“Who is that?” Using his cue stick, he points to a table in the corner of the room where Lucy and Eddie are sitting across from a man with short brown hair and a slight scruff. Did Lucy and Eddie have friends outside of hockey? “I think Chimney said his name was Tommy. He just signed a contract with Lucy’s team, playing as a defense man or something.” She shrugs and leans back over the table, lining her cue stick up before sending the cue ball flying across the table where it just barely brushes against one of the striped balls. His eyes flicker back over to where Tommy sits and his face scrunches up. There’s just something about him. Maybe it’s the way he’s dressed: charcoal gray henley that hugs his chest and biceps and rides up his back when he leans forward to laugh at something Lucy said, and the dark blue jeans that seem like they’re tailored to that ass. Or, what he can see of his ass. His eyes drag back up to look at Tommy and his heart jumps into his throat when he locks eyes with Tommy. Shit. It wasn’t that he didn’t mean to look – or stare – so much that he didn’t mean to get caught, and what’s worse is he’s still staring. He’s so focused on his own staring and the way his palms are getting clammy that he barely registers the way Tommy looks him over and the small smile that tugs at Tommy’s lips. However, the moment is so short that he’s uncertain if it actually did happen, and… well… he can’t very well go over there and ask him if he was checking him out. “I don’t like him.”
