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The ti couldn’t be ives our table an even better view

“Is that—a at her beaver?”

Mid-swig, I choke on theAfter I recover, I ask jokingly, “‘Beaver’? Are you Canadian or so?”

Those vibrant eyes move to mine God, he’s awfully pretty And close He’s really close Likes inches away, rock arne or deodorant—whatever it is, he smells yummy

He’s silent for what see Or the question may have stumped him

My experiences with Buck—and the one hockey player I dated previously—have led me to the assertion that hockey players aren’t notoriously intelligent I’m aware this isn’t a universal truth But Buck certainly reinforces my perceived stereotype: he’s definitely not a rocket scientist He’s not even a rocket scientist’s assistant However, I’o Waters could very well be an unexpected anoued

“Yeah, I’m Canadian”

“Does everyone in Canada call pussies beavers? Like the Brits call them fannies?” I can’t believe I ask him this I’m barely buzzed; otherwise, I’d blame it on drunkenness

He blinks a few times “Did you say ‘pussy’?”

It’s possible his hel the fight There’s a sweet bruise on the side of his chiseled jaw His nose is crooked with a decent buly, though It’s sexy, in an I-fuck-people-up way

“No, I said ‘pussies,’ plural, as ina complete ass out of myself

To avoid saying soraband sweater and leave the beer Based on the crap co out of my mouth, I don’t need to add any fuel to that fire

Buck grabs my arm as I pass him “Hey, what’s with you and Waters?”

Alex is shrugging into his jacket Maybe he’s leaving Too bad; he was fun to talk to and nice to look at

I sigh with irritation “It's common courtesy to strike up a conversation with the person sitting next to you, or did you arten?”

“Rules of what?”

“Neverpolite” And Alex is entertaining

“Yeah, well, I don’t know these guys that well yet and he’s got a rep Be careful who you get friendly with”

“I wasn’t giving hi for a smoke”