Finn’s face fell when he turned to me. “Where’s your brother?” his eyes trailed down my neck to my waist.

I glared back. “You’re lookin’ at him.”

“Ya fecking kidding me,” Finn heckled, walking over to me with the bottle.

“Just tonight,” I clipped before gulping down an overpoured shot of whisky. Finn knew I hated attention more than I hated big crowds.

And… people in general.

“There he is,” a brunette hailed from the front of the bar where the unfortunate familiar crowd gathered. I was pretty sure the brunette was Gina Malone in the flesh. Hard to forget the head cheerleader whose sole mission was to screw every senior jock she could before graduation.

Her mission was short of one—as far as I knew; me.

But since I was the identical twin of Troy Hartman—who she nailed on prom night—she considered it hitting two birds with one stone.

I shook my head.

I ought to give this girl a piece of my mind tonight—at the very least tell her to have some goddamn self-respect considering what Harper walked in on them doing that fateful night. But that wouldn’t be Troy-like, would it?

“Come on over here, hot shot,” someone from the crowd called.

I cursed brutally under my tongue, peeled myself off the wall and set the empty shot glass on the wooden bar before making my way over.

The Brooklyn Blades’ Ryan Flemming walked in, looking every bit the giant that he was. He spotted me before being attacked by half my fan club—sorry—my brother’s fan club. By the look on his face, I knew instantly, Ryan knew which Hartman brother I was.

I plastered on a smile—the same one I used for my best clients—allowed a few hugs that came my way and bumped a few fists. Faces were a blur—could have all been the same person for all I knew. The typical unimpressed expression on my face tonight shouldn’t be a red flag for anyone, considering my supposed loss tonight.

This’ll be fine.

Ryan finally made his way over to me. “Do I want to know?”

“Just intervene wherever you can,” I muttered. Ryan knew I was nothing like Troy and that this wasn’t my scene—people.

Even less—people I didn’t like back in high school any more than I would now.

“I’ve got your hockey lingo if needed,” Ryan offered, leaning in.

I scoffed. Yeah, no need.

Steve Carp, bigger than me and captain of our old football team threw his hands up. “What happened tonight, man?” The guy was massive and loud, so of course everyone circled around us to get the story.

Here we go.

Someone slapped me from the back. “Oh don’t feel so bad. Detroit won the Cup last year. You didn’t stand a chance.”

I gritted my teeth.