Lucky Hit (Swift Hat-Trick Trilogy Book 1)
Lucky Hit: Chapter 4

Morgan and I are the first to arrive at Lucy’s Diner after the game. I’m bombarded by the strong, familiar aroma of greasy burgers and coffee, and my stomach growls, reminding me that I haven’t eaten since breakfast.

Lucy’s has been a staple in my life for years. My foster parents brought me here the day we finalized my adoption, and it’s been one of my favourite places since.

We would sit in a booth for hours, talking about everything from what homework I had to what the new drama was in school. I miss how simple things were back then. Before school and friends swallowed up all my time and energy.

Morgan links her arm with mine as we start our search for a table. It doesn’t take long before we replace a teal-coloured booth in front of a window and sit down to wait for everyone else—Morgan on one side of the table, me on the other.

“Matthew texted. He just pulled up outside with Adam and Tyler,” Morgan says a couple of minutes later.

My excitement grows as I glance around the diner. It’s not busy for a Saturday night, a revelation that I make a note of. The quieter the diner, the fewer people that will come up to our table trying to talk to the three starring Saints players.

Matt and Tyler aren’t ones to encourage the interruptions, but Adam—being the flirt that he is—doesn’t mind them nearly as much. Before I had let myself become friends with the three guys, I would have assumed that they were all attention-seeking assholes, but they surprised me in the best way the more I got to know them.

I’m not best friends with either Matt or Tyler, but Adam and I are as very close, almost as close as I am with Morgan. All three guys have been there for me when it matters, though, and that’s all that I can ask for.

Just as I open my mouth to reply to Morgan, the bell on the diner door rings, and the three guys walk in.

Confidence oozes off them as they make their way to our table. All three are sporting damp hair and casual clothes, as opposed to the suits they wear to their games. Adam stands the tallest, at his six-foot-two height, followed by Tyler and then Matt.

When they reach our table, I slide across the bench, making room for them to sit. “At least you guys showered for us this time. I forgot to bring something to shove up my nostrils.”

Adam slides in beside me, flashing a grin in my direction while slinging his left arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. He smells good. Like a cologne that costs way too much.

“Funny, O. Do you want a round of applause for that one?” he asks, still smiling.

Tyler sits beside Adam and clasps his hands on the table. “Have you guys ordered yet? I’m starving.”

“No. Morgan waved the waitress away when we got here, but she should be back soon,” I say.

My attention falls to Matthew as he cozies up beside Morgan and kisses her head. His arm is slung across the back of the booth. “Hey, babe.”

She grins, locking her bright blue eyes with his darker ones. “Hey, Matt.” Her attention moves to the other two guys. “You guys regrouped well after that fight.”

“We played like shit, Mo. It doesn’t matter how we finished,” Adam grunts.

“A shitty win is still a win,” I say, pinching his side.

“Try telling that to Coach,” Tyler laughs darkly. “He would have paddled our asses in the locker room if he had the chance.”

“How’s Braden doing? Is he okay?” I ask.

All three guys nod, but it’s Adam that speaks. “Good as new. That fucker is too stubborn to let someone half his size earn him a seat on the bench.”

“Ava is adamant that your fighter is going to get suspended for that fight,” Morgan puts in, a twinkle in her eyes. “So, is he?”

I glare at her as Tyler turns around and jerks his head toward the door. “You can ask him yourself.”

His eyes catch my attention first, the depth of them sending me reeling backward. An unfamiliar emotion pours out from behind them, settling like a stack of bricks in my stomach. When he blinks, whatever it was disappears.

The sudden change in his demeanour has me far more curious than I would like. I force a cough and divert my eyes, only to replace them stuck on the sharp lines of his jaw.

I’m stricken by the rough, strong carve of his features. From his crooked nose that’s definitely been broken a handful of times and a matching set of jutted cheekbones to his plump lips I know must taste like one hundred percent man, it’s clear he’s one of God’s favourite creations.

The endless sleeves of black tattoos covering his veiny forearms catch my attention next as he grabs the baseball cap covering his ashy-brown hair. He removes it only to run his fingers through the messy locks before slapping it back on, his biceps flexing. The simple act shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but my panties grow wet despite that fact.

He wasn’t wearing a hat that night, and I’m grateful for that. It would have been even harder to avoid climbing him like a tree than it already was.

Forcing myself to stop gawking at him, I glance around the room and try to focus on anything but the guy who is now staring at me with a playful grin.

“Sorry I’m late.” His voice is straight sin. Smooth yet rough. Both bright and dark. I fight off a shiver and fail.

