Talk Hockey to Me (Bears Hockey #3) - Kelly Jamieson Page 0,54

my other clients. And next weekend is the draft, so I’m going to go to that and talk to a few up-and-coming players.”

“At least you don’t have to travel far,” Hunter says. “It’s close to home.”

“Yes! Newark. That’s great.”

“Who’s having a good off season?” Ryan asks, picking up a cracker. “I mean, which teams?”

“Hmm.” Kate tilts her head and lists off a few moves that have happened and how they’ll impact the different teams.

Ryan nods. Apparently, he follows hockey, even though he’s a pro golfer. I guess with a dad and sister so involved in the business, he would.

“You didn’t want to play pro hockey, Ryan?” I ask.

“Nah. I like golf.”

“Good thing you’re better at golf than you were at hockey,” Kate says.

Ryan just laughs. “I was a great hockey player.”

“Actually, you were pretty good,” she admits grudgingly.

Another beer later, the door opens again and we all turn.

“That must be Dad,” Kate says. “We’re in the kitchen, Dad!”

A moment later her father strolls in. I’ve seen Joe Bridges many times, but haven’t actually met him. Kate introduces us and I’m treated to a bone-crushing handshake and another inspection. “Hunter. Nice to meet you. Enjoying my daughter?”

I blink.

“Dad!” Kate’s mouth falls open.

Ryan’s shoulders shake with laughter, his head bowed.

“I mean, enjoying Chicago,” Joe says quickly. “Shit.” His face reddens.

I bite back my grin. “Haven’t seen much so far. You have a great house.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” He clears his throat. “I’ll have one of those beers.”

Kate fetches him one from the fridge. Joe sits on a stool. He’s casually dressed in a pair of khaki pants and a golf shirt. His mostly-gray hair is combed back from his forehead, a gray moustache and beard grizzle his face, and he too has the same blue eyes as Ryan and Kate behind a pair of black-framed glasses.

“Where’s Jenelle?” Kate asks casually, picking up another cracker.

“She’s busy tonight. Her sons have taekwondo testing tonight. We’ll all go out for dinner tomorrow.”

Kate blinks. “How old are her sons?”

“They’re ten. Twins.”

She looks at me, then back at her dad. “How old is Jenelle?”

“She’s thirty-nine.”

Kate swallows. “Oh.”

I think Kate said her dad was the same age as Vern, which is sixty. That’s a bit of an age difference, but hey, they’re mature adults, who cares?

Kate, apparently. “Oh my God, Dad.”

“What?”

“She’s twenty years younger than you.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, she is.”

Ryan has his lips sucked in to keep from laughing. “You dirty old man, Dad.”

Joe laughs at that, luckily. The air has thickened with tension, but most of it is coming from Kate.

“We’re going to need more booze,” Kate says. “We drank all your beer.”

“I’ll go to the store.” Ryan stands.

“I brought something. It’s in my suitcase.” I stride out of the kitchen to where I left our bags. After quickly zipping it open, I retrieve the bottle of Macallan Sherry Oak that Kate told me her dad likes and return to the kitchen. “This is for you, sir. Thanks for having me this weekend.”

Joe takes the bottle with an approving nod. “The good stuff.”

“That shit tastes like my golf socks,” Ryan says. “What do you want to drink, Hunter? Beer? Hey, come with me.”

I glance at Kate. She lifts a shoulder, so I agree.

Ryan and I head out. Kate and I rented a car at the airport, and so did Ryan. He offers to drive, so we jump in and cruise to a nearby liquor store.

“Thirty-nine,” Ryan says as he drives. “Wow.”

“Ten-year-old twins. That must be…uh, fun for your dad.”

Ryan chuckles. “Yeah, it’s been a while since he had a ten-year-old. Jesus.”

We buy some beer and I grab a couple of bottles of wine in case Kate doesn’t want to drink beer.

As we walk down the street to where he parked his car, Ryan says, “Hey! The Royal Tuba!” He points at a neon sign above a door. “Let’s go in and have a drink! For old time’s sake.”

“Uh, sure.” Old times for him, I guess.

I follow him inside the tiny, dark bar. Like, honest to God dark. I’ve never been in such a dark place. What the fuck is happening in here?

My eyes adjust as we head to the bar and order beers. There are some pinball machines at the back, which Ryan checks out once we have a beer in hand.

“I haven’t played pinball in years,” I say.

“I was a pinball wizard.”

I laugh, but he’s serious, eyeing the machine with focused intensity.

“Hold my beer.”

Uh-oh. Ryan gets into a determined game of pinball. When it’s done, he