I’m not sure what it is about hockey players, but they are seemingly all ruggedly good-looking. He introduces me first to Jim, who is clearly the eldest of the group. He has dark brown hair and equally dark brown eyes but a classically handsome face. When he shakes my hand, he gives me a warm smile.
Bain greets me with a hug. It’s short with a quick release, and I can bet a million bucks he has no problem getting women. As a defenseman, he’s enormous, probably topping out close to six foot seven. He has shaggy blond hair that comes almost to his shoulders and light brown eyes. His best feature, though, by far, are the dimples on each side of his mouth when he smiles.
Lastly, I’m introduced to Jett Olsson. I immediately dub him the Casanova of the group. There is no handshake or friendly hug. Instead, he takes my hand and brings it up to graze his lips across my knuckles. He’s the typical Swede with light blond hair, which he wears cropped short, and the most amazing light blue eyes I have ever seen.
“Kane didn’t tell us how gorgeous you were, Mollie,” he murmurs, voice made ten times sexier by his faint accent.
Before I can even respond, Kane says, “Just shut it, Jett. She’s far too smart to fall for your crap.”
Tilting my head up to Kane, I give him a coy smile. “Oh, I don’t know. I don’t know a woman in the world who doesn’t mind being called beautiful.”
Jett gallantly tucks my hand into the crook of his elbow, then motions toward the table. “Then come sit near me. I’ll keep your ears filled with sweet nothings all night.”
I snicker, glancing back at Kane. He opens his mouth, poking his finger in repetitively to mimic vomiting. Jim and Bain laugh, and we all move to take seats around the table. Jett, of course, pulls a chair out next to his. I gladly sit down. I’m up for some fun tonight and at the very least, I’m sure he’s going to be entertaining.
A waitress materializes instantly—one of the perks of being with a bunch of famous hockey players—and Kane and I order beers, then open the menus to take a peek.
After our choices are made to give to the waitress when she returns, the men start peppering me with questions about the friendship I have with Kane. Whether he’s playing it up or not, Jett is especially attentive to me.
After they seem satisfied—as well as a bit mystified that Kane and I are indeed only the best of friends—they start drilling me about my occupation.
Like most folks who learn what I do for a living, they’re fascinated to learn about a woman who travels around the world in a van with her dog and nothing but her wits, confidence, and a little bit of luck to survive.
I answer most of their questions.
“How do you afford to do this?”
Sponsors. Lots of generous sponsors who pay me money to mention their brands, as well as travel magazines I write for. I’ve become an influencer, and there’s good money in it. I have a nicely swollen retirement fund.
“How do you get your van overseas?”
I bore them with the details of international vehicle shipping carriers.
“How do you take Samson internationally?”
More boring details on health certificates, quarantine periods, and only choosing countries my buddy can go to with me. If Samson isn’t allowed, I don’t go.
It goes on and on before Kane takes over, whipping out his iPhone. After he pulls up my Instagram account, he starts showing them the photos of places I’ve traveled to over the years, pointing out some of his favorites.
I remain quiet as he does this, because, frankly, I get a little lost in the pride with which he talks about me. Such affection, admiration… I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it, but it’s one of the reasons I’m so confident in everything I do.
I have Kane, who believes in me wholeheartedly.
There’s no lack of conversation as the evening wears on. We feast on some fantastic food while drinking enough beers to ensure an Uber ride home. And I learn a lot about the men of the Vengeance second line. Each is easygoing, fun, and respectful. Kane relaxes, realizing I’m not obsessively haunted by my scary experience in North Carolina. Several times, I catch him staring with a fond smile when I laugh or say something silly.
The only time it slips is when the dancing starts. Country music blares while people dance a two-step around the perimeter of the second floor. Kane and I have certainly danced on occasion—usually after some heavy partying at a night club—but he’s never the one who asks.
But Jett does. Because I’m buzzed, feeling alive and free, I accept.
As Jett leads me from the table, I see Kane’s expression. His smile is gone.
It’s just him being overprotective, I’m sure, but he has to know I can take care of myself. I can’t let him get too focused on me with what happened with Matthew. He can’t become my self-appointed guardian. Besides, who could I possibly be safer with than a trusted teammate? I make a note to talk to him tomorrow about it, maybe over a big breakfast, to reassure him that I’m fine and he has no need to worry about me like that.
The dance with Jett is fun. What I learned over the past hour and a half is he’s more than just a pretty face. Yes, there was flirtation, but it went both ways. We shared a lot of laughs, as did the whole table. But he’s also a man of substance. Jett was the one asking the most questions about what I did for a living. He was positively fascinated by it, and it seemed to stem from his inherent love of travel. He told me that during the hockey off-season, he travels to at least two or three countries he’s never been to before.
Jett circles me one time around the second-floor perimeter. Because the song is still cranking, we move past our table to take another loop.
His grip on me is light—one at my waist, the other on my shoulder. I’ve two-stepped a lot in my life. I can’t even count the number of honky-tonk bars I’ve visited in my travels. I’m surprised Jett is so adept, but I’m thinking he must spend a lot of time here dancing with girls.
“Mollie,” he says as he spins me until I’m the one dancing backward, “any chance you’d let me take you out to dinner?”
While I haven’t talked about my plans with Kane yet, his open-ended offer to let me stay with him appeals to me. I’m not ready to go home to my parents with my tail between my legs. My mom will just be overbearing in her worry, and I’m sure as shit not ready to get back on the road again. I want to stay here for a while—sort of have a vacation where I have no obligations or worries.
As such, I don’t have any doubts with answering, “I’d love that. Sounds fun.”
“Will your watchdog let you out?” he asks with a mischievous grin, jerking his chin in the direction of our table to point out Kane.
“Kane is my friend, not my watchdog. Plus, he has no say in what I do.”
“But he’s still protective of you,” he points out.
And sure… of course he is. Kane was like that all through college. He’s like that when we go out, even as adults set in our careers. He watches over me.
“Doesn’t he trust you?” I query.
“I should hope so,” he replies.
“Then, let’s not worry about it.” I smile, charmed at scoring a date with this very cute Swede. I resolve to have fun while in Phoenix.
And if Kane has a problem with it, then we’ll just have to talk it through like we usually do.