“All good, man,” Adam says.

“Oh, hi!” Morgan smiles. “You don’t mind having the window seat, do you, Oakley?”

I slide my stare to the innocent smile she’s sporting and swallow back my growing suspicions. The window seat will leave him directly across from me.

“Morgan doesn’t enjoy being trapped against the window,” Matt adds with a shrug. Oh yeah, he’s in on it.

“Yeah, sure. Doesn’t matter to me,” Oakley says.

Not even a second later, Morgan is shoving Matthew out of their booth, getting out after him and motioning for Oakley to slide into her previous seat. I plaster a tight smile on my face and plan her slow and painful death as she slips back into the booth.

“Do you always check out guys like that, or was that just for me?” Oakley whispers a beat later. His words caress my skin in ways I should hate.

I meet his gaze head-on, refusing to back down once I’m met with a playful stare. My heartbeat trips over itself when I realize he’s talking to me.

“I would say it was just for you, but that would be a lie,” I say with as much fake confidence as I can muster up.

He chuckles softly. “Hello again, Ava.” His voice is quiet, a whisper meant only for me, before he sits back and asks, “What’s your name, beautiful?”

I blink, surprised. Is he hiding the fact we already know each other for his benefit or mine? Was his compliment just for show too?

“Octavia!” Morgan shrieks. “Her name is Octavia.”

“It’s Ava,” I correct her, slanting a dirty look her way before looking back at Oakley. I relax. “I already know yours. You seem to have a special way of introducing yourself to everyone, Oakley.”

“It needed to be done. I was just the guy that took care of it.” He shrugs—as if beating the crap out of a total stranger is normal. For him, maybe it is.

He drops the topic and turns his attention to the menu in front of him. I take the hint and do the same, even though I have the menu memorized.

It’s clear his openness at that party was a rare occasion.

“I can’t believe you got ejected, bro. That team was playing dirty all night. Even Coach agreed they had it coming. How are the knuckles?” Matthew puts in, grinning like the little shit disturber he is.

Looking at the hands holding his menu, I notice a white bandage wrapped around his right hand.

“Hurt like a bitch,” Oakley says before Matt speaks again.

“I am curious about what that guy said to you out there. None of us could hear, but you looked pissed.”

Oakley sits silent for a few seconds before saying, “Just some bullshit about the team.” He clears his throat and changes the subject. “Who’s hungry? I know I am.”

As if on cue, the waitress wanders over to our table. She looks to be around our age, with shoulder-length brassy hair that hangs over the sides of her face. Eyeing us warily, she fiddles with her notepad and flushes a deep pink.

It’s easy to tell she’s nervous—presumably because of the gorgeous male specimens waiting to order. Can I blame her? No. If I were in her shoes, I would be shitting bricks right about now.

“Hi! I’m Jenny, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. What can I get you?” she asks, her pen floating over her notepad.

“I’ll have a vanilla milkshake, a cheeseburger, and an order of curly fries, please.” Oakley speaks so kindly to her, catching on to her nerves. I don’t bother hiding my small smile of approval.

The waitress raises her eyebrows at me expectantly, but Adam orders for me before I can string together a coherent sentence.

“A strawberry milkshake and a double cheeseburger with onion rings for me, and another order of the same, but with fries instead of the rings for the lady. Thank you.”

I roll my eyes at him. “I could have ordered for myself.”

“I know, but I wanted to flex my best friend muscles. Sue me.” He winds his arm around my shoulders again.

Morgan snorts, and I level her with a glare, my brows raised. Her eyes bounce between Adam and me. I tilt my head and mouth a silent “What?” in her direction. She rolls her eyes, nodding in the direction of the window.

Slowly, I sneak a look across the table and catch Oakley watching me curiously—or rather, the arm slung around my shoulder—but he looks away as soon as I catch him.

I slip my lip between my teeth and drop my gaze, focusing way too hard on a set of initials that are carved into the tabletop as the surrounding conversations grow. Everyone catches up on their week and when the next game is, as if Morgan doesn’t have the entire season scribbled on our shared calendar.

We chat for what seems like hours, and by the time our waitress rushes over with our food, I’m starving.

I’m stealing one of Adam’s onion rings and bringing it to my mouth when Oakley says, “I don’t know how you can eat those. Onions taste like dirty socks.”

“Dirty socks?” I echo, blinking. He nods. “And you’ve tasted a lot of dirty socks in your lifetime?”

