Status: One Shot and Done
Raise Your Glass
Raise Your Glass
“This has to be the stupidest thing we’ve ever been paid for,” Jaclyn said, buckling her shoe. She adjusted her fishnets and tugged her green bustier top up as she stood.
Sara looked over her shoulder and smacked the hot pants she was wearing above a garter and stockings. “Come on Jax, it could be the most fun. And you know you love the music. Plus, Damon said he’d owe us forever.”
Jaclyn stepped up next to her at the mirror and had to admit they looked pretty good. If you were living in the musical Chicago.
____
It was the grand re-opening of one of Chicago’s hottest clubs and they were going for an Al Capone, “Untouchables” feel. Cigarette girls carried trays selling mints and sweets, the bartenders wore fedoras with vests and a 16-piece brass band complete with torch singer held court on a lighted stage. The crowd was well-heeled and into the game: many wore Prohibition-era costumes with double-breasted suits and feathered headdresses. From their perch in the elevated VIP Room, Patrick Kane surveyed the scene.
“Looking good tonight, boys.”
The “boys” were his Blackhawks teammates, many of them wearing spats and stripes to get in on the fun. Kane never met a party he didn’t like, so he was dressed like a smooth criminal himself. They’d been fashionably late and half the city had seen them come in. Duncan Keith and Brent Seabrook were already sizing up the other half to see what they’d missed.
The large reserved table was well stocked with bottles and mixers, so Pat was surprised by a female voice asking if they needed anything. He turned back toward the table, abandoning the view below, and looked right up into the dark eyes of a beautiful girl.
Jackpot, he thought.
____
Fucking right, Jaclyn thought. Big tippers!
Sara’s boyfriend Damon was one of the promoters behind tonight’s party. He had plenty of hot girls to work the floor, but his nerves got the best of him when it came to VIPs. After a fair round of begging and pleading, Sara and Jaclyn had agreed to get dolled up and act as VIP hostesses and waitresses for the night. They negotiated double the pay everyone else got plus no splitting their tips. And Jaclyn had just landed herself a whale of a table.
“Hiya boys,” she said smartly. “Have everything you need?”
“Except you,” Pat said. Jonathan Toews rolled his eyes theatrically.
She wore a green fluted top that was almost a corset and pushed her rack up suggestively. It flared over her hips, where tiny black shorts barely covered her fishnet stocking-ed backside. Pat took it all in and didn’t bother trying to hide hitting on her.
“In that case, you’ll need to drink away your sorrows. May I suggest a cocktail?” With that, Jaclyn leaned into the center, rested on her elbows and laid her forearm across the tablecloth. It took a moment for his eyes to move from her dark lashes to her full lips, from where her chest disappeared beneath silky fabric and finally to the inside of her arm.
In flawless script, someone had written the drink menu on her skin.
No way, he thought. Apparently everyone agreed, because they all shifted in to examine the work. The pure black etch was a perfect contrast to the deep white of her flesh, like ink dripped into a glass of milk. Stretching from wrist to elbow, it was a swirled and scrawled work of art. And it was sexy as hell. She was close enough that they could smell her skin – something dark and drowsy, like blackberries drowned in cognac.
“Shit,” Seabs said under his breath.
“That’s awesome,” Toews added enthusiastically. He was like a little boy, so full of excitement and wonder at a simple surprise. She was laying it on thick, as instructed, and finding that it was actually pretty fun.
Pat would have biffed Jon, but he was busy wondering if this waitress had any other tattoos hidden on her perfect skin. Patrick Sharp jabbed him in the side, making him jump.
“Uh, can I have a sidecar?” he asked, reluctant to let her get away.
He’s cuter in person, she decided. His curly blond hair had been mercifully tamed and the black hat kept it back from his face. He looked older than she’d expected but that might have been the devil-may-care grin. Overall, she was a pretty impressed with Patrick Kane. It took a lot of guy to sit between Jonathan Toews and Patrick Sharp and still register on her thermometer.
