. If he was anything close to following the same pattern he himself had, not only would he be somewhere, getting drunk quickly, he’d be spoiling for a fight to unleash some more of that aggression they’d witnessed earlier.
‘It’s possible but if we’re thinking logically, there are about six bars on the route back towards his house.’ He’d asked around for details, not that there were many forthcoming. Although he knew where Anderson resided there was little information about his personal life. It wasn’t because the players were reluctant to share with him—in that respect they seemed quite open to him, probably because of his hockey background. No, it seemed no one knew much about Anderson outside the team or alcohol-fuelled nights out. That in itself was dangerous. Hunter understood only too well how isolating it could be out here with no family around to catch you when you fell and pull you up by the scruff of the neck. Perhaps if he’d had someone do that for him he might’ve salvaged something of his sports career.
‘I don’t know why they need so many pubs in such a small space anyway,’ she bristled, every inch the reluctant partygoer, and he was beginning to wonder why she was so against the idea of calling in at the local establishments when it was the obvious place to start their search.
Maybe she was teetotal, although that seemed as far-fetched out here as leprechauns and their crock of gold.
‘So you have somewhere to go when you get kicked out of the last one?’ Well, that’s how he’d treated the place when he’d done his fair share of drinking and brawling here. Strangely, it had only seemed to ingratiate him more with the locals. Until he’d taken it too far, of course, and cost them the championship.
There was a very unladylike grunt behind him but he refrained from continuing the argument. Anderson was close by, he’d put money on it. The sound of the craic coming from behind the doors and the draw of the liquor would be too much to resist.
They started their bar crawl at The Ballydolan Inn, the first dingy building no bigger than one of the nearby cottages at the bottom of the hill. Once they made their way past the smokers outside they were hit with a wall of noise as the doors swung open. The deafening roar soon died down to a curious silence as the locals eyed them suspiciously. If this had been a Western his trigger finger would be itching, waiting for someone to make their move.
Voices rumbled low but Hunter caught the mutterings about ‘that hockey player’.
He scoured the interior, imagining an angry, drunk, Canadian forward would stand out in this crowd of regulars. When he saw nothing but curious Irish eyes staring back, he was ready to leave too. He wasn’t up for another round of twenty questions about his personal life after leaving this place under a dark cloud and turned to chivvy his companion back out onto the street. ‘Let’s try the next one.’
They received much the same welcome there at The Hillside Tavern.
‘Isn’t that the big hockey fella who went nuts a few years back?’
‘Aye.’
‘Thought he’d be dead by now.’
‘Used to play hockey. No longer nuts. Definitely not dead but very much older and wiser.’
Hunter tackled the rumours head on as they flew around him.
There was much more back-slapping after that, propelling them both towards the bar.
‘Glad to hear it.’
‘Sure you’ll have a wee drink for old times’ sake.’
It wasn’t long before a space was cleared at the bar for them.
‘Your local drinking establishment?’ Charlotte mocked with a raised eyebrow, finding difficulty imagining him partying in here during his time with the Demons. In her head he’d been living it up in the clubs in Belfast or exclusive house parties for the rich and famous. If she’d known he was only down the street she might have socialised a bit more herself.
‘Once upon a time. It hasn’t changed much.’
‘I doubt it’s changed at all in the last century.’ It still had the dark wood interior she remembered, permeated with the smell of the peat fire and sweat.
‘I suppose we should really find out if there’s more than one hockey player they’ve been doling out booze to tonight.’ She was beginning to see how easy it would be to fall into the drinking culture here. Honestly, there wasn’t much else to do at night. When the game had first come here over a decade ago it had been a godsend to the young inhabitants like her, giving them somewhere fun and exciting to go without getting into trouble.
He shook hands with the landlord. ‘Sorry, not tonight, Michael, I’m still on the clock. Have you seen one of ours in here? Anderson?’
‘There was