His lips part with a smile. “Are you saying that you haven’t?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“I haven’t tasted dirty socks before, but if I had to guess what they taste like, I would say onion rings.”

My shoulders shake with laughter. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’d rather be an idiot than someone who likes the taste of dirty socks,” he tosses back, smirking now.

Holding eye contact with him, I toss the onion ring into my mouth and chew, moaning obnoxiously before I swallow. “Yum.”

“Jesus, Ava. Do you want some privacy there?” Tyler snickers.

My cheeks go hot with embarrassment. Oakley’s eyes are bright as they pierce mine, but I don’t spend too much time reading into that before I’m looking down at my basket of fries and wishing that I could disappear.

Adam’s fingers stroke my arm in a comforting motion that I sink into as I dig into my fries.

Morgan links her arm in mine as we leave the diner an hour later.

After my ultra-awkward sexual experience with an onion ring, Adam was quick to change the subject of conversation to one that was sure to capture everyone’s attention: what movie we’re watching for movie night tomorrow—the one Oakley has now been invited to. The group spent a solid fifteen minutes debating between The Benchwarmers and The Mighty Ducks before settling on the latter.

Morgan pulls me close to her body, whispering, “You seem to get along just fine with Oakley.”

“Don’t start.”

The four guys are walking ahead of us, their combined laughter echoing across the parking lot. The sun is long gone, leaving the sky speckled with stars that the surrounding buildings do a good job of hiding.

“Oh, relax. I’m just stating the obvious.”

“He seems nice enough.” It’s an unfair downplay, but I’m not ready to explain anything to Morgan yet. Not when I’m still confused myself.

An ache blooms in my chest as I let myself accept the fact that he’s been here for three months and I’ve never once seen him. Three months wasted wondering where Lee was and what he was doing while I was spending my summer working at an animal shelter and tanning at the beach.

It feels like a loss. Like wasted time.

We barely know each other, but after spending five hours sitting in the dark with him, talking about absolutely anything and everything, we bonded. Grew a connection. One that hurt to let go of when we had to say goodbye.

“It doesn’t suck that he looks like a model either.”

I pinch the underside of her bicep and jump out of her grasp when she shrieks, swatting at me.

The guys spin around and stare at us curiously. I throw my hands up in the air and nod toward Morgan. “She saw a spider.”

Matt’s the one to crack a laugh first, holding his hand out for her to take. “Come here, babe. I’ll keep you safe.”

With a glare in my direction, she abandons my side and scurries over to her boyfriend, throwing her arms around him and sighing like a damsel in distress. “My hero.”

“Damn right. Don’t forget it, sweetheart.”

My heart warms at the sight of Matt pulling her into his side and wrapping a possessive arm around her shoulders. If anyone deserves the love Matt gives so freely, it’s Morgan.

I quicken my steps and join the group, falling between the towering figures of Oakley and Adam.

“Is Morgan still driving you home, or do you need a ride, O?” Adam asks. He pulls the keys to his Genesis G90 from his pocket and dangles them in front of him.

The fancy car was a gift from his lawyer parents after they bailed at the last minute and didn’t show up to the Saints’ final playoff game last season. Yeah, the team lost. But his family should have been there. I know firsthand how much their absence hurt him.

I smile up at him. “Morgan’s got it covered. Thanks, though.”

He looks reluctant but doesn’t push the subject, opting for a quick goodbye hug before walking to his car and getting in.

Morgan’s Jeep sits between Adam’s car and an old, lifted white truck with a serious patch of rust on the back left wheel well.

I turn to Oakley and meet his already waiting eyes. “Is that yours?”

“It is.”

His expression is cautious, like he’s scared I’m about to tell him I hate it. The thought has me scoffing in my head.

“My dad has one just like it. A 1994 Ford. He has a thing for old vehicles,” I say.

He blinks in surprise.

“Yours is what? A ’96?” I ask with a confident smile.

“You know trucks,” he replies simply.

I lift a shoulder. “Enough to know you should take off that rust before it spreads.”

He barks a laugh that I feel all the way to my toes. “That’s the plan. I’ve been too busy to get to it lately.”

“The life of a future professional hockey player, right?”

Morgan yells from the driver’s side of her Jeep before Oakley has a chance to reply. “You ready to go, Ava?”

“Coming!” I yell back.

Oakley’s stare is hot on my back as I rush toward her before she leaves without me. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, right?” he calls after me.

I swallow my surprise at his interest and yell without looking back, “Yep!”

As soon as I reach the Jeep, I slip inside and heave a sigh.

Now what?