BLAZE: Enemies to Lovers College Hockey Romance by Eddie Cleveland (ebook reader macos .txt) 📕

tugs me down. Out of pure instinct, I flail at the stripper pole and manage to grab it with both hands, stopping my fall mid-air. It’s greasy with baby oil, and I start to slip down it, but I manage to hang on for dear life.

With more work and less grace than I’d like, I pull myself back up, enough that I get my feet firmly planted beneath me. It takes another second until I’m standing back up properly. Blood pulses in my head.

Past the barrier of darkness, I hear laughter. Blaze’s laughter. It’s loud, and it’s that belly-busting kind of laugh that a comedian would kill for. All it does for me is send a million pins prickling into my skin. The rush of adrenaline and embarrassment flooding through me has found a new outlet—anger.

I drop one hand from the pole, but don’t let go of it entirely. “Excuse me,” I yell out. The DJ in the sound booth has turned off the music and is asking the bouncer to come retrieve me.

“Yeah, sorry to ruin your Wednesday evening entertainment.” I keep going. “But we have a little problem here.”

“Is one of those guys your husband?” The stripper pulls on a little silk robe and ties it at the waist as she talks to me. I’m not sure why she bothers to put it on because she doesn’t cover anything. Her large, and may I say impressively spherical, breasts are still completely exposed.

I squint past the bright wall of light, blinking until the shadowy shapes transform into men. Older men. Men who probably went to college half their lifetime ago. “What? Those guys are twice my age.” I shake my head at her. “Really?”

“Well, I don’t know.” She flips her hand at me, waving it all around. “It’s hard to tell what your deal is,” she answers.

And just like that, I can add “looks old enough to date someone her Dad’s age” to my growing identity crisis.

Now is not the time to overanalyze my dating prospects. I have a message to get out. The bouncer has clearly heard the call from the DJ and is heading this way. I turn my attention back to the crowd beyond the lights.

“The problem is...” I start to yell out.

“The problem is you’re on the stage. Either take your clothes off or take off!” an angry, deep voice interrupts.

“The problem is…” I swallow my anxiety and keep going this time. “This reputable establishment is currently admitting and selling alcohol to minors. Yes, that’s right.” I keep going, and the bouncer stops looking at me and looks across the bar at Rookie and Blaze. “Those two over there. If anyone had bothered to check their identification, you would know that they are both under the age of twenty-one.”

“Who cares? Show us your tits!” one of the men at the stage-side seats yells up.

I cross my arms over my chest, but I won’t let that creep shut me up. “Wouldn’t it be a real shame if a place that makes so many people so happy lost their license for serving underage college kids?”

“Get ‘em outta here,” the same angry voice calls out. I squint through the darkness, and the bouncer is making his way over to them. At least he’s not storming my way anymore.

I cup my hands over my eyes, and it’s very clear that Blaze and Rookie aren’t interested in being dragged out by the impressive man heading their way. As college hockey stars, I’m sure they’ve seen their fair share of big, burly guys. The sport is full of them. The bouncer looks a lot like those hockey guys, as tall as they are with their skates on and as big across as they are with padding. The difference, he’s currently wearing a t-shirt and sneakers.

“What the fuck is she still doing up there?” The show-me-your-tits voice makes me realize I’m still standing on the stripper stage.

“Oh, shit,” I mutter. I’m down the stage stairs and across the bar quickly. I ignore the guy catcalling me. I also ignore the guy booing me. Instead, my attention is back on this Blaze situation. I walk next to the bouncer as he shows the guys the door. “Thank you for getting them out of here.” I look up at him.

“Just doing my job.” He doesn’t bother looking at me.

“You and me both,” I answer loudly, making the point to Blaze. He doesn’t acknowledge my existence at all. An angry shade of red blisters the tattoos running down the sides of his neck. He never turns back, but when his head tilts to the side, I can see how tight his jaw is. He’s pissed.

“Good to know.” The bouncer rolls his eyes.

Blaze is about to get even more pissed off because I rummage through my purse and pull out one of the business cards I wasted way too much money on. I was convinced if I had them printed on the thickest paper with the nicest font then that card would demand the people at my next job take me seriously.

It’s time to prove that I deserve to be taken seriously. Even though it’s money I can’t afford to hand over, I pull a twenty out of my wallet and fold it over the crisp edge of my card.

“Thank you for doing your job.” I hold it out to this guy, the Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson of bouncers.

I’m not surprised when he takes it, but I’m grateful he does. I didn’t really have a backup plan if he refused to.

“If either of them come in here again, please, give me a call. If you do, I’ll make it worth five times more than this.”

He looks at the money and card in his palm and then at me. “Why wouldn’t you just say I’ll give you a hundred bucks? That’s what you mean, right?” He blinks at me. Suddenly, the cool and in-charge thing I was going for cracks.

“That’s what I mean, yes. I’ll give you