He raised his eyebrows pleadingly.
“I told you, I go by Lainey now,” she ground out. “And when you turn twenty-one, that reason will hold water. Now get out.”
When her gaze remained steely, the rookie’s voice broke into a whine. “Other bars let me in. I’ve got ID.”
Her mouth fell open as he pulled his license from his wallet and held it in her direction.
Lainey reached across the table and snatched it from his fingers. “Did you honestly just show me a fake ID? What the hell is wrong with you?” She took a step to the left and Sillinger bolted out of his chair and did the same, maintaining the distance between them.
“Dad used to let me hang out!”
“I’m sure that will look great on his posthumous father-of-the-year trophy.” Lainey feinted left again, but dodged right. Brett didn’t fall for the fake out.
“Honestly, Brett, I don’t have time for your bullshit. Now get your nineteen-year-old ass the hell out of my bar, before I make you.” Sillinger might have a couple inches and sixty-five pounds on her, but Coop’s money was on her if it came to blows.
Brett heaved a put-upon sigh. “All you do is bitch about how desperate you are for customers, and when I bring you some, you kick us out?”
“I’m kicking you out. Your teammate is welcome to stay.”
“Funny, that’s not quite the impression I got earlier,” Coop interjected.
She spared him a dismissive frown before turning her attention back to her brother. Brett’s glare deepened as they faced off from across the table. Lainey stayed cool, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms. Cooper wasn’t surprised when the kid caved first.
“Fine. You just lost our business. Hope you’re happy.”
Brett’s voice cracked a little as he threw down the ultimatum, and despite the posturing, it was obvious the kid was desperately afraid Coop wouldn’t follow his lead.
Truth be told, Cooper felt for him. It was an eternity ago now, but he’d been the same in his youth—cocky as hell, with more money than brains and a desperate need to be accepted by the team.
Brett’s gaze turned imploring. “You coming?”
The tough-guy ambivalence was ruined by the quaver in his voice.
“Give me a minute. I’ll be right out.”
The kid glanced over at Lainey, then back at Coop. His nod was resigned, and he turned to leave.
“Rookie.” Cooper held out his hand.
Brett frowned, but dug into the pocket of his jeans. “I bet you that you couldn’t pick up the girl of my choosing with a lame pickup line. You didn’t say I couldn’t know her,” he muttered, slapping the stack of fifties into Cooper’s hand before heading for the doors.
He focused his attention back on the badass who surveyed him with stormy blue eyes.
“So you’re Sillinger’s sister?”
“Half sister,” she countered, hard and fast. “We’re not close.”
Cooper smiled at the distinction. “Well, you’d be surprised how well he knows you, despite that fact.”
She tipped her chin in the direction of the wad of cash in his hand. The fact that her stance relaxed and she uncrossed her arms was not lost on him.
“You bet him you could pick me up with a bad line?”
“He bet me I couldn’t pick you up with a bad line.”
“Either way, you lost.”
Coop stood. He thought for a second she was going to take a step back, but she held her ground. He was impressed. “There’s still time to make us both winners.”
That startled a cynical laugh from her. “Anyone ever tell you how goddamn cocky you are?”
His grin was wolfish. “A few people.”
Lainey rolled her eyes, but all the disdain in the world couldn’t hide the slight flush that crept up her neck at her own word choice.
He reached out and grabbed her wrist, turning her palm up. Her eyes widened as he stroked his thumb against the vertical surgical scar there. Her pulse fluttered beneath his thumb, and before she recovered enough to pull away, he placed the two-hundred and fifty bucks in her hand and let her go.
“What’s this for?”
Cooper shrugged as he grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. “Consider it my way of making amends for being stupid enough to believe your brother when he told me he was twenty-one.”
Then he thumbed toward the table by the window. “Besides, it might come in handy when they post all those photos they were snapping to social media, in case the liquor board sees you had an underage hockey player in your bar. Take care, gorgeous.”
Cooper made a point of not looking back as he walked out.
* * *
“WHAT THE FUCK were you thinking?”
Cooper winced at the volume of his agent’s outrage. He glanced over at the clock beside his king-size bed. One in the morning. Further proof that Golden didn’t give a shit about anyone but himself.
“Did you forget how much Lone Wolf Brewery pays you to drink the bottled piss they are trying to pass off to the world as beer? Because let me assure you, the answer is ‘a lot,’ Mead.”
“I know.”
“Oh, you know? Then why the hell is the internet full of pictures of you, in a bar, holding a goddamn highball glass full of not–Lone Wolf beer?”
Cooper pinched the bridge of his nose, reminding himself that Jared Golden had contributed a lot of zeroes to his bank account and that hanging up was not in his best interest. “I didn’t drink it.”
“Oh, well, great. Then everything’s fine. I’ll just explain that to the guys at Lone Wolf. Don’t worry! Mead didn’t actually jeopardize his multimillion-dollar contract with you guys by flagrantly disregarding the exclusivity clause in his contract—he didn’t swallow!”
Cooper ran a weary hand across his face. Jared Golden in full panic mode was a lot to take. “I get photographed in clubs all the time. Holding their beer. I’m living up to the deal.”
“Jesus Christ, Coop! You used to get photographed in clubs all the time. Since you went to Portland, you’ve been MIA.”
“I’ve been a hockey player. We’re getting ready for a championship run here. I have responsibilities to the team.”
“You have responsibilities to your corporate sponsors, too! Lone Wolf isn’t the only company we’re on thin ice with. I spent all day convincing PWR Athletics that you’re still the best brand ambassador