Once they’d seen her arm, they all wanted to order off the menu. Seabs feigned bad eyesight and practically pulled her into his lap. Jaclyn scribbled on her notepad, tucked it into her garter and promised to hurry back.
“Wait, what’s your name?” Pat asked.
“Jax,” she said. It sounded gangster-y. As she walked away, she made sure to give the Blackhawks something to watch.
____
“Dibs,” Seabs called the second she disappeared into the crowd.
“Fuck that!” Pat yelled. He probably couldn’t dish a beating on his teammate – Seabrook had 5 inches and 40+ pounds on him – but he might get in a sucker punch before going down. “I saw her first.”
“You mean you messed your pants first,” Keith said. “I thought you were gonna lick her arm.”
Pat straightened the collar of his shirt. “Suck it, boys.”
____
Jaclyn leaned against the bar and giggled. This gig was looking very entertaining and, if she played her cards right, very lucrative. She had guessed that professional athletes would appreciate someone sassy having a little fun at their expenses. And she could go all night. When all the drinks were piled on, she headed back into the fray.
The club was packed. Couples were showing off their moves on the floor, men leaned against things like they were the Godfather and women shook the tassels of their flapper-era dresses to full effect. She passed Sara on the steps.
“Did I give you the best table or what?” her friend called.
“I might leave you one of them as a present!”
They looked like trouble, she thought as she approached. Even the large table was a little cozy with six big guys ringed around it. People were starting to edge in, trying to stand near greatness while some of the Hawks were clearly looking for a few good women to entertain them.
“Hope you’re still thirsty, boys,” she said. The first drink was Sharp’s: a gin fizz. Keith had a whiskey neat. She laid a French 75 in front of Toews. “French 75, that sounds dirty.” He blushed until his ears were pink. Seabrook took a bourbon from her hand, getting a lot of skin on the way out. Kane gave him a dirty look. Jaclyn took her time reaching over to put the glass in front of him.
“Sidecar for you,” she said.
“Where’s yours?” he asked, pretending to be hurt.
Jaclyn gave him a tilt of her head. “I prefer to drive.”
Keith snorted a gulp of drink as Jaclyn sauntered away, laughing. A cloudy look marred Kane’s face as he looked from the girl to the big defenseman.
“Get it? Sidecar… drive…,” Duncan was still laughing. Kane just made a face.
“You know what they say,” Toews offered one of the Kaner cutdowns that were becoming his trademark, “sidecars are for bitches.”
____
There were other tables to attend to and drinks to be served, but Jaclyn never passed the Hawks table without saying something. She’d paid her waitressing dues in high school and college and the skill was well remembered. It wasn’t long before the guys were mixing and mingling.
Keith had wandered off and Troy Brouwer had pulled a blonde beauty that leaned against the edge of his chair, chest level with his face and one hand on his shoulder. Toews and Sharp were propped on their elbows, talking across the table in front of Kane. He watched the merchandise pass by, nearly every woman giving the table an intentional eyeful, but found nothing he liked more than their flirty server. His drink disappeared quickly.
“Slow down, Patty,” Seabrook said. “The Kaner shuffle’s gonna look pretty sloppy with a stomach full of brandy.”
Jon and Sharpie both looked up at the same time. “It looks better drunk.”
But Pat’s empty glass had the desired effect. Within a minute, Jaclyn was silhouetted before him, tray on one hip and a hand on the other. The pose maximized the line of her body, light seeming to pool against the hourglass shape of her waist. She was about to ask for their order when Damon rolled up.
“Gentlemen, good evening. I’m Damon, one of the hosts and promoters tonight. Thank you for coming. Is Jax here taking good care of you?” He was tall and swarthy, with a week’s worth of beard on his smiling face. His suit was carefully mussed, like he’d just been making out with someone in the back room. Knowing Sara and her hotpants, he probably had. The guys agreed that Jax was more than providing for them. “Well if you need anything at all, she and I are both at your service.” Damon was set to leave his guests to their partying when Kaner spoke up.
“Can I steal her for a dance?”
Damon looked at Jaclyn, then around the VIP section. The cream of the crop may have been enjoying themselves, but none were catching more approving glances than the Blackhawks. Quick mental math told Damon that keeping these guys happy was the night’s top priority. He quickly tapped a passing waitress and ducked her under the velvet rope. “Beth, please see to these gentlemen until Jax can return.”
Then he turned back to Pat. “She’s all yours.”
____
Jaclyn had to laugh. Patrick Kane knew full well that no one in this town would deny him a favor it was in their power to grant. The wheels in Damon’s mind turned visibly – a photo in the Tribune of Patrick Kane dancing with a scantily clad girl would provide a lot of gossip column inches for his party. Pat slid out from his seat.
“May I?” he offered his hand.
“Little late now,” she said with a smile, taking it in hers.
She was at least an inch taller than him in her heels, but Pat didn’t care. Ah, the life of luxury, he thought. Being a famous athlete certainly had its advantages. Hand in hand they wove through the crowd and onto the dance floor. The band was tooting its way through ‘Fly Me to the Moon,’ so Pat spun Jaclyn into his arms rather theatrically and started to move.
“Not bad,” she said. His hand rested against the small of her back, the other holding hers just outside their bodies. Nothing inappropriate. He was nicely built inside his suit – Jaclyn told herself it was impossible not to notice. And for someone who danced like a fool on his own, he actually knew how to move.
“Did you think I’d be a bad dancer? Or did you just want to keep leading?” he asked.
Zing, she thought. Played at her own game. The song ended with a flourish. She stepped back to clap, but the band threw itself right into a lively, jumping tune. Pat grabbed both her hands and pushed her away. Just as she reached arm’s length, he pulled her back in.
They were body-to-body in a heartbeat. “Can you really dance?” he smiled. He spun her away again, this time with one arm then rolled her close under her back was against his chest. His feet marked the timing of the song: three steps forward, three steps back. Around them couples were all doing a version of the same basic swing dance. Pat twisted her around to face him, wrapped one arm around her waist and kept right on dancing.
The fringe on her shorts bounced with the motion, tapping against her skin to the beat of the song. As best she could, she kicked up her 19020’s inspired heels. Pat played up his suit, shaking his shoulders and looking up from beneath the brim of his hat. A laugh bubbled right out of her – he was good, and he was really, really strong. With barely a flick he was tossing her around the dance floor. It was probably the way couples dance was meant to be, and if so Jaclyn had never done it right before.
“Where’d you learn to do this?” she asked, working to match his steps. He brought her in close, held tight and rolled, her back arching over the strong forearm that stayed locked around her waist. She was hanging on okay but definitely at his mercy.
“I have sisters, and they all wanted to learn. So I was the guinea pig.”
He clearly enjoyed having the advantage over her, taking every musical opportunity to wrap his arms around her or knit their bodies close together. She found herself smiling like a fool as the band played through the seemingly endless tune. When they finally wailed the last note, the crowd cheered and Jaclyn stopped to catch her breath.
“Worn you out already?” Patrick asked. The music was over, but he hadn’t stopped moving. He still held her around the waist.
“If I’d known you could do that, I would have asked you to dance!” she conceded. Her arm was stretched across his shoulders and she ran her fingers over the brim of his fedora.
“So ask me out instead,” he said. Simple as that. “See what else you’re missing.” His grin never wavered; he was daring her to meet her match. But his eyes got a little serious. It was asking without asking. His feet slowed until he was still, just holding her.
Jaclyn soaked it in for a moment, how much fun he’d been through just a song and a half. The exchanges they’d had over the table upstairs. She hadn’t even admitted to knowing his name but she’d already had a great time and the night was barely a few hours old.
“You won’t be disappointed,” he prompted.
Jaclyn knew, for a fact, that the one thing Patrick Kane never did was disappoint.
“Want to go out sometime?” she said sweetly, turning in so they were facing each other completely. If she was going to step, she might as well jump.
“Eh, I’ll think about it,” he shrugged, deftly spinning her into a dizzy twirl as the music picked up tempo again.
____
Sara looked over her shoulder and smacked the hot pants she was wearing above a garter and stockings. “Come on Jax, it could be the most fun. And you know you love the music. Plus, Damon said he’d owe us forever.”
Jaclyn stepped up next to her at the mirror and had to admit they looked pretty good. If you were living in the musical Chicago.
____
It was the grand re-opening of one of Chicago’s hottest clubs and they were going for an Al Capone, “Untouchables” feel. Cigarette girls carried trays selling mints and sweets, the bartenders wore fedoras with vests and a 16-piece brass band complete with torch singer held court on a lighted stage. The crowd was well-heeled and into the game: many wore Prohibition-era costumes with double-breasted suits and feathered headdresses. From their perch in the elevated VIP Room, Patrick Kane surveyed the scene.
“Looking good tonight, boys.”
The “boys” were his Blackhawks teammates, many of them wearing spats and stripes to get in on the fun. Kane never met a party he didn’t like, so he was dressed like a smooth criminal himself. They’d been fashionably late and half the city had seen them come in. Duncan Keith and Brent Seabrook were already sizing up the other half to see what they’d missed.
The large reserved table was well stocked with bottles and mixers, so Pat was surprised by a female voice asking if they needed anything. He turned back toward the table, abandoning the view below, and looked right up into the dark eyes of a beautiful girl.
Jackpot, he thought.
____
Fucking right, Jaclyn thought. Big tippers!
Sara’s boyfriend Damon was one of the promoters behind tonight’s party. He had plenty of hot girls to work the floor, but his nerves got the best of him when it came to VIPs. After a fair round of begging and pleading, Sara and Jaclyn had agreed to get dolled up and act as VIP hostesses and waitresses for the night. They negotiated double the pay everyone else got plus no splitting their tips. And Jaclyn had just landed herself a whale of a table.
“Hiya boys,” she said smartly. “Have everything you need?”
“Except you,” Pat said. Jonathan Toews rolled his eyes theatrically.
She wore a green fluted top that was almost a corset and pushed her rack up suggestively. It flared over her hips, where tiny black shorts barely covered her fishnet stocking-ed backside. Pat took it all in and didn’t bother trying to hide hitting on her.
“In that case, you’ll need to drink away your sorrows. May I suggest a cocktail?” With that, Jaclyn leaned into the center, rested on her elbows and laid her forearm across the tablecloth. It took a moment for his eyes to move from her dark lashes to her full lips, from where her chest disappeared beneath silky fabric and finally to the inside of her arm.
In flawless script, someone had written the drink menu on her skin.
No way, he thought. Apparently everyone agreed, because they all shifted in to examine the work. The pure black etch was a perfect contrast to the deep white of her flesh, like ink dripped into a glass of milk. Stretching from wrist to elbow, it was a swirled and scrawled work of art. And it was sexy as hell. She was close enough that they could smell her skin – something dark and drowsy, like blackberries drowned in cognac.
“Shit,” Seabs said under his breath.
“That’s awesome,” Toews added enthusiastically. He was like a little boy, so full of excitement and wonder at a simple surprise. She was laying it on thick, as instructed, and finding that it was actually pretty fun.
Pat would have biffed Jon, but he was busy wondering if this waitress had any other tattoos hidden on her perfect skin. Patrick Sharp jabbed him in the side, making him jump.
“Uh, can I have a sidecar?” he asked, reluctant to let her get away.
He’s cuter in person, she decided. His curly blond hair had been mercifully tamed and the black hat kept it back from his face. He looked older than she’d expected but that might have been the devil-may-care grin. Overall, she was a pretty impressed with Patrick Kane. It took a lot of guy to sit between Jonathan Toews and Patrick Sharp and still register on her thermometer.
Once they’d seen her arm, they all wanted to order off the menu. Seabs feigned bad eyesight and practically pulled her into his lap. Jaclyn scribbled on her notepad, tucked it into her garter and promised to hurry back.
“Wait, what’s your name?” Pat asked.
“Jax,” she said. It sounded gangster-y. As she walked away, she made sure to give the Blackhawks something to watch.
____
“Dibs,” Seabs called the second she disappeared into the crowd.
“Fuck that!” Pat yelled. He probably couldn’t dish a beating on his teammate – Seabrook had 5 inches and 40+ pounds on him – but he might get in a sucker punch before going down. “I saw her first.”
“You mean you messed your pants first,” Keith said. “I thought you were gonna lick her arm.”
Pat straightened the collar of his shirt. “Suck it, boys.”
____
Jaclyn leaned against the bar and giggled. This gig was looking very entertaining and, if she played her cards right, very lucrative. She had guessed that professional athletes would appreciate someone sassy having a little fun at their expenses. And she could go all night. When all the drinks were piled on, she headed back into the fray.
The club was packed. Couples were showing off their moves on the floor, men leaned against things like they were the Godfather and women shook the tassels of their flapper-era dresses to full effect. She passed Sara on the steps.
“Did I give you the best table or what?” her friend called.
“I might leave you one of them as a present!”
They looked like trouble, she thought as she approached. Even the large table was a little cozy with six big guys ringed around it. People were starting to edge in, trying to stand near greatness while some of the Hawks were clearly looking for a few good women to entertain them.
“Hope you’re still thirsty, boys,” she said. The first drink was Sharp’s: a gin fizz. Keith had a whiskey neat. She laid a French 75 in front of Toews. “French 75, that sounds dirty.” He blushed until his ears were pink. Seabrook took a bourbon from her hand, getting a lot of skin on the way out. Kane gave him a dirty look. Jaclyn took her time reaching over to put the glass in front of him.
“Sidecar for you,” she said.
“Where’s yours?” he asked, pretending to be hurt.
Jaclyn gave him a tilt of her head. “I prefer to drive.”
Keith snorted a gulp of drink as Jaclyn sauntered away, laughing. A cloudy look marred Kane’s face as he looked from the girl to the big defenseman.
“Get it? Sidecar… drive…,” Duncan was still laughing. Kane just made a face.
“You know what they say,” Toews offered one of the Kaner cutdowns that were becoming his trademark, “sidecars are for bitches.”
____
There were other tables to attend to and drinks to be served, but Jaclyn never passed the Hawks table without saying something. She’d paid her waitressing dues in high school and college and the skill was well remembered. It wasn’t long before the guys were mixing and mingling.
Keith had wandered off and Troy Brouwer had pulled a blonde beauty that leaned against the edge of his chair, chest level with his face and one hand on his shoulder. Toews and Sharp were propped on their elbows, talking across the table in front of Kane. He watched the merchandise pass by, nearly every woman giving the table an intentional eyeful, but found nothing he liked more than their flirty server. His drink disappeared quickly.
“Slow down, Patty,” Seabrook said. “The Kaner shuffle’s gonna look pretty sloppy with a stomach full of brandy.”
Jon and Sharpie both looked up at the same time. “It looks better drunk.”
But Pat’s empty glass had the desired effect. Within a minute, Jaclyn was silhouetted before him, tray on one hip and a hand on the other. The pose maximized the line of her body, light seeming to pool against the hourglass shape of her waist. She was about to ask for their order when Damon rolled up.
“Gentlemen, good evening. I’m Damon, one of the hosts and promoters tonight. Thank you for coming. Is Jax here taking good care of you?” He was tall and swarthy, with a week’s worth of beard on his smiling face. His suit was carefully mussed, like he’d just been making out with someone in the back room. Knowing Sara and her hotpants, he probably had. The guys agreed that Jax was more than providing for them. “Well if you need anything at all, she and I are both at your service.” Damon was set to leave his guests to their partying when Kaner spoke up.
“Can I steal her for a dance?”
Damon looked at Jaclyn, then around the VIP section. The cream of the crop may have been enjoying themselves, but none were catching more approving glances than the Blackhawks. Quick mental math told Damon that keeping these guys happy was the night’s top priority. He quickly tapped a passing waitress and ducked her under the velvet rope. “Beth, please see to these gentlemen until Jax can return.”
Then he turned back to Pat. “She’s all yours.”
____
Jaclyn had to laugh. Patrick Kane knew full well that no one in this town would deny him a favor it was in their power to grant. The wheels in Damon’s mind turned visibly – a photo in the Tribune of Patrick Kane dancing with a scantily clad girl would provide a lot of gossip column inches for his party. Pat slid out from his seat.
“May I?” he offered his hand.
“Little late now,” she said with a smile, taking it in hers.
She was at least an inch taller than him in her heels, but Pat didn’t care. Ah, the life of luxury, he thought. Being a famous athlete certainly had its advantages. Hand in hand they wove through the crowd and onto the dance floor. The band was tooting its way through ‘Fly Me to the Moon,’ so Pat spun Jaclyn into his arms rather theatrically and started to move.
“Not bad,” she said. His hand rested against the small of her back, the other holding hers just outside their bodies. Nothing inappropriate. He was nicely built inside his suit – Jaclyn told herself it was impossible not to notice. And for someone who danced like a fool on his own, he actually knew how to move.
“Did you think I’d be a bad dancer? Or did you just want to keep leading?” he asked.
Zing, she thought. Played at her own game. The song ended with a flourish. She stepped back to clap, but the band threw itself right into a lively, jumping tune. Pat grabbed both her hands and pushed her away. Just as she reached arm’s length, he pulled her back in.
They were body-to-body in a heartbeat. “Can you really dance?” he smiled. He spun her away again, this time with one arm then rolled her close under her back was against his chest. His feet marked the timing of the song: three steps forward, three steps back. Around them couples were all doing a version of the same basic swing dance. Pat twisted her around to face him, wrapped one arm around her waist and kept right on dancing.
The fringe on her shorts bounced with the motion, tapping against her skin to the beat of the song. As best she could, she kicked up her 19020’s inspired heels. Pat played up his suit, shaking his shoulders and looking up from beneath the brim of his hat. A laugh bubbled right out of her – he was good, and he was really, really strong. With barely a flick he was tossing her around the dance floor. It was probably the way couples dance was meant to be, and if so Jaclyn had never done it right before.
“Where’d you learn to do this?” she asked, working to match his steps. He brought her in close, held tight and rolled, her back arching over the strong forearm that stayed locked around her waist. She was hanging on okay but definitely at his mercy.
“I have sisters, and they all wanted to learn. So I was the guinea pig.”
He clearly enjoyed having the advantage over her, taking every musical opportunity to wrap his arms around her or knit their bodies close together. She found herself smiling like a fool as the band played through the seemingly endless tune. When they finally wailed the last note, the crowd cheered and Jaclyn stopped to catch her breath.
“Worn you out already?” Patrick asked. The music was over, but he hadn’t stopped moving. He still held her around the waist.
“If I’d known you could do that, I would have asked you to dance!” she conceded. Her arm was stretched across his shoulders and she ran her fingers over the brim of his fedora.
“So ask me out instead,” he said. Simple as that. “See what else you’re missing.” His grin never wavered; he was daring her to meet her match. But his eyes got a little serious. It was asking without asking. His feet slowed until he was still, just holding her.
Jaclyn soaked it in for a moment, how much fun he’d been through just a song and a half. The exchanges they’d had over the table upstairs. She hadn’t even admitted to knowing his name but she’d already had a great time and the night was barely a few hours old.
“You won’t be disappointed,” he prompted.
Jaclyn knew, for a fact, that the one thing Patrick Kane never did was disappoint.
“Want to go out sometime?” she said sweetly, turning in so they were facing each other completely. If she was going to step, she might as well jump.
“Eh, I’ll think about it,” he shrugged, deftly spinning her into a dizzy twirl as the music picked up tempo again.
____